Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (24 page)

"Sounds like a man after my own heart,"
Raveneau murmured sardonically.

"If you are going to take that attitude—"

"No, please. I apologize. Do go on."

"Well, there is not much to tell. We led a
quiet life, but we made wonderful plans for our future! We are
going to sail all over the world someday. I want to see
everything—"

"Ah! Morgan owns a ship, I take it?"

"Well, no, but—" His mocking expression made
her nervous. "We are going to get our own ship after we are
married."

"Really? How?"

"That is none of your affair!"

"Ah,
je comprends.
A secret plan.
Hmmm... well, I wish you luck with this swashbuckling husband.
Perhaps one day our ships will meet at sea."

"I hope not! Pirate that you are, you would
doubtless attack us."

Raveneau laughed, but his gray eyes were
watchful as he stood up. "I have just one last question. Won't
Morgan mind your association with me? And what of tonight? How
would he have felt if he had seen you fluttering your lovely lashes
at all those men?"

Devon knew the answer but could never admit
to Raveneau that Morgan was far too tractable to become angry over
her behavior.

"Morgan trusts me. He knows that he is the
one I love," she declared.

"An amazing man," Raveneau reflected, "...or
a fool."

***~~~***

October 21-23, 1781

Now a hospital, the Governors Palace had been
home to seven royal governors between 1710 and 1775, and Devon
stared in awe as Raveneau guided her under the brick archway, past
neglected, lozenge-shaped flower beds and the brick buildings which
flanked the forecourt.

"This is where Mr. Jefferson lived as well?"
Devon asked softly.

"Yes."

A soldier appeared at the door, shading his
eyes against the morning sun. "Do you need help? There is camp
fever inside, so we don't encourage visitors."

Raveneau and Devon walked up the steps. "We
are looking for a young man named Morgan—"

"Gadwin," Devon supplied, her heart racing
with suspense. "He is from New London, Connecticut, and we were
told that he could be found here."

The soldier smiled. "Oh, yes, I know Private
Gadwin. You'll be happy to learn that he came through his illness
in fine shape. He was discharged from here two days ago, but I have
heard since that he is staying at the Market Square Tavern." He
grinned at Raveneau. "Recuperating, you know."

After thanking the soldier for his help, they
walked back toward the brick archway.

"Well!" Devon exclaimed. "The news couldn't
have been better. Morgan is healthy and here in Williamsburg."

Raveneau grunted testily.

They started across the vast, autumn-tinted
Palace Green that would bring them back to Duke of Gloucester
Street. Since the tense discussion of the night before, she and
Raveneau had remained cool and distant. His gray eyes were flinty
when they met hers, and Devon's emotions were in a state of
turmoil. It was impossible for her to understand her feelings about
anything, Morgan or Raveneau, the present or the future. She wished
she could turn back time to September fifth and find herself tucked
safely into her bed above the Linen and Pewter Shop.

I was so confident and outspoken then, she
thought. I didn't know when I was well off!

Duke of Gloucester Street was crowded with
soldiers, negro slaves, servants, pigs, dogs, horses, cows and a
sprinkling of the well-dressed gentry. Market Square was located at
the street's midpoint, between the capital and the College of
William and Mary.

The Market Square Tavern was not as fine a
building as the Raleigh, where Devon and Andre had rooms, but
inviting all the same. It was surrounded by a stable, a Saddlery
and Harness Making Shop, a charming garden, and a large smokehouse.
The tavern itself was two rooms deep and one and a half stories
tall, like most of its Williamsburg neighbors.

As they approached the door, Devon's knees
weakened, accompanied by an apprehensive tightening in her
breast.

Raveneau intensified his grip on her arm and
lifted a dark eyebrow. "Why aren't you charging in like a runaway
horse?"

She gave him a cold, disdainful look and
reached out to open the door. The tavernkeeper appeared almost
instantly, beaming. "Captain Raveneau! It is a great pleasure to
see you! Can I offer you a room?"

"Bonjour,
M'sieur Maupin." Andre
reached out to shake his hand. "May I present Mademoiselle
Lindsay?" Maupin and Devon exchanged greetings and Raveneau
continued, "It is not lodging I seek, but this young lady's fiancé.
We have reason to believe he may have taken a room here."

"Ah! A reunion of young lovers! I hope that I
can help. What is this fortunate fellow's name?"

"Morgan Gadwin," Devon replied, flinching
inwardly.

"Happy news!" Maupin boomed. "He is in the
parlor at this very moment. Come along!"

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat and
followed the tavernkeeper. Raveneau continued to hold her elbow,
bending and whispering in her ear, "How long we have both waited
for this moment,
petite chatte!"

She made a face at him and tried to pull her
arm away just as Maupin slowed and stood to one side. Flustered,
Devon looked up, feeling Raveneau's hand drop away, and immediately
saw Morgan.

The room was spacious, wainscoted in natural
pine, with a large Queen Anne table at its center. Around the
table, a dozen bow-back Windsor chairs were occupied by
high-spirited young men, more than half of them clad in uniforms.
The air smelled of smoke and ale.

Morgan seemed like a stranger. She had never
seen him with an ale mug in his hand, let alone slack-jawed and
blurry-eyed. His hair was raggedly queued, his shirt soiled and
unbuttoned to reveal a thin, pale chest.

"D—Devon?" he quavered. His voice sounded
high. She could sense the expression on Raveneau's face.

"Yes, Morgan." Even she could scarcely hear
her voice. Morgan's drinking companions were leering at her,
laughing and reaching over to hit him on the arms and back. After a
long moment he struggled to his feet and came toward her.

"Oh, God, Devon!" Tears filled his eyes, but
the effect was spoiled by an ill-timed belch. "How—"

He grabbed her clumsily, and she was
nauseated by the smell of ale. When his arms relaxed and he drew
back, her eyes were also sparkling with tears.

Gabriel Maupin saw to it that the parlor was
quickly emptied of its occupants so that the young lovers might
have a few moments alone. As the men filed out, Raveneau made a
move to follow them, but Devon frantically reached for his coat
sleeve.

"No! Please stay! I mean—I want Morgan to
meet you. After all..."

Morgan blinked, glancing from Devon to the
tall, black-haired, dangerous-looking stranger. The man smiled, as
though amused, and replied in a deep voice with a faint French
accent, "As you wish,
petite chatte."

Little cat? thought Morgan foggily. "Who are
you?" he asked aloud.

"My name is Andre Raveneau," the Frenchman
said, showing a flash of white teeth when he smiled.

Devon walked toward the table, explaining
nervously, "You remember, Morgan! He is captain of the
Black
Eagle,
the most notorious privateer that ever sailed up the
Thames."

The men took chairs on either side of Devon,
and Morgan replied dully, "Yes, I remember. I am honored to meet
you, Captain. But I don't understand."

"Please!" Raveneau protested. "Andre. I feel
as if we are old friends. Devon has talked of nothing but you these
past weeks."

"Weeks?" echoed Morgan.

"Andre brought me from New London!" Devon
exclaimed. "Actually, I sneaked on board, but he was kind enough to
allow me to stay."

"I am very soft-hearted when it comes to true
love," Raveneau explained gently.

Morgan's head began to hurt. He looked around
for his mug. It was empty, so he picked up the next one and took
several long swallows. "I still don't understand." He wished the
Frenchman would go away so that he might lay his hands on Devon.
How delicious she looked, her strawberry-blond curls tumbling about
her face, her breasts peeping teasingly above the bodice of a
sea-green gown!

Maupin appeared with glasses and a decanter
of claret, then made a hasty retreat. As Raveneau poured the wine,
Devon explained what had happened in New London the month before,
from the cannon shots before dawn to her recognition of Benedict
Arnold. It was the first time Raveneau had heard the entire tale,
and it seemed to Devon that his eyes were more intense than
Morgan's.

"I don't know what became of your parents,"
she said at length, "but I am certain they were sensible enough to
flee." She didn't mention that Mr. Gadwin might have been at the
massacre at Fort Griswold.

"I have seen so much death and destruction,"
Morgan said brokenly, "so many battles, that it is hard to absorb
this."

Raveneau wanted to say that perhaps he had
absorbed too much ale of late, but managed to hold his tongue. He
already loathed the boy, and he fought protective instincts toward
Devon. How did I know, he wondered, that he would be such a worm?
Of course, he had sensed it long ago, perhaps because it was she
who took the risks to find Morgan and not the other way around. If
the boy had been a man, would she have responded so intensely to
the "pirate" whom she professed to despise?

"At least you were spared Yorktown," Raveneau
said tensely.

"Unhappily, I became ill during the march
south."

"It is fortunate that you made such a
miraculous recovery." Devon looked at him sharply, but Raveneau
gave her an innocent smile.

Morgan coughed dramatically. "I am not
quite
well yet, but I feared that someone might need my bed
at the hospital. But please, enough about me. I am waiting to hear
the rest of your story, darling."

"Well, to spare you tedious details, I was
able to get away from New London, and Andre was kind enough to
allow me on board the
Black Eagle.
After we reached
Chesapeake Bay, I went on to stay with the family of Andre's
steward until two days ago, when Andre returned to take me in
search of you. It hasn't been easy—but here we are at last!"

"Yes, here we are," Raveneau echoed
ironically.

Morgan, sharp-shouldered and glassy-eyed,
looked back and forth in confusion. "It is rather a miracle, then,
isn't it?"

This was Devon's cue to throw her arms around
him and sob, "Yes, yes!" but instead, she only managed to smile and
nod.

"We owe you a large debt of gratitude,"
Morgan went on, looking uneasily into Raveneau's steely eyes.

"Not at all.
I am pleased to see two
people in love reunited. The war has been hard on all of us."

"Yes." Morgan nodded gravely.

"I know Williamsburg as well as Paris, and I
cannot leave matters as they stand now. Please, allow me the
privilege of arranging your wedding. I know a fine parson. Unless
you are Catholic—?"

Stunned into silence, Devon shook her
head.

"No? Good. You will both like Parson Hume
enormously. I know that you must be in dire financial straits,
Morgan, so I insist that you allow me to pay for a proper wedding."
He glanced at Devon, smiling wickedly. "Let us call it a
dowry."

Devon thought that perhaps she was going mad.
Raveneau finished his wine and rose to leave, and she wanted
fiercely to throw herself into his arms.

She and Morgan alone? She remembered the last
time they had been alone, when his clammy hands had fumbled inside
her bodice, then traveled up her legs...

Pride won out. After all, Raveneau wanted
only to be rid of her so that he might return to his privateer. She
couldn't scream, "I was wrong!" after all she had forced him to do
on her behalf. And Morgan was the boy she had loved for years. They
had been happy once, not long ago, and now Devon must adjust
herself to that state of mind again.

So she smiled sweetly, extending her hand,
and said all the proper things. Raveneau managed to shatter her
composure, though, by leaning over and pressing his mouth to her
hand, scorching the soft skin and sending a tingling heat up her
arm. To her chagrin, both nipples tightened against her
chemise.

When they were alone, Morgan squirmed
uneasily. "Well. He certainly lives up to his reputation!"

Devon blushed. "I don't know. He has his
share of flaws."

"Do you think so?" Morgan was inching his
chair closer to hers. "I am glad to know you weren't swept off your
feet. Only a girl like you could stand firm and continue to search
for me with a rogue like that by your side."

His arms snaked around her waist and he
stared greedily at her rosy lips. "I have missed you so, Devon. I
was afraid that you might have stopped caring."

She closed her eyes as his face drew near.
Lips flattened over hers, a tongue pushed between her teeth, and
she remembered Raveneau's long-ago, magical kisses, and the fiery
one she had shared with the spy, Jay. Why couldn't Morgan kiss like
they did? Why did she shiver with passion in their embraces, when
his inspired only revulsion?

She suffered the kiss obediently. Then his
lips nibbled her ear, neck, then the exposed curves of her breasts.
However, when he moved to unfasten her bodice, Devon drew back
abruptly. "No! I mean—Please, someone could walk in. We will be
married soon. There is time enough—"

Morgan's chin quivered. "Oh, Devon, if only
you knew how much I
want
you! To think that in a few short
days we will be man and wife... oh, Lord, I wish the wedding could
be tomorrow!"

* * *