Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (31 page)

"Should we start back?" Devon asked, knotting
the end of her sash with nervous fingers.

"Ah... no. No, we have a bit of time." His
hand reached to capture her own, and suddenly they were kneeling
face to face, his arms encircling her waist. "Devon, I—"

Raveneau groped for words, but, finding none,
he pulled Devon against him more roughly than he had intended and
covered her soft, wine-sweet lips with his mouth. Both of them were
hungry now in a different, more urgent way. Eyes locked, they
undressed each other in the sandy sunlight and touched slowly,
savoring every caress. Raveneau's lips scorched her shoulders and
tender breasts as she closed her eyes and moaned aloud.

Finally, he lay back in the sand and pulled
Devon over his narrow hips, filling her eager body with his hard,
pulsing shaft of desire. As she rode him, her head thrown back in
the salt breeze, his stormy eyes committed the picture she made to
memory.

* * *

After returning a disheveled Devon to the
house, Raveneau went aboard the
Black Eagle,
promising that
he would send Minter to fetch her when they were ready to sail.

In less than half an hour, the steward was at
her door. Devon had hurriedly changed her gown and washed away most
of the sand that clung to her entire body. When Minter knocked, she
had just begun to brush her tangled curls.

"Minter? Come in."

He stood in the doorway and gave her a sad
smile. "I’m sorry."

"I am too." She walked to the window and
stared out at the ocean, her rival.

"I know that you can't be looking forward to
winter here alone, but if it is any consolation, I will do what I
can to steer the captain's heart in the right direction during your
separation."

Devon's stomach was knotted and each breath
an effort. "Thank you. You know, I feel so helpless! Part of me
wants to tell him off; he has no right to treat me as he does, and
I shouldn't allow it. But, Minter..." Her face crumpled and she
pressed a hand convulsively to her mouth. "I am such a coward these
days. I am frightened that anything I might say or do would tip the
balance against me. At least now I can cling to the hope that
spring will bring us together, but if I ever truly lost him I
believe I would die. This love is torment!"

"Now, it must have its good points! Please—I
hate to see you cry! Do cling to that hope. I have a feeling
here"—he pointed to his chest—"that all will be well. Captain
Raveneau is not an ordinary man; he rebels against domesticity like
a wild animal. He is suspicious. He has never needed anyone before.
It has always been the other way around."

"It would seem that his childhood was not
very loving," Devon allowed, comforted by Minter's logic.

"There, you see? And you must realize that so
many years of damage cannot be undone overnight." The question was,
he brooded silently, was it possible for the captain to
ever
love Devon as she deserved to be loved?

After a brief sigh, Minter forced his widest
grin. "I knew you would be lonely, so I asked Captain Raveneau if I
might select a maid for you among the serving girls—one who might
also provide some agreeable companionship. I found a girl you
should adore. Her name is Elsa, and she will be waiting when you
return from the beach."

"Oh, thank you! How shall I manage without
you?" She touched his tousled red hair affectionately. "You have
been a wonderful friend... I will miss you."

"And I will miss you." He was blushing like a
schoolboy. "You may trust me to continue as your friend in the
months to come. I shall watch over the captain for you... as best I
can."

Devon kissed his cheek and wiped away her
tears. "Well, I know we should go. A long delay on my part will
only anger Andre, and I don't want that. Not today."

* * *

Devon's heart began to pound the moment she
glimpsed Raveneau coming up the tree-choked path from the beach to
meet them. He was so magnificent—tall, broad-shouldered, striding
with powerful grace, the hard muscles in his thighs visible under
his breeches as he neared. Rapier-sharp eyes met Devon's, revealing
none of his feelings.

Minter mumbled a hasty farewell and left them
alone. In the distance, a chorus of deep voices could be heard from
the privateer, along with clattering footsteps on the decks and
squeaking groans from the yardarms.

"Is there anything you require?" Raveneau
asked. "I have instructed Souchet to see to your every need; you
are to be treated as a member of my family, with every courtesy. I
have told him to give you access to the entire house and also to
the storerooms. I want you to choose anything you see that strikes
your fancy, especially fabric for gowns. Make as many as you like.
The serving girls will help. And, enjoy the island, but have a
care. The cliffs are treacherous. Also—" He broke off as he
realized Devon's shoulders were trembling. Almost apprehensively,
he enfolded her in his strong embrace, feeling wet warmth soak
through the linen shirt he wore. She wept silently against his
broad chest, her heart splintering.

"Devon—"

Had his voice caught? She lifted her
tear-stained face in wonder.

"I—" A muscle moved along the scar on his
jaw.

"Oh, m'sieur!
Padonnez-moi!"
Souchet
exclaimed, standing behind them on the path. "I was only going to
the beach to bid you a last farewell. Please excuse my
interruption."

Raveneau sighed harshly. "No, that's all
right, Souchet. We were just going down ourselves." He put out a
hand to smooth Devon's damp cheeks, then shifted it to her waist as
they started toward the beach.

Souchet followed along, even hovering nearby
as Raveneau pressed a last, searing kiss on Devon's trembling
mouth.

"Take care,
petite chatte,"
he said.
"I shall return in the spring, and, as you said, we shall then
endeavor to find a workable solution to your future."

Moments later, the boatswain's pipe shrilled
and the
Black Eagle
began to get underway. The anchor was
lifted and the sails were set amidst the flurry of activity that
usually charged Devon with excitement.

This time, watching with Souchet from the
windswept shore, she felt as though she might die.

***~~~***

December, 1781

If not for Elsa, Devon's talkative German
maid, she might not have survived the next months with her sanity
intact. Each morning Elsa woke her with a steaming cup of chocolate
and a bright smile. Devon would feel the sadness lift as Elsa
opened the drapes to let in sunshine, chattering cheerfully until
she was able to draw a smile from her mistress.

After Raveneau's departure, Devon paid closer
attention to the signals from her own body, and it didn't take her
long to suspect that something was amiss. How is it that I never
thought of this before? she wondered. Was I so lost in my
adventurous dream world that I believed myself immune to the
realities of life? Still, she kept silent, hoping crazily that it
was a mistake. By the end of November, she realized that she had
missed her time for the third month in a row. She faced the fact
that a child was growing within her body, and it was Elsa to whom
she turned for advice and support.

"I don't know..." the flaxen-haired maid
murmured, pursing her rosy lips. Devon sat on a chair before her,
her hair crackling as Elsa brushed it. "You have gone through a
great deal since September. What happened to your mother could be
enough to stop your menses. I knew a girl once whose husband was
killed in a carriage accident. Her flow stopped that same day and
hasn't begun since, as far as I know. That was more than five years
ago!"

Devon sighed heavily. Elsa was only a few
years older than she—twenty-five, perhaps—but her maturity was
reassuring. She talked and gossiped too much, but when the subject
was serious, she would offer a strong, reasonable-sounding
opinion.

"Elsa, I wish I could believe that were the
case, but there are other signs that just haven't gone away."

"Yes?"

"I have been sleepy for weeks. My appetite
hasn't been good. I cry easily and feel so sad. I've never been
like that. At first I thought I just missed Andre, but too much
time has passed and these feelings persist. I’ve lost my appetite
for so many foods I usually love, and the thought of wine turns my
stomach—"

"And you haven't bled since the end of
August," Elsa concluded, her tone less optimistic. As she had been
pregnant three times and delivered two babies successfully, the
catalogue of symptoms was all too familiar. "When do you think the
child was begun?"

Devon blushed. "It must have been in
mid-September, while we were sailing from New London to Yorktown.
There was only that one time, until last month. It must have been
September. I always flow at the end of each month, but I've been
too preoccupied to notice. Andre and I were so close at the end of
October—I probably thought I wished it away."

Elsa bit her lip. "If it is so, you must not
worry, fraulein. Hermann and I will help you. You aren't alone. And
now, even when I am away during the night, you will have your baby
warm inside."

Elsa clucked over Devon like a mother hen,
fortifying her with cheerful thoughts about the miracle of birth
and the rewards of motherhood. Andre Raveneau was an adventurer who
appeared to care for nothing but his privateer, and she thought it
would be cruel to offer Devon hope where he was concerned. Still,
Elsa felt sure that he would care for the mother and child—he had
brought Devon to his island, hadn't he?

The two women agreed to keep Devon's
pregnancy a secret from the other residents of the house. This was
Elsa's idea, and she argued hard to convince Devon. She maintained
that Souchet would make Devon's life unpleasant, that she might be
gossiped about by other servants, and that it was important that
the early months of pregnancy be tranquil and serene. Privately,
Elsa worried about letting the news out until Raveneau's reaction
was known, but she refrained from sharing this concern with
Devon.

Devon urged Elsa to confide in her husband at
least, for she knew how close the couple were. Hermann Kass was a
dark-haired giant of a man who labored in the bowels of the house
as a carpenter, repairing the furniture already in use and the
pieces that came to the storerooms. Hermann was as quiet as his
wife was talkative, but Elsa decided to keep Devon's secret to
herself for the present.

The taciturn Souchet appeared glad to leave
Devon alone as long as she made no trouble. When Andre Raveneau had
left, the little Frenchman worried that the titian-haired coquette
might attempt to usurp the entire household, as Veronique had, but
just the opposite was true. Devon kept to her room, leaving it only
to scan the library shelves or to walk outside with her attentive
maid.

Better Elsa than me, Souchet thought acidly,
watching one December afternoon as the two women disappeared
through the front door.

Outside in the balmy sunshine, Elsa asked,
"How do you feel today? I don't want you to overdo—"

"No, no. I'm fine, really. It is a lovely
day; I keep expecting to wake one morning and find the island
covered with snow!"

"If you did, you would be dreaming, fraulein.
The winters are pleasant here, aside from an occasional storm or a
north wind."

"Good. My baby and I shall be able to enjoy
the outdoors until the day I deliver."

"Walking is fine but you must be very careful
now. I lost a baby myself after three months."

As they wandered away from the house toward
the far side of the island, Devon considered Elsa's advice. So... a
bit of imprudent exercise might put an end to her complicated
problem. She tested the thought and found that it chilled her brow
with cold sweat. I'm sorry, my baby, she thought. I didn't mean it.
I love you and want you.

After a half mile, they paused to rest on a
bed of lush, perfumed grass and made plans to begin Devon's new
wardrobe as well as the tiny gowns for her baby. Aloud, Devon
impishly envisioned herself waddling along in a few months, clad in
lavish gowns of gold brocade or crimson satin. "Perhaps the baby
might look well in royal purple velvet," she teased, and Elsa
giggled in response.

"I am full of energy today," Devon announced
at length. "Couldn't we please go on to the beach? I have always
heard that salt wind is good for women with child."

Elsa looked at her in surprise, then saw the
twinkle in her mistress's blue eyes. It was so heartening to see
Devon in good spirits that she could not refuse. "We will go on if
you promise to tell me when you tire."

Devon held up her hand, palm out, and vowed
with mock solemnity, "I promise!"

When they reached the cliff, Devon recognized
the location instantly. Below them lay the secluded beach where she
and Raveneau had spent their last afternoon. Heart swelling, she
dropped gently to the ground and stared meditatively at the few
feet of sand on which they had made love with such urgent
tenderness. This baby growing in her belly was one half Raveneau's,
but Devon refused to think about what that could mean. It was
easier to concentrate on each new morning, on loving her baby and
enjoying Elsa's companionship. Devon disciplined her heart,
building a wall between romantic love and mother love. As for the
future... to brood about it would have driven her mad, so, for the
baby's sake, she strove to remain calm and cheerful, looking ahead
only to the day she would give birth.

"Do you know," Elsa was muttering, tapping a
finger against her nose, "I believe this is the place where that
woman died."

Devon blinked, coming back from her reverie.
"I beg your pardon?"