Natalya

Lion was interested and curious at the sight of the tiny, scuffed girl with her amethyst eyes and sooty lashes. Her face, with its small, tilted nose and dimpled smile was deceptively childish. He had a feeling that she was older and more clever than she looked.

  "You aren't Priscilla by any chance, are you?" he queried in a vaguely hopeful voice.

  "Goodness, no! What a terrible shock that would be for you! I am—I am—merely a servant," she blurted without thinking, then paused, wondering why. After a moment, she decided the situation would only be more embarrassing if she stopped to explain and continued, "I must be running along! Again, my apologies, sir!"

  She was gone as speedily as she had appeared, leaving Lion standing alone in the marble entry hall, rubbing his jaw in perplexed amusement.

  * * *

  Long rays of iridescent moonlight slanted across the dark parlor, spilling into silvery pools on the carpet. Meagan sat with her elbows propped up on the polished block-front desk, palms cupping her chin as she stared miserably at a shadowy miniature of Aunt Agatha. In the hallway, the tall-case clock struck twelve.

  Getting to her feet, Meagan pulled the sash of her Chinese silk robe more closely around her waist and walked out onto the flagstone terrace. The rush of chilly night air refreshed and fortified her.

  "Lord," she whispered, gazing up into the inky, star-strewn sky, "this time, could you please lend me some assistance? I have a feeling I am going to need help to carry this off!"

  With a rueful smile, she turned back into the empty house, dark and quiet after more than twenty years of gaiety and light. Her candle stood on a table in the stair hall, the flame struggling weakly in a pool of liquid tallow. Picking up the brass candlestick and shielding the flame with her hand, Meagan hurried up the stairway and down the hall to her spacious bedchamber. She pulled on a pair of clean, fraying breeches, a rough woolen shirt, and a warm gray coat. After turning up the cuffs until her hands showed, she found a ribbon with which to tie back her hair.

  The back stairs that led to the kitchen were cold and winding, and Meagan slid her hands along the damp walls to feel her way down through the darkness. Her buckled shoes sat next to the kitchen door, and after slipping them on, she went outside to the stables. Her own dappled gelding was in the first stall. She was accustomed to saddling Laughter herself and only minutes later she sat astride his back as they trotted out to the road.

  Moonlight cast eerie shadows as it filtered through the trees, but she had no time for midnight fears. The ride to West Hills took less than half an hour, and when she gained sight of the plantation house, Meagan slowed the horse to a walk. Hopping to the ground, she led Laughter into a grove of fruit trees and tied his lead to a low-hanging branch. In her breeches, the run to the mansion was easily accomplished, despite the muddy ground. The servants' entrance was as familiar to her as her own, and Meagan slipped in silently, pulling off her shoes. It took less than a minute for her to reach Priscilla's bechamber and she lost no time waking her friend, who immediately opened her mouth to scream.

  "Don't do anything foolish!" Meagan commanded. "It is I! I have to talk to you!"

  Priscilla pushed herself up against the lace-edged pillows, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Meagan! What are you doing now? I declare, you are the most shocking person—"

  "I had to talk to you when I was certain Captain Hampshire wouldn't be around. I have arrived at the perfect solution to all our problems!"

  Chapter 4

  The high yellow wheels appeared slender to the point of fragility, and Dr. Dick eyed the post-chariot dubiously. A cool, sunny breeze ruffled his dark hair as he turned to speak to Lion Hampshire. "Are you certain that this contraption is strong enough to support the weight of human beings?"

  Lion laughed out loud, his head bent as he finished strapping his valise to the carriage. "Elisha, you are entirely too skeptical! I assure you that not only is it strong enough, but it is also one of the fastest vehicles on the road." He came around then to clasp his friend's outstretched hand. "I thank you for providing me with such fine accommodations

  . It has been wonderful to see you again and to meet Hannah at last."

  "The pleasure has been entirely ours! You are welcome in our home at any time." Dr. Dick paused, frowning slightly. "Are you certain that this marriage to Priscilla Wade will go according to your plans?"

  "Well," Lion smiled dryly, "I'll admit that her brother may have oversold her to me, but I believe she'll do. Priscilla's shallow beauty should suit my purposes quite well."

  Elisha cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "I suppose farewells are in order. Again, thank you for coming to me; it's been wonderful catching up on each other's lives. I hope, after all you've told me, that your problems with Marcus Reems can somehow be resolved. It seems such a shame... Perhaps your marriage might help—"

  "I don't lose sleep over Marcus, and haven't for fifteen years," Lion replied laconically. "His bitterness goes too deep to allow room for hope of mending matters between us. I cannot enjoy knowing that any man would name himself my enemy, but at least I am assured that the fault lies in Marcus, not in me."

  Elisha's face puckered with sadness, not only because of what Lion had said, but also because of the tone of his voice. The gregarious, magnetic youth he had known so well at the Academy had a new, diamond-hard facet to his personality; cool, determined, and apparently lacking in sentimentality. Was it possible for him to have hardened so, or could this attitude be a defense? Blinking, Dr. Dick extended his hand. "Good fortune to you, Lion. Give my regards to our old friends in Philadelphia and keep in touch. If you should change your mind—if your plans don't work out—we should be delighted to see you settle here. Alexandria is destined to become a great seaport, you know!"

  Lion grinned, white teeth contrasting with his tanned face. "I appreciate that, but I intend that my future will be all that I desire."

  He called to Joshua, his coachman, who hopped onto the carriage perch, and then Lion mounted his own chestnut roan. Hair shining in the sunlight, he waved to Elisha and to Hannah, who had appeared in the doorway, then rode away down Cameron Street.

  It was still early when the white columns of West Hills appeared on the horizon, rising over the bare treetops. The yellow carriage was right behind him as he cantered down the drive.

  Priscilla stood on the veranda, looking attractively nervous. The robe of her emerald green silk gown was parted to reveal a pale muslin underskirt tiered with narrow ruffles, while her lovely breasts curved above the low, round neckline. Only a woven shawl protected her from the crisp February air and she took care that it was held open across her bodice. As Lion came toward her she smiled at him coquettishly, dropping her eyes when he raised her soft white hand to his lips.

  "You are looking exceedingly lovely this morning, Miss Wade. I am honored by this personal welcome!"

  His eyes lingered on her bosom in a way that made her blush, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks. "You are too kind, Captain Hampshire... but now that we're betrothed, won't you call me Priscilla?"

  He grinned. "Nothing would please me more. Now—are you ready to leave? Where are your things?"

  Flustered, she hurried past him into the marble entry hall. A large assortment of trunks and boxes filled the area, and Lion let out a low whistle, at the sight.

  "Ah—Priscilla, I was not able to bring an extra wagon for the baggage due to the weather, and I fear that if we attempt to load all of these onto my carriage, the wheels would sink out of sight in the mud!"

  Her expression was horrified. "Sir, I hope you are not suggesting that we leave any of my possessions behind! I was given to understand that I could bring whatever I wished!"

  Lion raised an eyebrow coldly, deciding that his fiancée was beginning to resemble a petulant child. "That, my charmer, was before I realized that you owned more possessions than even one of my ships could carry!"

  "How insufferably rude you are!" she shrilled.

  "Perhaps you had better become a
ccustomed to it or else cease your spoiled tirades. Now, if you still want to travel to Philadelphia, I suggest that you choose two of those trunks and one bandbox. Anything else you need I will purchase for you after we arrive."

  She bit off her next complaint as a vision of the fashionable dress shops in America's largest city flashed in her mind. Suddenly her face was sweet and lovely again as she edged closer to Lion until he could smell the heady scent of magnolia that clung to her. "I really must apologize for my behavior, Captain Hampshire. Why, if Mama were alive, she'd thrash me for speaking that way to you! I can't imagine what came over me. I certainly wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression of your future wife!"

  "Don't worry," he replied with an ironic smile, "I won't form any inaccurate opinions."

  Her crimson lips were turned up to him and Lion took his cue, lightly tipping her chin back with a lean finger. Priscilla closed her eyes, waiting, and was surprised to feel his mouth touch hers so lightly that for a moment she thought she had imagined it. Hesitantly she peeked out from under long lashes and found Lion smiling down at her in an odd way. There was a frost in his eyes that confused and vaguely frightened her.

  Removing his hand from her chin, he inquired, "Where is your brother? We should say our farewells and be on our way."

  Priscilla flushed, stammering in a false, high voice, "Well, it is quite the most peculiar thing! He seems to have eaten something at breakfast which did not agree with him and has taken to his bed!"

  Lion watched her closely, raising an eyebrow. "It is fortunate that you were not similarly afflicted."

  "Yes!" She glanced around agitatedly, half expecting James to recover from his sabotaged meal and appear on the stairs to find her out.

  "Where is your maid? Call her so that we may take our leave."

  He went outside to summon the coachman to help with the trunks and Meagan popped out from behind the highboy in the parlor. She wore a demure gray dress and matching pelisse, giggling softly with excitement as she pulled the hood over her black curls.

  "What a marvelous adventure this is! I am looking forward to practicing this small deception on your self-assured fiancé!"

  Priscilla was wild-eyed. "It will never work! He will know—"

  "Not if you can manage to collect your wits and stop acting so guilty! Besides, what does it matter to him who your maid is so long as you have one?"

  Lion came through the door then and Meagan immediately stared at her feet, assuming an attitude of meek subservience.

  "I thought I told you to call your maid," he said sharply. "What trunks have you decided on?"

  In her panic Priscilla pointed to two of them at random, then hurried over to Meagan's side. For a moment Meagan feared she might attempt to hide behind her. Lion stared at the two of them while the coachman carried out the cowhide trunks.

  "What the devil is going on here? Where is your maid?"

  "H-here," Priscilla gasped and Meagan wanted to pinch her.

  He strode across the floor to peer at her, then drew off the hood on her pelisse. The long black hair spilled down her back and recognition sparked in Lion's eyes.

  "It's you!"

  Excerpt from

  Surrender the Stars

  Special Author's Cut Edition

  Raveneau Novel #2

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  It's the spring of 1814 and the War of 1812 between England and the United States is in progress. Andre and Devon Raveneau live on the coast of Connecticut with their 21 year old bluestocking daughter, Lindsay. Andre still owns ships, one of which is captained by Ryan Coleraine, a rakish Irishman who can elude any blockade. The book's prologue finds the elder Raveneaus in Philadelphia, meeting with old friends who want to persuade them to go to England on a mission for the president. Part One opens in Connecticut, where Ryan Coleraine's ship, the Chimera, has just docked.

  Descending the Chimera's gangplank, Ryan Coleraine set foot on American soil for the first time in one hundred days and smiled. Behind him, the privateer he commanded swayed at anchor alongside other proud ships lining the Point. Painted pale yellow, with a blue stripe between the wales, the sleek brigantine basked in the spring sunlight as sailors scurried over her decks and up the ratlines, unloading cargo and securing the lines.

  "Are you off to the Griswold Inn for a drink, Captain?" inquired Drew, the Chimera's first mate, as he set a crate of rum on the wharf.

  Coleraine gazed distractedly out over the glittering Connecticut River. "Not just yet. I have to report to Captain Raveneau first on the success of our voyage." He gave the young man a smile then. "When you and the others are finished here, come along to the Gris and I'll buy you all a round."

  "Thank you, sir! I can taste it already!"

  Ryan's progress up Main Street was slow as various residents of Pettipauge stopped to welcome him home. The greeting jarred a bit, for Coleraine was there so little that he'd never felt that this was his home. He was more at ease on board the Chimera, surrounded by a sweep of ocean, than here on this street lined with clean white houses and shops, budding oaks and rows of sunny daffodils.

  Young women turned to stare as the privateer captain passed by, but he was too preoccupied to notice. At thirty-one, Ryan Coleraine was shockingly attractive. Tall, lean, and strong, he was blessed with shining, crisp black hair that curled against the back of his neck, brilliant blue eyes, chiseled features that were somehow accentuated by his closely trimmed beard, and a devastating smile. Today he wore a white shirt, a simple, snowy cravat, a blue-gray waistcoat with a thin charcoal stripe, gray breeches that skimmed his long, hard thighs, and black knee boots. In his left hand, he casually held a midnight-blue coat.

  Approaching the Raveneau house, he considered what he wished to say to the man who had been his mentor since his arrival in Pettipauge nine years ago. Ryan had worked long and hard, earning Raveneau's trust and saving his money. Now he was ready to strike out on his own. He wanted to buy the Chimera, which he had designed and christened himself. How would Raveneau react?

  The large Georgian house owned by the Raveneau family had been built on the right side of Main Street within sight of the ship-lined Point. Painted a warm, light yellow, in contrast to its white neighbors, the home seemed to exude contentment. Square boxwood hedges marked the boundaries of the corner yard, while budding elms arched before beds of jewel like crocus and narcissus. Ryan thought that the house's windows made the inviting picture complete: green shutters framed open sashes and clean, fluttering curtains. It was hard for him to believe that when Raveneau was Coleraine's age, he, too, had called the sea his home and had been a confirmed rogue and womanizer.

  Able Barker, the family's tall, rawboned butler, answered Ryan's knock at the door and informed him that the Raveneaus were away in Philadelphia and that he wasn't certain when they'd return. Then, seeing the younger man's disappointment, he added, "I'll wager that Miss Lindsay would know. Why don't you stop by the schoolhouse and ask her?"

  "Miss Lindsay?"

  "Captain Raveneau's daughter. She's been schoolmistress since Ethan Painter went off to war. Doing a fine job of it, too. The schoolhouse is up on Pound Hill. Think you can find it?"

  "I'll manage. Thank you, Able."

  "Captain, how did you fare at sea?"

  Coleraine's grin flashed white. "I'd say we did rather well. We took eleven prizes and our hold is well packed with rum, sugar, brandy, wine, dry goods, iron, fish, and fruit. Best of all, we lost not one man."

  "Congratulations, sir! Just the sort of news Pettipauge needs to hear."

  Back on Main Street, Ryan searched his memory. He couldn't recall ever meeting this mysterious daughter, but then he usually saw Andre Raveneau in the latter's office on the Point. Ryan vaguely remembered hearing that the attractive, adventurous Raveneaus had somehow produced a serious, bookish daughter, but he'd laughed at the time, dismissing the idea.

  The handsome, three-story, green-shuttered Griswold Inn loomed up to his
right, its open doors beckoning him to enter. Ryan longed to relax inside with his friends, to prop his booted feet on a scarred table and drink a tankard of ale, but first he had to pay a tiresome visit to Pettipauge's schoolhouse.

  * * *

  "I wish you would let me finish this tonight," complained Betsy Urquhart. She sat alone, surrounded by empty desks, and gazed mournfully at the figure sorting papers at the front of the schoolroom.

  "If you had written your theme last night, as instructed, you wouldn't be here now," her teacher replied without looking up.

  "King Lear is so tedious." She pouted. "Besides, I thought you were my friend, Lindsay!"

  "When we are in this room, I am your teacher and you must address me accordingly. Now, finish your theme so that we may both go home!"

  Betsy wrote laboriously for several minutes, then said, "One would never guess that you are just two years older than I am—or that you come from such an adventurous family. I don't understand how you can be so dull—"

  "I am not dull!" Lindsay answered sharply. "Simply because my relatives are afflicted with wanderlust, that does not make me dull. I choose to remain on land and pursue more serious endeavors. I enjoy teaching. Imparting knowledge to others is a great source of satisfaction to me."

  "Do you never long for even a bit of adventure?" Betsy eyed her speculatively. "Or... romance? Mary Pratt told me that the Chimera is supposed to dock today. She's practically the only ship that has been able to elude that blockade of the sound, but considering her captain, it's no surprise." She paused to sigh dreamily. "I was planning to walk to the Point after school in hopes of seeing him. Surely even you must grow weak at the thought of Ryan Coleraine! I've never seen a handsomer man...."

  "Don't be absurd. In the first place, the Chimera is not the first privateer to achieve such feats. My father was just as successful during the Revolutionary War, and, as you know, Papa had the Chimera built, so your precious Ryan Coleraine is in his employ!"