“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 André 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 her teacher, who was sorting papers at the front of the schoolroom.
“If you had written your theme last night, as instructed, you wouldn’t be here now,” Lindsay Raveneau 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!”
Betsy tossed her curls impatiently. “You haven’t answered my question! Don’t you find Captain Coleraine attractive?”
“We’ve never met, but from what I’ve seen, the answer is no.” Lindsay shuffled her papers nervously. “His looks don’t appeal to me. I prefer fair men. Aside from that, Captain Coleraine’s character is, in my opinion, repugnant.”
“Repugnant?” Betsy was unfamiliar with the word but sensed its meaning. “How can you say such a thing?”
“He’s an uneducated, cocky rogue,” Lindsay stated with finality. “Take my advice and stay away from men of his ilk. They lack scruples and take pleasure in ruining the reputations of gullible females like you.”
From the doorway, a male voice spoke. “Am I to infer that you don’t approve of me, Miss Raveneau?”
Startled, Lindsay spun around to find Ryan Coleraine leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched. A smile of cynical amusement played over his mouth.
“I—I—” she stammered. Hearing Betsy’s muffled giggle, she looked in her direction. “You may go now, Elizabeth.”
“But what about my theme? I’m not finished yet!”
“You may finish it tonight.”
As the teacher and pupil continued to argue, Coleraine’s dark blue eyes wandered over Lindsay Raveneau. He was surprised to discover that she was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful than her mother. She was about twenty and taller than Devon Raveneau. Even though Lindsay wore a demure, cream-colored chemise frock and a cashmere shawl, Ryan’s practiced eyes detected a lithe, long-legged body with a narrow waist and high, perfect breasts. Her hair was the same amazing rosy-gold shade as her mother’s, and she wore it in a fashionable Grecian knot high atop her head, with a profusion of soft curls escaping to frame her lovely, intelligent countenance.
“Good-bye, Captain Coleraine,” Betsy said as she passed him in the doorway.
Ryan looked at Lindsay. “Dare I enter? I can assure you that I have come not to ruin your reputation but to inquire after your father.”
“Please, come in. I apologize for the things you heard me say about you, but you should have made your presence known instead of eavesdropping.”
He approached her desk, thinking that he had never met a young lady with so cool and confident a gaze. Lindsay’s eyes were striking: thick-lashed and the color of smoke. Her complexion was creamy, with smudges of pink accentuating her cheekbones, and below a delicate nose reposed a mouth with a frankly sensual lower lip. Perhaps there was hope for this bluestocking after all, he thought as his eyes lingered there, then rose to meet her questioning gaze.
“My father is in Philadelphia, Captain Coleraine.”
“So I have been told. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Raveneau.” Ryan extended a strong hand and gently clasped hers. “I’m sorry that you’re unable to say the same.”
Color stained her cheeks. “It’s been a long day, Captain Coleraine, and I may have spoken rashly. Again, I beg your pardon. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to finish my work here. How can I help you?”
“I am anxious to see your father. Able Barker thought that you might know when he’s returning to Pettipauge.”
“Within the week. I’m sorry that I can’t give you an exact date.”
Coleraine shrugged, frustration further darkening his mood. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll just have to wait. I appreciate your speaking to me, Miss Raveneau. I know it can’t have been easy.” He gave her a cool smile and turned toward the schoolhouse doorway. “Good afternoon.”
When his hand touched the latch, Lindsay called, “Wait! There’s something I’ve always wanted to know. Will you tell me how you chose the Chimera’s name? I was surprised when Papa told me that you had christened her.”
He glanced back over one broad shoulder. “I liked the image of a she-monster with a serpent’s tail, a goat’s body, and a lion’s head spitting flames. I think of my ship like the chimera from Greek mythology: a magical creature with the ability to overcome all obstacles.”
Lindsay inclined her head. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be a student of Greek mythology, Captain.”
He laughed shortly. “Believe it or not, Miss Raveneau, I don’t spend every spare moment seducing unsuspecting young females!”
The door closed behind him and Lindsay found herself alone in the schoolroom, murmuring rejoinders that she was certain she’d never have an opportunity to employ.
* * *
Misty clouds veiled the luminous, perfect crescent moon that hung suspended in a black sky. Lindsay knew that midnight had passed, yet she continued to sit at her window, gazing down at Main Street. At one end, ships, including the imposing Chimera, swayed at anchor along the Point, while at the other end, the street was bordered with clean white houses that shaded upward into Pound Hill.
The village was quiet now except for an occasional sailor or two emerging from
the Griswold Inn. Lindsay guessed they must be from the Chimera, still celebrating their sea triumphs.
Earlier that evening, Able Barker had repeated a rumor that the Chimera would head a fleet of ships from Pettipauge that would slip into the sound in an effort to break the British blockade near New London. Able had marveled, “What an honor for Captain Coleraine! Your father certainly knew what he was doing when he gave that Irishman command of the Chimera!”
Able’s wife, Cassie, was the family’s housekeeper. Still pretty and buxom at fifty, she never missed an opportunity to tease her earnest husband. Lindsay sighed now, remembering how Cassie’s eyes had twinkled as she rejoined, “I think the women of Pettipauge have benefited most! Ah, it’s pure pleasure to behold Ryan Coleraine! How I hope that Lindsay’s parents invite him to supper when they return from Philadelphia!”
It was certainly a strong possibility, Lindsay thought, propping an elbow on the windowsill and resting her chin on her hand. She was unnerved to realize how much time she had spent this evening reviewing her meeting with Ryan Coleraine—and unconsciously spinning fantasies for the visit he would doubtless pay to her home after her parents returned. She tried to give herself the same lecture she’d delivered to Elizabeth Urquhart about the foolishness of mooning over a rake like Coleraine. Still…when he’d smiled at her with those blue eyes, female instincts Lindsay hadn’t known she possessed kindled deep inside of her. The mere thought of him sent a current of exhilaration through her heart, while her mind warned, “Danger! Beware!”
I have to get some sleep, Lindsay thought. She was just about to turn from the window when she caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped figure silhouetted in moonlight on the street below. Lindsay didn’t need to see the man’s face to know that it was Ryan Coleraine. Perhaps it was the way he cocked his head ever so slightly to the right before bending to kiss the woman he held in his arms. Lindsay couldn’t identify her and realized that she didn’t want to. The embrace was continuing as Lindsay drew her curtains closed and turned toward the bed, her cheeks burning.
In bed, she stared at the canopy and thought, I was right the first time. The man’s a tomcat. He’d turn his charm on for anything that wears skirts. Thank God I came to my senses and took his measure before I did something incredibly foolish!
* * *
Yanking off his boots in total darkness, Ryan Coleraine supposed that the hour of three must be at hand. Certainly it was the middle of the night and he was a fool to be awake. Harvey, his steward, would be shaking him at dawn, waving coffee under his nose and urging him to eat the plate of scones, kippers, and eggs he specially prepared for his master.
With a moan, Ryan threw himself down on his moonlit bunk. Muscles flexed over his hard, tapering chest as he crossed both arms over his eyes, too tired even to remove the ever-present books that poked his side and the sole of his left foot.
The woman’s scent lingered on his skin. Frowning, Coleraine removed his arms from the vicinity of his face. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done tonight; he wasn’t even certain of the woman’s name. Kathryn? Kathleen? They’d just met that evening. Her husband had been killed at Fort Erie and she’d been alone ever since. Ryan supposed that Kathryn (Kathleen?) and he had come together out of mutual need, and the woman was certainly an adult, but he’d seen the familiar softening in her eyes when she looked at him, heard the note of joy in her voice, and, as always, he felt unsettling twinges of guilt. Now it would be necessary to avoid her, for Ryan certainly had no intention of using the woman on a regular basis. If his mother were still alive, she’d label him a sinner, but that wasn’t quite true. At least he told himself so late at night when sleep wouldn’t come. Ryan never took a woman who wasn’t willing, and he backed away instantly if he sensed that she hoped for love. He hadn’t been raised to break women’s hearts, but at the same time he had no wish to marry and believed celibacy a sacrifice for saints. Nights with women like Kathryn (Kathleen?) were inevitable.
Sighing, Ryan ran long fingers through his hair and flipped onto his stomach. When he closed his eyes again, he saw Lindsay Raveneau: a shaft of sunlight on her reddish curls, color suffusing her fair cheeks, a glint of fire in her rare, smoky eyes. He wondered what her smile would be like, then decided it was better that he didn’t know. Miss Raveneau would be a female to avoid even if her father was not the owner of Ryan’s ship.
A sudden instinct caused him to end his fantasy abruptly, then rise to look through the transom at the far end of the cabin. Ryan couldn’t see anything, but the slight shifting of the Chimera told him that there were boats on the river.
“Captain!” Harvey burst in, his eyes blazing in the moonlight. With his usual flair for the dramatic, he cried, “The British have arrived under the cover of darkness to deal a fatal blow to all Pettipauge’s ships!”
Coleraine pulled on his boots, then followed his bounding steward up through the hatch onto the gun deck. Not far in the distance, chill winds whipped whitecaps on the dark waters around several double-banked, eight-oared boats that were crowded with red-uniformed soldiers. Obviously, the British had left their larger ships in the sound and rowed the five miles to Pettipauge, but Ryan saw that they had come prepared. His sharp eyes discerned nine-and twelve-pound cannonades, boarding pikes, bayonets, and other sundry equipment necessary for naval attack. Even worse, there were torches, already being lit.
“My God, they mean to burn us all out of the water!” he whispered hoarsely.
“So it would seem, sir,” Harvey agreed in mournful tones.
The rest of the crew was struggling up on deck, bleary-eyed from the night’s celebrations. Coleraine’s heart thudded as he realized how many were absent. It was his own fault. He’d been hard on them at sea and they’d performed beautifully. Today, when the officers and crew had come together in the Griswold Inn’s taproom, hoisting frothy mugs of ale, their benevolent Captain Coleraine had granted a night’s leave to anyone who wished it. It seemed that more than half the crew had accepted the offer, including his first lieutenant.
Chaos seemed to erupt around the Chimera. Men were barreling down Main Street and lining up along the Point, muskets in hand. Ryan felt as if he were having a bizarre dream as he watched the villagers load their one viable weapon, a four-pound cannon.
Meanwhile, flames shot up from the vessel that was under construction next to the Chimera. The British were returning Pettipauge’s attack with their own cannonades, and British marines lined up along the barges to deliver a volley of musket fire.
“Captain, what’ll we do?” cried Flynn, the Chimera’s first mate.
Ryan leaned against the main mast and smiled crookedly. “There isn’t a thing anyone can do. We’re at anchor; we can’t position ourselves to return fire. They’re prepared and we aren’t.” It galled him to admit defeat without a struggle, but he was a pragmatist. He’d never attacked without knowing that the odds were in his favor and thus had never lost. Ryan knew every member of his crew and he wasn’t prepared to see even one killed for a futile point of pride.
The cannon fire had come to a stop on the Point. The men, realizing that it was hopeless, laid down their muskets to indicate that they would offer no further resistance. Even from a distance, Ryan could see the burning frustration in their eyes.
“Captain, look!” Flynn exclaimed at his shoulder.
Coleraine glanced back, then followed his first mate’s pointing finger to the flames that were spreading over the deck of the nearly completed ship next to the Chimera. It had promised to be André Raveneau’s finest accomplishment, a privateer that Ryan had been forced to admit would surpass even his own sleek and beautiful vessel.
“I know, Flynn, it’s a damned shame, but you may as well brace yourself. I fear we’re destined to lose the Chimera as well—and every other ship at anchor in Pettipauge.”
“That’s not what I mean! Look, near the stern! There’s a boy trying to douse the fire!”
Ryan surveyed the neighb
oring craft through his brass telescope. Flynn 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 long 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 yelled.
“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 Flynn 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.
The Secret of Love Page 32