Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (30 page)

House! Devon thought. "Castle" would more
accurately describe it. Set on a hill in the center of the island,
its sculptured turrets rose above the trees. Inside, the house was
a marvel of lofty proportions, marble panels and carving,
tapestries, wood, glass, and mirrors. The gilt furniture was
ornamented with nymphs, shells, and sphinxes. Raveneau, during the
tour he gave her of the house, pointed out many fine pieces which
had been part of captured cargo.

It seemed like the ultimate fantasy—a secret
island belonging to the most dashing pirate-patriot, complete with
a castle which could have been lifted from a sumptuous fairy tale.
Devon wandered speechlessly through the rooms.

As they mounted the white marble stairway
that would lead them to the bedchambers, Raveneau observed Devon.
Her reaction to the house was surprising; somehow he had hoped that
she would mock it and insist that she preferred the warm, paneled
cabin they had shared on the
Black Eagle.
The awe-struck
expression she wore hurt and disillusioned him. Cynicism came
easily—hadn't he told himself all along that all women were
alike?

The bedchamber which Raveneau announced would
be hers left Devon utterly spellbound. Just standing on the thick
rose carpet decorated with swirling pale green vines made her feel
like a princess. The large windows opened to a breathtaking view of
lush greenery, rocky cliffs, ribbon-like beaches, crashing white
waves and an expanse of blue ocean.

A towering, intricately carved canopy bed
dominated the room. It was hung with rose, green, and gold tapestry
and covered with a counterpane of rose silk. Near the marble
fireplace there was an intimate seating group that consisted of a
long chaise, two gilt chairs, and a curved sofa.

"Oh, Andre..." Devon's voice sounded far
away, a sigh of pure pleasure. She turned dreamily to find him
leaning against the doorframe, glaring. "I never imagined such a
place could truly exist! In my mind I used to make up—" The
expression on his face made her stop.

"I am so pleased that you approve,
mademoiselle," Raveneau replied coldly. He slowly crossed the room
to gaze moodily out a window. "You aren't curious about this
chamber? Its former occupants? The star boarder was my father's
mistress, who lived on this island for twenty years. What a woman!
She turned my cool, adventurous father into a besotted idiot. She
played with him like a cat with a mouse. Everyone could see her for
what she was but
mon cher papa.
It was Veronique who
persuaded him to build this outrageous palace. She nagged him night
and day for more money—the marble stairs were her major victory.
She refused—" Raveneau broke off. He stared out at the ocean and
pressed a fist to his brow. "At any rate, my sweet, it would seem
that you and this house were meant for each other. However, it
would be a mistake for you to imagine that it is a gift. As the
owner, I shall determine your method of payment."

Devon's eyes were stricken and confused as
she watched him turn and walk toward her. The playful lover she had
known at sea was dead, replaced by a man who moved like a stalking
panther, his harsh face more dangerous-looking than she had ever
seen it before. When they were standing face to face, Raveneau
reached out to capture her bare arms with powerful hands. His mouth
covered Devon's, searing and cruel, lighting a fire in her loins
but scorching her heart.

Her brain cried silently against the scene
being played out, but Devon was lost to the fierce chemistry that
exploded whenever he touched her. His savagery seemed to heighten
her own fever pitch. She clung dazedly to his broad shoulders and
pressed herself closer, hungering for him.

In minutes they were naked, twisting together
on the priceless counterpane; bronzed, muscular length and
peach-soft, frenzied fragility. There was nothing gentle or tender
in the way they touched one another. Their kisses were bruising,
and each devoured the other's body without regard to past
inhibitions or the white-gold sunlight that flooded the bed. At
last they met, joining feverishly, moving together until the end
came in a burst of silver fire.

* * *

"M'sieur Raveneau?"

Through a dense fog Devon heard the tapping.
She lay with Andre, their sleeping bodies tightly fitted together.
Silk sheets. With an effort, she opened her eyes and saw him
watching her from only inches away. For a long minute they remained
thus, measuring each other.

"We... slept?" she whispered.

Raveneau smiled, slightly taunting. "How
could we not?"

Devon felt a sudden, humiliated blush begin
in her breasts and rush upward, heating her face. Andre had taken
her over and over again with a ruthless fervor that she had
matched. Every muscle in her body ached. How could I have behaved
so... wantonly? she wondered.

It was puzzling—the difference between this
fierce, caustic Raveneau and the relaxed, tender lover she had
grown to trust on the
Black Eagle.
Did this island work some
sort of dangerous magic on him? Underneath the confusing tangle of
her thoughts crouched the most fearful question of all. After last
night, was there any possibility that Andre could learn to love
her? At this moment, even his respect seemed beyond her grasp.

The tapping began again.
"Attendez!"
Raveneau shouted, getting out of bed to search for his
breeches.

They trailed across the rug beside the
chaise, at the other side of the room. Devon watched the play of
muscles over his golden-brown body as he stalked over and pulled
them on. Then, to her horrified embarrassment, he threw open the
door and waved a stranger into the bedchamber.

"A thousand pardons, m'sieur!" the man
exclaimed, instantly averting his eyes from the bed. "I did not
know—"

"Like hell," Raveneau muttered. He made a
sweeping motion with his hand, mocking them both. "Bernard Souchet,
allow me to present Mademoiselle Devon Lindsay, who will be
occupying this room for the next few months. Devon, this is the
gentleman who manages the house. He is the voice of authority in my
absence."

Souchet appeared to be around forty-five
years of age, short of stature with a thickening waist. He wore a
white wig with side curls and a splendid green brocade coat over a
gold satin waistcoat. He cleared his throat nervously and said,
without looking at Devon, "I am honored to make your acquaintance,
Mademoiselle Lindsay. It will be a pleasure to have you here."

Sick with embarrassment, Devon looked over
the covers and replied, "Thank you, Mr. Souchet."

"I would not have bothered you, sir, but
since you have been in the house for many hours, I thought perhaps
you might have need of my assistance in some way. The cook has been
wondering..."

"Yes. Feed the crew. Let them come to the
house to eat and get out a few bottles of rum. Mademoiselle Lindsay
and I would like a hot bath and a chilled bottle of champagne. We
will eat here in two hours, and you may have a table and chairs
brought in. See that the fire is lit."

"As you wish, m'sieur." Souchet bowed and
began to back out.

Raveneau added, "Incidentally, I will be
using this chamber during my stay. Ask my steward to bring my
things here."

Souchet opened his mouth as if to protest.
Then he nodded, and left.

***~~~***

November 9, 1781

Five days slipped away until the day the
Black Eagle
was scheduled to sail.

Andre and Devon had spoken little, but had
clung together violently, all their pent-up emotions exploding in
turbulent, often desperate lovemaking. Out of bed, Raveneau
remained frosty, and Devon's confusion and humiliation grew.

The last day, Raveneau awoke first and stared
at the bed which had belonged to Veronique, the scheming bitch who
had made a fool of his father. When he turned to look at Devon,
knowing it was the last time they would awaken together, he found
it more difficult than usual to believe her a scheming bitch as
well. Frothy curls, the color of the sunrise, trailed across his
chest. Her face nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. Deceptive
innocence! he reminded himself, gazing at her soft, parted lips,
tilted nose, and thick lashes. One bare breast peeped enticingly
from the covers.

A voice in the corner of his brain declared,
"You will miss her!" Raveneau silenced it by turning his hard body
toward the supple warmth of hers, embracing her roughly, kissing
her awake. For a moment she was limp, then stiffened in the token
resistance he had come to expect. When he pushed her deep into the
silk pillows and let her feel the strength of his desire, her
slender arms came up to grip his back, nails cutting into
sun-browned muscles as she feverishly answered his kiss.

* * *

Devon watched Raveneau the entire day, and it
was impossible for him not to notice. She joked and laughed, but
her sapphire eyes swam with sorrow, and though he questioned its
authenticity, he still could not muster his usual coolness.

Just a few more hours, Raveneau told himself.
By evening, his existence would be simple once more; at sea, he
would know exactly who he was and how he should react. And in port
he would go to luscious, uncomplicated Isabelle, who would welcome
him with open arms.

As Devon smiled at him across the breakfast
table, Raveneau silently cursed Caleb Jackson for having found her.
Until that September day, he had never wavered or wondered in all
his adult life. He was escaping not a moment too soon. One more day
might find him mooning in her wake just as his usually sane father
had with Veronique.

Minter was there to see to Raveneau's
belongings. Everything he needed would be returned to his cabin
without the slightest effort on his part. Mr. Lane was completely
in charge on board the
Black Eagle,
full of himself and his
responsibility.

Picking up his coffee cup, Raveneau moved to
look out the huge windows, appraising the efficient action on the
island and his ship, then turned to Devon. She wore the white
muslin gown she had been "married" in. Her luxuriant hair was
freshly washed and worn loose, inviting his touch. She sat on the
edge of the gilt chair and looked up at him, her expression
poignant with hope and longing. Something inside Raveneau crumbled
and he said, "I would enjoy a long walk today. Would you care to
join me? We might steal some wine and food from the kitchen and
have our noon meal on the far beach."

Devon swallowed visibly, fighting the urge to
throw herself into his arms. Her joy showed itself in a
heart-melting smile. "Oh... I think that is a magnificent
idea!"

"Well, then, get up!" He smiled back and put
out a tanned hand to assist her. Devon thought she would collapse
with happiness when he slipped an arm around her, leading her off
toward the stairs and one last bright adventure.

It was only a few hours respite from the
misunderstandings that divided their hearts, but this was a day
that Devon would contemplate often in the months to come.

Raveneau held her hand as they walked,
explaining the island's vegetation and rock formations and even
allowing her a few lighthearted reminiscences of their colorful
past. On the beach, at the opposite end of the island from the
Black Eagle,
Devon lay back against his chest as she sipped
wine and recalled the times she had stared after him as a
child.

"Are you serious?" Raveneau exclaimed,
wishing he could believe she was as guileless as she seemed.

"Of course I am!" Devon laughed, remembering
that he had forgotten their first kiss in Nick's carriage. "I
thought that you were wonderfully dangerous. Totally
disreputable."

"And now?" His arm closed tightly around her
back, turning her body.

"My opinion has not altered."

"Nor mine of you,
petite chatte.
The
first time I saw you, I knew you would bring me nothing but
trouble."

He reached up to slip his fingers into her
hair and bring her face closer. They kissed, their lips scarcely
touching, yet a searing flame shot through Devon's body and found
its mark.

"I have never known a female like you,"
Raveneau whispered, watching her face.

"Really?" Devon was horrified to feel tears
scald her eyes and hastily moved from his gaze, back to the
sheltering shoulder. "I suppose I must seem unbearably drab, but
then one must make do."

"Please! No plays for flattery. I hope we are
beyond that."

Gulping back tears, Devon sat up and
announced, "I am famished!"

They ate slowly, chatting about the war,
General Washington and the French fleet, and the wonderful battle
at sea that they had shared. The future was a taboo subject. Devon
watched Andre, not tasting her food but memorizing every chiseled
line of his face, the silver-gray of his eyes, the magic of his
sudden smiles, the contours of his body. In a white shirt, biscuit
breeches, and knee boots, he was more attractive than any man she
had ever seen.

After pouring the last of the wine into
Devon's glass, Raveneau slipped out a pocket watch and glanced at
it. "It is getting late."

"Yes. Of course." She wanted to weep, to have
him hold her while she poured out every hidden feeling. There were
so many things that needed to be said. But Devon knew they would
have to remain locked in her heart, at least through the
winter.

Together, they replaced plates, bowls,
napkins, glasses, and cutlery in the wicker basket that the cook
had supplied. Then Raveneau sat back on his heels and looked hard
at Devon's flushed face. He struggled with a powerful desire to let
his heart go, but, as always, he remembered the lesson of his
father and Veronique in time to save himself.