Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (40 page)

"Oh, God! Oh, my God!"

Instinctively, Raveneau reached for Mouette
before Devon went completely mad and dropped her.
"Mon Dieu!
What is the matter with you?"

She was pointing at something in the next
room, so he stepped forward to look. On the far wall there was a
giant portrait of a fair, delicate, pretty woman.

"That is my mother!" Devon gasped.

Raveneau blinked at the painting. "Perhaps it
was done as a memorial."

Devon made a face. "That sounds insane. A
portrait that size of my mother—in Temperance's parlor? I might
believe it were it anyone but
my
mother, but—"

"But you see, Devon, it is
my
parlor
now!" a voice interrupted from the top of the stairs. Two startled
faces looked up, and Raveneau braced Devon with his free arm when
her knees started to buckle.

"M—Mama?" she choked.

"Dear, didn't Morgan tell you? He said he was
going to fetch you."

Deborah came down the steps like a queen,
nearly unrecognizable as the drab, pinched woman who had worked
night and day in the Linen and Pewter Shop. Devon gaped. Her mother
wore a gown of deep rose moire over a pale green petticoat.
Emeralds glittered against her white throat; her blond hair was
powdered and dressed into an elaborate coiffure. Smiling, she
embraced her daughter.

"Come into the parlor, dear, and sit down.
You've had a shock." As she led her in, Deborah glanced back
quizzically at Raveneau and Mouette. "I don't believe we have
met...?"

He grinned raffishly and took a brocade wing
chair across from the sofa where they seated themselves. "Andre
Raveneau, madame. This is my daughter, Mouette."

"Oh...?"

Devon managed a crooked smile. "Andre is my
husband, Mama, and Mouette is our daughter."

"Oh?" A pale brow arched as she counted the
months perplexedly.

"Mouette was quite premature."

"I see." She didn't, obviously, but managed a
smile all the same. "It would seem that we have both done
surprising things these past months!"

"I'm
very
happy, Mama."

"Good. I am also. I have some other news that
I have been anxious to share. This may be hard for you to
comprehend, but I am going to become a mother again in
October!"

It took nearly an hour of conversation to
unravel their separate stories and put mother and daughter at ease.
Deborah relaxed enough to hold her granddaughter and gaze into her
beguiling little face; then she explained to Devon what had brought
her to this house and her position as Nick's wife.

"You shouldn't have worried so about me. I
have always been a survivor, even at my most miserable moments.
When that redcoat shouted from downstairs and the one who held me
looked up, I reached for the candlestick and hit the beast over the
head. Since the front of the shop was already in flames, I climbed
out the back window, onto a tree, and escaped that way. After it
was all over and I hadn't seen you at all, I came here and found
that Nick had been in the battle at Fort Griswold. Temperance..."
Brow furrowed, Deborah stared at her fingers, which worked
nervously at Mouette's lace gown. "Temperance apparently feared the
worst and panicked. Rebecca found her in her bed... she had taken
poison. And, of course, we all shared her belief that Nick was
dead. I stayed here, in one of the other bedchambers, and it was
midnight before the message came from Groton Bank. He had been
wounded and was unconscious for hours—they had taken him for dead.
But, thank God, he recovered."

The rest of the story was obvious. Devon
looked at her mother, so radiantly different from the woman she had
known, and wondered if she had loved Nick before the battle. Had
unrequited love contributed to her bitterness?

"Tell me," Deborah was saying, "what do you
do, M'sieur Raveneau? How did you and Devon meet and fall in love
so suddenly? When Morgan came home after Yorktown, he said he had
seen Devon and that she was provided for, but that was all he would
reveal."

"Madame, I am the captain of a privateer, the
Black Eagle.
After the battle here, Devon was quite
distraught, and I agreed to take her in search of M'sieur Gadwin.
In the meantime..." His voice trailed off suggestively.

Deborah's face tightened. "A sea captain. The
Black Eagle
—of course. Oh,
Devon."

"Mama! Don't look that way. I am not like
you. I love the sea, and I love the
Black Eagle!
I am
happy!"

"For now, perhaps."

"Madame, if it will reassure you at all, let
me say that my first allegiance is to my wife and my child."

"The sea makes a bewitching mistress,
Captain."

Raveneau's eyes sharpened, but before he
could respond, Zedidiah Nicholson appeared in the doorway. He was
as dynamic and wonderful as Devon remembered him, only now his
smile seemed wider and more complete. She threw herself into the
arms of her old friend, chattering excitedly as she told him the
news of her marriage and child. Nick beamed. He wrapped Devon in a
bear hug, embraced Raveneau, and insisted on holding Mouette. They
all sat down again, coupled on facing sofas, and stories were
repeated for Nick's benefit. This time Devon was more candid,
admitting that all had not been perfect between her and Raveneau,
that Mouette had been born on the island out of wedlock. Raveneau
hastened to explain that he had not known of his daughter's
existence, but admitted that love and commitment had not come
easily to him.

Nick laughed and called for wine. He was
remembering the only other time he had seen these two together, on
the day of their first meeting. The sparks had flown even then. Was
love simply a matter of destiny? Grinning, he slipped an arm around
Deborah and chuckled when she blushed. Toasts were proposed—to the
new marriages, to Mouette, and to the Nicholson baby, who would be
born in the fall.

Finally, the conversation turned from
personal topics. Devon quizzed her mother and stepfather about the
battle and its aftermath. Nick reported that 85 men had been killed
and 35 wounded at Fort Griswold. The 30 prisoners had been returned
in less than two months, thanks to Nathaniel Shaw's negotiations,
but 4 of them died in the meantime. He told bitterly of the death
of Colonel Ledyard, commanding officer of the fort, who had been
run through with his own sword after he presented it in surrender.
Devon chimed in with her heated account of the hours she had spent
in the tree over the Burial Ground, watching the traitor who had
led the redcoats. Nick informed her that Benedict Arnold had left
for England the previous December, though rumor had it that the
British thought him less than a hero and society ostracized him and
his wife.

Nearly 150 buildings had been burned in New
London alone. Nathaniel Shaw's wife, Lucretia, had contracted a
fever while nursing sick prisoners and died five months ago. The
most shocking piece of news was that Shaw himself had been killed
in a hunting accident only a few weeks before, leaving the
war-ravaged New London without the leader who had helped the town
through its most perilous years.

After two hours of animated conversation, the
group quieted. Devon took Mouette and opened her bodice so that the
baby could nurse. Nick and Raveneau smoked cigars and talked of
General Washington, now at his headquarters at Newburgh, New York,
wondering if any more fighting would precede the peace treaty.

As Mouette dozed off, Devon refastened her
gown and became conscious of a certain electricity traveling from
Raveneau's body to hers. When she looked over at him, his scarred
jaw tightened and silver eyes slanted briefly in her direction,
sending a delicious fiery thrill down her spine.

"Nick, Mama... might we impose and ask you to
watch Mouette for a while? I am so anxious to explore New London. I
was so overwrought when we came here, and now I feel that I can
enjoy seeing familiar places."

"Certainly!" Nick boomed. "We'll be happy to
have the little babe all to ourselves, won't we, Debby?"

"Of course. I know you must be wanting to
visit the Gadwins and your other friends. Your old friend Rebecca
still works for us, and she should be back for supper. She'll be
beside herself with excitement to find you home. And when she sees
Mouette!" Deborah smiled at the thought.

Raveneau let Devon lead him out of the house
without a question. Her hand was warm and tense in his, her cheeks
flushed. The wide-brimmed hat and sunshade were left behind and her
hair slipped free of the pins, abundant curls gleaming in the late
afternoon sun.

Devon felt as nervous as a virgin, blushing
more hotly each time she met his knowing eyes. His very nearness
undid her, pulling her like a tantalizing magnet, scattering
reason.

They walked quickly away from the heart of
New London. Devon led the way, tugging at Raveneau's hand, urging
him to meet the frantic pace she set. He did not make it easy for
her, though at least he spared her the torturous ordeal of mock
conversation. Later they would talk. Still, his eyes were on her,
aware of the effect he had on her, his chiseled mouth softened
slightly with ironic amusement.

His hand was tightening around hers, strong
fingers sending fresh currents of passion over her. She lifted her
gown with her free hand as they crossed the Post Hill Road and set
out over Little Owl Meadow, past the sawmill. Deep green grass rose
up like a river and Devon waded onward, along the edge of Perry's
Pond. Finally they reached a thick, sprawling orchard and Raveneau
stopped. He pulled Devon around to face him, piercing her with his
eyes.

"No one ever comes here," she whispered
brazenly.

"Madame, what are you saying?"

When his hands touched her sides, they seemed
to burn away her gown, scorching the soft flesh where her breasts
blossomed. Devon's knees gave way and she swayed against his
hard-muscled body. "Please..."

He lifted her up and kissed her with a savage
tenderness that betrayed his own need. Devon was swallowing hot,
aching tears, trembling in his arms. Now it was Andre who led, half
carrying her deep into the orchard where apple blossoms still clung
to the trees and the grass was as thick as a feather bed.

Pure love and fiery passion met and blended
like snow and sunlight. This was a perfect union, for Devon was
free to give herself without shame or anxiety, and Andre at last
expressed his love for her with an eloquence that words could never
match. For once, nothing tainted their moments of wild fury, and
Andre was able to reveal the depth of his tenderness.

When at last they were spent, the sun was
beginning to set above the trees. Devon turned on her side and
pressed her face into his broad chest. He caressed her tangled
curls and the softness of her back, kissing an ear, shoulder,
bruised mouth.

Slowly, leisurely, their hands and lips
explored until Raveneau hooked her leg over his waist, joining
their bodies once more. They moved almost lazily, hips grazing and
sliding apart, teasing, savoring each wondrous sensation. They
smiled and kissed as they climbed the peak together, then fell in
an excruciating blaze of slow motion. Devon put a hand on his
buttocks, keeping him joined to her, and closed her eyes as he
laughed and kissed her at the same time.

"Are you cold, sweet?"

"I've never been warmer, but I don't think I
will be able to walk," she groaned.

"How sad." Raveneau made a face of mock
sympathy.

"Mouette will be hungry..."

"Mmm... not half as hungry as I have
been."

Desire kindled anew as he slipped a hand into
her hair and pulled her against his mouth. It was a long, deep
kiss, but Devon started in surprise as she felt him stiffen inside
her.

"Andre! I don't believe it! Impossible!"

"My appetite and capacity are both
legendary," he murmured, flashing a devilish grin. "Ah, Devon, it
has been so long! You'll never know how I have craved this. My
restraint has truly been proof of my love for you."

"I still cannot believe it when I hear you
say that word. You love me!" She laughed with delight.

"I do. Yes. Today, when you were dragging me
off to ravish me, I knew it more certainly than ever before. There
isn't a woman alive who could compare with you." He chuckled as she
nibbled hard on his ear. "You are guileless down to your bones, and
it's not just youth. I know you will never change."

"Ravish
you!" she giggled.
"Honestly!"

He arched a black brow. "I would say that the
word is entirely appropriate!" His hands moved to hold her still.
"This is a beautiful place. Would you like to live in this area?
Mystic, or Stonington, or perhaps Newport?"

"But what about your island?"

"Devil take that island. I never want to see
the place again. I've arranged to free Captain Longheart and his
ship—
sans
cargo, of course—on the condition that he picks up
Eugenie en route. Also, I wrote a letter this morning asking Cook,
Hermann, and Elsa to come staff our new home. I see no reason to
leave any more than a handful of servants on the island, and those
only to keep the place from rotting away."

"Oh, Andre, do you mean it? How wonderful! I
cannot absorb such news! Elsa! Cook! A house of our own!"

"I thought we three might take a short
honeymoon along the coast, looking for the ideal spot. I'd like a
large place with sunny rooms and a great library, a few dozen acres
with woods, and a stable for horses. What do you think?"

"I am numb."

"I only need to be near a good harbor. The
privateering business will end with the war, and I want to lay the
groundwork for the China trade. I don't plan to sail on every
voyage, now that I have other responsibilities, but I'll admit the
excitement of it is already in my blood."