Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (45 page)

"Bonsoir,
mademoiselle," he said in a
husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her
back.

"Are you employed here, sir?"

He seemed to find this question highly
amusing. "No, I am not."

Lisette wondered with a start if he was a
highwayman or a criminal of some sort. Perhaps he meant to rob the
guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her
physical harm.

"I must insist that you tell me who you are,"
she commanded, "and why you are here!"

Slowly, with graceful strength, he crossed
the kitchen's planked floor. In the firelight, Lisette could see
that his hair was a dark chestnut color. It was not queued, but cut
into ruffled layers that grew away from his face and curled
negligently over his collar. There was a long fresh gash across one
dark cheek. In spite of the dusty condition of his clothing,
Lisette realized that the man beneath was quite clean. Tall, lean,
and muscular, he smelled pleasantly of salt water, horses, and
night air. To her surprise, the stranger reached out to catch her
flour-smudged hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that startled
her by its sensuousness.

"Nicholai Beauvisage, at your service,
mademoiselle," he said with wry jauntiness.

Lisette was stunned as she tried to absorb
this news.
"Nicholai Beauvisage?"
she echoed. "I—but—why, I
don't believe you!"

"You don't?" Both eyebrows flew up. "I am
devastated to hear you say so. And, now that we have that matter
settled, I believe it is
my
turn to insist that
you
identify yourself."

Seated, Lisette felt at a disadvantage. The
man towered over her, seeming to mock her somehow, so she wiped her
hands on her apron and stood up. It was disconcerting to find
herself only even with his wide shoulders, for Lisette was taller
than most women.

"My name is Lisette Hahn."

"Hmmm... that seems to—" He broke off,
snapping his fingers in amusement. "I have it! Hahn's CoffeeHouse.
I was there tonight for a jug of ale and I was surprised to learn
that I could get supper as well. The stew was like ambrosia after
the food I ate at sea. Are you one of
those
Hahns?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I am pleased that
you enjoyed my stew, sir."

"Why the devil are you here?"

"As a favor to your alleged brother and
sister-in-law. I made these tortes for this party tonight." When he
moved to the window, gazing toward the house, Lisette persisted, "I
still don't believe you are Nicholai, but
if
I did, I would
want to know how you came to be here tonight."

He looked down at the lovely girl who stood
at his shoulder. Moonlight streamed in through the window, shooting
her long pale curls with silver lights. He was unaccustomed to
seeing a female in public with her hair loose and flowing this way,
and there was a direct, intelligent glint in these blue eyes that
he found intriguing. She smelled of vanilla and butter, yet was
utterly appealing: slender and graceful, with an exquisite neck and
soft rose-tinted lips...

"It is quite simple, Lisette. The situation
in France has become rather uncomfortable, so I decided the time
was ripe for a visit home. My ship docked tonight. Since my house
in town is closed up, I went to my parents' to see them and fetch
the key, only to learn they had come
here.
So, I procured a
horse and rode out. When I saw the light on back here I thought I
might find some soap and water before venturing into the fray –" He
gestured toward the lights, music, and laughter. "Where are Mrs.
Forbes and Pierre and all the rest?"

"They've all gone to the main house. Dinner
will be served momentarily, so they are busy with that. As you can
see, I'm left with the last course—and I had better finish up
before Pierre returns to fetch these."

Nicholai's eyes lit up at this. "Pierre is
coming?
Bon Dieu,
it will be wonderful to see that old elf.
Do you know, I've been gone ten years... and it suddenly seems a
lifetime."

She regarded him from the corner of her eye
as she assembled the last torte. He certainly did sound authentic.
"I don't think you will find your family much changed. Have you
been in touch?"

"Letters, yes—until a few months ago, when I
was forced to leave my chateau for Paris. I've been duly informed
of all the births, weddings... and Grandmere's death." He perched
on the edge of the table and stared into the fire. As she spread
orange icing, Lisette's eyes wandered over Nicholai Beauvisage.
There was a chiseled strength about his profile that was very
unlike the description Katya had given of her brother. Fun loving,
easygoing, vulnerable—those were the adjectives people had used in
reference to the younger Beauvisage brother. But if this was indeed
Nicholai, it was obvious that the decade he had spent in France had
carved out a very different man. The lines of his body were steely;
muscles and tendons showed in his bronzed neck and were outlined
beneath the clothes that concealed the rest of his body. All
outward signs of a harder inner man, Lisette thought.

"You are staring, mademoiselle," Nicholai
told her sardonically. "Do you find me odd looking?"

The last torte was done; Lisette put the
wooden spoon into an empty bowl and gave him a wry smile. "Not at
all, Mr. Beauvisage. I was thinking that, although you may not see
many changes in your family, I'll wager that they will be surprised
by the transformation
you
have undergone!"

Excerpt from

Caroline

The Author's Cut Edition

Beauvisage Novel #1

by

Cynthia Wright

***~~~***

***~~~***

One could hardly imagine a more perfect
October day, for the autumn of 1783 had painted the Connecticut
landscape in her most glorious colors. The low mountains were a
riot of flaming oranges, reds, and yellows which contrasted sharply
with the clear azure of the sky. The air had a clean chill to it,
and Alexandre Beauvisage, winding his way between the trees astride
a handsome stallion, felt very good indeed. He had been brimming
with a rich euphoria for over a month now—ever since the final
Peace Treaty had been signed in Paris. The last eight years of war
had been long but victory made all the bloodshed and tragedy seem
worthwhile. The cost of freedom had been high, but that shining
prize belonged to America at last.

Granted, it had been two years since the
British had laid down their arms to General Washington at Yorktown.
Only the most sporadic fighting had occurred since then, and the
majority of the American soldiers had been able to go home to their
families long ago.

Alec grimaced when he thought back over his
own life during the past two years. All through the Revolutionary
War, he had only occasionally played the part of soldier; his had
been a unique role tailored especially to his talents and
background. He had been a mixture of spy and scout, given the
trickiest and usually the most dangerous assignments. After
Yorktown, Alec had been able to return to his home and business at
intervals, but just as he would settle back into a normal pattern
of life his services would be needed again.

"We simply can't trust anyone else to carry
off this plan without being detected, Beauvisage. You are a
master!" the officer in charge would declare. Alec had to admit
that despite the terrible aspects of war, there was a certain
thrill in the role he played. He had roamed the swamps of South
Carolina with Frances Marion, captained a sleek privateer, and
drunk cognac with Washington and Lafayette on the banks of the
Hudson. He had been required to put his ingenuity and intelligence
to full use, and the constant danger had been stimulating. Perhaps
the return to full-time everyday life would prove boring?

A bright patch of color beneath a tree at the
side of the trail caught Alec's attention, rousing him from his
reverie. Gently, he brought his horse, Ivan, to a stop and
dismounted, walking back to investigate. It appeared to be a packet
of garments drawn hastily together inside a piece of bottle-green
silk. He hunkered down among the crisp leaves, preparing to open
the bundle, when a soft moan rose from the trees to his left. His
head came up, instantly alert, and then he was off as lightly as a
cat in the direction of the noise. Soon he spotted its source—a
small form lying at the foot of an oak tree about twenty-five feet
away. Cautiously, Alec drew a pistol from his belt and moved
forward. From a distance, he perceived the figure to be that of a
young boy, clad in ill-fitting gray breeches, a loose white work
smock, and a green tricorn hat that seemed to cover his entire
head. Drawing alongside the boy, he replaced his pistol and knelt
down beside the still form. His dark brows came together at the
sight of two suspicious shapes outlined against the loose shirt.
Tentatively, Alec placed a hand over one of the mounds, which
proved beyond a doubt to be a beautifully formed breast.

"What the hell?" he muttered in bewilderment
while drawing the green hat off. Lustrous honey-colored hair
spilled out over the rusty leaves and Alec let out a low whistle as
he bent over the girl's face. She looked little more than eighteen,
and for a moment he felt that he must be dreaming. The girl had the
face of an angel. Her eyes were fringed by long lashes that brushed
her creamy skin. Alec's gaze took in her tiny nose, and came to
rest on appealing lips. Gently, he raised her head and cradled it
in his arms. Almost instinctively, he tipped her chin up with his
forefinger and covered her mouth with his own.

When he felt her lips move gently in
response, he drew back, thinking, Who do you think you are,
Beauvisage—a damned Prince Charming? Involuntarily, his mouth
twisted in a smile of cynical amusement. What do you suppose I've
got myself into this time? he wondered, and grinned in spite of
himself.

* * *

The girl felt as if she was gliding down to
earth from a great height, and seemed to touch ground with only the
smallest jolt. She opened her eyes slowly and looked up into a most
remarkable face. It was brown and lean, framed by shining
raven-black hair drawn casually back and tied at the neck. The man
wore a short beard, but it failed to disguise his charming
half-smile or the contrast of his gleaming white teeth with tanned
skin. Above a straight nose sparkled eyes of an amazing turquoise
color which held her own almost against her will. As she became
more fully conscious she realized that she felt no fear, although
he held her in his arms and his muscles were hard against her
cheek.

Alec, for his part, found himself looking
into warm caramel-brown eyes flecked with gold. The girl was simply
exquisite!

"M'lady, I would, be extremely gratified if
you could attempt to explain your presence here. I must confess to
a curiosity that grows stronger by the minute!"

As the girl struggled to sit up, Alec braced
her with his arm. Gingerly, she raised her hand to touch what
proved to be a large lump. Alec gently parted her glossy hair and
looked closely at the swollen area. His forehead creased at the
sight of the nasty bump and a patch of dried blood.

"Tell me now, what has happened here? What is
your name and where do you come from?" His deep voice had grown
sharp with concern.

The girl covered her eyes as though
collecting her thoughts. Then, slowly, she drew her hand away, her
eyes brimming with sudden tears.

"Oh, sir—I don't seem to be able to remember!
I cannot recall a thing—not even my own name!"

* * *

Several minutes of questioning brought Alec
no closer to the truth. He surmised that the girl had probably been
riding and caught her head on a low-hanging branch. Perhaps
something had frightened the horse, causing her to lose control. At
any rate, the steed was gone, and Alec was left with an injured
woman-child dressed in boys' clothing who had no memory of her
past.

He had propped her up against a tree trunk
and was pacing through the dry leaves. The girl was alternately
investigating the contents of the green silk bundle and watching
Alec stride to and fro. He moved with a natural grace and
suppressed strength that were easy to admire. His fawn-colored
breeches were close-fitting and showed the play of muscles in his
lean thighs with each step he took. Leather boots, softly shining,
rose to his knees, and a linen shirt split halfway down the front
to reveal a hard brown chest.

Suddenly the girl's soft voice broke the
rhythm of Alec's rustling stride through the leaves.

"Sir, you wouldn't be a pirate by chance,
would you? Perhaps you're ashore to bury your treasure...?"

He threw back his head and laughed with pure
delight.

"Why do you ask that, pray tell?"

"You look the way I suppose pirates must
look. Quite swashbuckling and adventurous, really. Rather
unscrupulous, too." She found him grinning at her and blushed. "I'm
sorry about that last. It wasn't a very nice thing to say, was
it?"

Alec strolled over to drop down beside her
and clasped one soft hand between his strong ones.

"Think nothing of it. I admire your candor
and I must confess that I laugh in part because you hit quite near
the truth. My father was indeed a pirate—a French buccaneer of the
first water. If the war had not intervened, perhaps I would have
followed in his footsteps!" Alec's smile held a hint of mockery,
but there was warmth in his eyes. They darkened, however, as the
problem at hand returned to his thoughts. Gesturing at the clothes
which lay on the piece of green silk, he asked:

"You don't see anything there that sparks
your memory?" He had already been through the bundle himself, but
found little that looked informative. There was another simple
white smock, one of the loose shirts worn by Colonial men as part
of their working attire. Also inside the bundle were a few items of
well-made underclothing, a lacy fichu, and some dainty shoes.
Lastly, there was a lovely gown, simple but pretty, the color of
buttercups and trimmed in lace. Inside of it were wrapped a fine
china hairbrush, two satin ribbons, and a bar of jasmine-scented
soap.