Touch the Sun (57 page)

"That's not what I mean! Look, near the stern! There's a boy trying to douse the fire!"

Ryan surveyed the neighboring craft through his brass telescope. Drew was right. A boy was crouching on the quarterdeck, heaving a wooden bucket of water into the flames on the gun deck below. He wore a sailor's knit cap pulled low, but coppery curls escaped from the sides, and there was something about the profile of the boy's face and the shape of his legs and hips that made Ryan's insides knot with foreboding.

Turning to the first mate, he said, "I'm going to remove that boy from the ship. I ought to be all right alone but stand by to assist me."

There was a momentary lull in other activity as the British organized for the row to shore. Grimly, Ryan sprinted down the
Chimera'
s gangplank and boarded the adjoining vessel. Through the billowing smoke and leaping flames, he discerned the slight figure of the ship's would-be savior coming toward him.

"Come on! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The boy was choking on the smoke and had one arm over his eyes as he staggered forward with the cumbersome bucket. "Can't let it burn!" he croaked.

Ryan grasped the thin arm. "You're coming with me!" His own eyes burned from the smoke and he could barely make out the boy's face.

"Let
go
!" Fiercely, the boy wrenched free and, pulling off his coat, began batting the spreading flames. The coat caught fire, sending orange flames licking toward the boy's pale, sooty face. Just then a steely arm came around his midsection, hoisting him into the air. "Let me be!" he shrieked.

"I have no intention of watching you burn to death, you little fool," Coleraine ground out, hoisting the slim form over his shoulder and fighting his way through the flames and smoke toward the gangplank. His struggle was complicated by the flailing legs of his captive and the fists that rained ineffectual blows against his back. "Stop that, you hellion, before I toss you in the river and let the British fish you out!"

"They couldn't be worse villains than you!" came the furious reply.

Returning to the
Chimera
was an ordeal, but finally Ryan was back on his own quarterdeck. Harvey and Drew stepped forward to relieve him of his burden. The boy continued to struggle wildly against the restraining grips on each arm while Ryan rubbed his eyes and sighed. Finally, with slow deliberation, he reached out and removed the knit cap, freeing cascades of luxuriant golden-rose curls.

"I feared as much," he murmured, arching a brow. "Miss Raveneau, do you really think it safe to venture out of the house so late at night? I doubt that your parents would approve."

Excerpt from

Natalya

Special Author's Cut Edition

Beauvisage Novel #2

by

Cynthia Wright

The year is 1814. Natalya Beauvisage, daughter of Caroline & Alec, is in France at her ancestral chateau in the Loire Valley. She is 26, an independent author, and she now longs to return home to America in spite of the war that makes travel dangerous...

"I'll find a way," Natalya insisted. "And I'm not motivated by stubbornness, or a whim. Something inside"—she pressed a hand over her heart—"tells me it's time to go home. It's the same inner voice that bade me leave Philadelphia and travel to Europe after my twentieth birthday. Whether it is God or my own best instincts, I trust it enough to do my utmost to obey."

Everything Natalya did and felt seemed to be
bigger
than normal, Lisette thought as she formulated a tactful reply. However, before she could speak, Marie-Helene appeared in the doorway.

"Madame, there is a stranger outside, insisting that he speak to M'sieur Nicholai." The little maid's eyes were wide with trepidation.

"M'sieur Nicholai and James have not yet returned from their ride to Saumur?"

"No, madame."

"Well, I'm sure that they'll be back momentarily. It's started to rain, hasn't it? You must ask our visitor in, give him a drink, and assure him that M'sieur Beauvisage should arrive home within minutes."

Marie-Helene looked pained. "Madame, this man is... a
stranger."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Lisette was losing patience. "If he is a friend of my husband's—"

"He does not look like any friend of M'sieur Beauvisage's that I have seen before. He looks almost—dangerous...." The maid began to wring her hands nervously.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Natalya exclaimed, "I'll go down and deal with the man!"

Standing, she drew her shawl close around her slim shoulders and hurried out of the room. Marie-Helene scuttled along behind, head down. They descended the curving, white marble stairway, Natalya's fingers skimming the rail of the intricately carved, black wrought-iron balustrade. At the bottom stretched the chateau's long gallery, magnificent with its floor of black-and-white marble squares and its renaissance tapestries. Through the gallery's long windows, which overlooked terraced gardens, Natalya could see the stranger who struck such fear into Marie-Helene. Clad all in black, he stood inside the arched doorway to the chateau's east wing. A slight breeze billowed his cape and caused him to lift his head, giving Natalya a glimpse of a rakish, dark, bearded face.

Baby hairs prickled along the back of her neck, a novel sensation that startled her.

"Voila!"
hissed Marie-Helene. "You see? He is a devil!"

Natalya blinked. "I see nothing of the kind. Your imagination is driven wild by this ferocious weather."

"Je t'implore
,
do not open the door to him!" the maid cried.

As she crossed the stone entry hall, Natalya realized that Marie-Helene was scurrying in her wake like a child trying to hide behind her mother. She put her hand on the latch and warned, "You needn't cling to me if you're so terrified of this person. I can deal with him on my own."

"Mais, non!
I cannot leave you, mam'selle. I am here to serve you with my very life, if need be!"

Natalya stole a brief glance heavenward and tried not to smile. "I'm sure I don't deserve such blind devotion. You'd better brace yourself, then. I'm going to open the door... now!" She was nearly laughing as she pushed back the bolt, lifted the latch, and dragged open the heavy door. Her eyes were sparkling with merriment, and a silken honey-gold curl came loose to brush the side of her cheek.

Then, Natalya focused on the stranger. Her body stilled and her smile faded, while the pounding of her heart grew deafening. Never before had she seen so striking a man. The effect was intensified by the angry twilight, which hurled raindrops, faster and faster, at the black-clad giant.

Perhaps he wasn't really a giant, Natalya amended, ever aware of her tendency to embellish reality; but he was bigger than her father or Uncle Nicky, both of whom were tall and broad-shouldered. The stranger's size was made more menacing by his black cape, which swirled out over worn trousers stuffed into muddy black boots. Most arresting of all, though, was his proud head, with a profile that bespoke arrogance and danger, and a keen intelligence. Natalya was struck by his wild, wet black hair, which was laced with silver, and by his pale face with its sculpted bone structure and steely eyes. He wore a trim beard, and his mouth looked sensual and hard all at once.

"Bonsoir, madame,"
the stranger said in a voice that sounded hoarse and tired. "I beg your pardon for this intrusion, but I have come a very long way to speak to your husband."

Startled, Natalya exclaimed, "You're English!"

"I'm afraid so," he admitted. "And you are... American?"

"Yes. Monsieur Beauvisage is my uncle. My aunt is upstairs at the moment, but my uncle will be back directly. Would you care to come in and—" She heard Marie-Helene gasp and felt her tug urgently at the back of her shawl. Natalya gave her a quelling glance. "You must excuse our maid. She has taken it into her head that you are a dangerous character and—"

The man turned his head sharply, as if he had heard an expected but unwelcome noise. "If you don't mind, I'll accept your invitation and come in now," he said hurriedly. "This weather is devilish."

Before Natalya could step out of the way, he pushed past her, causing Marie-Helene to cry out. Natalya herself was beset by a sudden wave of apprehension as she realized that he knew her uncle was not present. In the interest of fairness and good manners, she had written off his appearance to the rain, wind, and duration of his ride, but now she could see that beneath the cape his clothing was frayed, his hair and beard were overdue for grooming, and there was an evil-looking scar across the hand that reached out to push the door closed. When he turned again to look at her, she immediately recognized the threat in his gleaming gray eyes. She wasn't surprised when he put his hand under his cape and drew out a long, sharpened dirk. At the same time, she became aware of the clatter of hoofbeats entering the courtyard of the chateau.

"Do as I say," the man said curtly, "and neither of you will be hurt." He stared hard at the trembling Marie-Helene. "Compose yourself! When the two men who have just ridden up come to the door, they'll describe me, and you must tell them that you have not seen me, do you understand? You must be calm and convincing, little girl, else your beautiful mistress will feel my blade." He waited for the maid's crazed, wild-eyed nod, then lifted Natalya off the floor and carried her into a tower alcove just a few feet from the door. "Don't fight me," he ground out. "Be silent!"

The hand covering Natalya's mouth was wet and smelled of horse and sweat and damp wool. His other arm clasped her waist, and now she felt the tip of the dirk press upward between her breasts, the steel cold through the thin muslin of her gown. His body seemed to surround her: powerful, musky, terrifying. As more unknown and potentially dangerous men pounded at the door, Natalya waited for her heart to explode.

"Shh. Don't move," the stranger whispered, his breath madly ticklish against her ear. "If you're very good, perhaps I'll give you a kiss after they've gone."

This sudden burst of teasing humor, so peculiarly and arrogantly male, made Natalya long to sink her teeth into his palm. Never had she met a man whom she despised more!