Devon tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "I understand."
She prayed for an end to the conversation, leaning into his chest with its familiar warmth and scent and hard planes. Safety... contentment... for how long?
* * *
At midmorning, when the Black Eagle reached Secret Island, as Devon had silently dubbed it, the truth came out.
"You'll stay here, Devon, until I can return," Andre said. "As you know, the frigate has been taken ahead, so I can only stay long enough to complete repairs on the Black Eagle. Winters are severe at sea... you'll be safe here until spring."
Wheaton and his boatswain's mate were at the wheel, Lane was examining the charts, while the rigging was alive with men. It wouldn't be long now.
Devon stood near the bow with Raveneau, fighting tears, away from most of the chaos. Safe! That was the word he had used. Didn't he know that she felt safest with him? He must be aware that I love the sea, too, she thought. But to say these things aloud would sound like pleading, and she couldn't bear that.
"Fine!" Devon heard her voice, brittle and cheerful, from a distance. "When spring comes, we'll find a real solution."
Raveneau looked down at her sharply, scrutinizing her profile as she pretended to study the sea. Their minds and hearts suddenly were farther apart than ever.
* * *
The island was incredible. Almost against her will, Devon warmed to it, to the lush jungle that crowded twisted pathways, to the wild, isolated beaches, but most of all to the huge, ornate house that Raveneau's father had built.
House! Devon thought. "Castle" would more accurately describe it. Set on a hill in the center of the island, its sculptured turrets rose above the trees. Inside, the house was a marvel of lofty proportions, marble panels and carving, tapestries, wood, glass, and mirrors. The gilt furniture was ornamented with nymphs, shells, and sphinxes. Raveneau, during the tour he gave her of the house, pointed out many fine pieces which had been part of captured cargo.
It seemed like the ultimate fantasy—a secret island belonging to the most dashing pirate-patriot, complete with a castle which could have been lifted from a sumptuous fairy tale. Devon wandered speechlessly through the rooms.
As they mounted the white marble stairway that would lead them to the bedchambers, Raveneau observed Devon. Her reaction to the house was surprising; somehow he had hoped that she would mock it and insist that she preferred the warm, paneled cabin they had shared on the Black Eagle. The awe-struck expression she wore hurt and disillusioned him. Cynicism came easily—hadn't he told himself all along that all women were alike?
The bedchamber which Raveneau announced would be hers left Devon utterly spellbound. Just standing on the thick rose carpet decorated with swirling pale green vines made her feel like a princess. The large windows opened to a breathtaking view of lush greenery, rocky cliffs, ribbon-like beaches, crashing white waves and an expanse of blue ocean.
A towering, intricately carved canopy bed dominated the room. It was hung with rose, green, and gold tapestry and covered with a counterpane of rose silk. Near the marble fireplace there was an intimate seating group that consisted of a long chaise, two gilt chairs, and a curved sofa.
"Oh, Andre..." Devon's voice sounded far away, a sigh of pure pleasure. She turned dreamily to find him leaning against the doorframe, glaring. "I never imagined such a place could truly exist! In my mind I used to make up—" The expression on his face made her stop.
"I am so pleased that you approve, mademoiselle," Raveneau replied coldly. He slowly crossed the room to gaze moodily out a window. "You aren't curious about this chamber? Its former occupants? The star boarder was my father's mistress, who lived on this island for twenty years. What a woman! She turned my cool, adventurous father into a besotted idiot. She played with him like a cat with a mouse. Everyone could see her for what she was but mon cher papa. It was Veronique who persuaded him to build this outrageous palace. She nagged him night and day for more money—the marble stairs were her major victory. She refused—" Raveneau broke off. He stared out at the ocean and pressed a fist to his brow. "At any rate, my sweet, it would seem that you and this house were meant for each other. However, it would be a mistake for you to imagine that it is a gift. As the owner, I shall determine your method of payment."
Devon's eyes were stricken and confused as she watched him turn and walk toward her. The playful lover she had known at sea was dead, replaced by a man who moved like a stalking panther, his harsh face more dangerous-looking than she had ever seen it before. When they were standing face to face, Raveneau reached out to capture her bare arms with powerful hands. His mouth covered Devon's, searing and cruel, lighting a fire in her loins but scorching her heart.
Her brain cried silently against the scene being played out, but Devon was lost to the fierce chemistry that exploded whenever he touched her. His savagery seemed to heighten her own fever pitch. She clung dazedly to his broad shoulders and pressed herself closer, hungering for him.
In minutes they were naked, twisting together on the priceless counterpane; bronzed, muscular length and peach-soft, frenzied fragility. There was nothing gentle or tender in the way they touched one another. Their kisses were bruising, and each devoured the other's body without regard to past inhibitions or the white-gold sunlight that flooded the bed. At last they met, joining feverishly, moving together until the end came in a burst of silver fire.
* * *
"M'sieur Raveneau?"
Through a dense fog Devon heard the tapping. She lay with Andre, their sleeping bodies tightly fitted together. Silk sheets. With an effort, she opened her eyes and saw him watching her from only inches away. For a long minute they remained thus, measuring each other.
"We... slept?" she whispered.
Raveneau smiled, slightly taunting. "How could we not?"
Devon felt a sudden, humiliated blush begin in her breasts and rush upward, heating her face. Andre had taken her over and over again with a ruthless fervor that she had matched. Every muscle in her body ached. How could I have behaved so... wantonly? she wondered.
It was puzzling—the difference between this fierce, caustic Raveneau and the relaxed, tender lover she had grown to trust on the Black Eagle. Did this island work some sort of dangerous magic on him? Underneath the confusing tangle of her thoughts crouched the most fearful question of all. After last night, was there any possibility that Andre could learn to love her? At this moment, even his respect seemed beyond her grasp.
The tapping began again. "Attendez!" Raveneau shouted, getting out of bed to search for his breeches.
They trailed across the rug beside the chaise, at the other side of the room. Devon watched the play of muscles over his golden-brown body as he stalked over and pulled them on. Then, to her horrified embarrassment, he threw open the door and waved a stranger into the bedchamber.
"A thousand pardons, m'sieur!" the man exclaimed, instantly averting his eyes from the bed. "I did not know—"
"Like hell," Raveneau muttered. He made a sweeping motion with his hand, mocking them both. "Bernard Souchet, allow me to present Mademoiselle Devon Lindsay, who will be occupying this room for the next few months. Devon, this is the gentleman who manages the house. He is the voice of authority in my absence."
Souchet appeared to be around forty-five years of age, short of stature with a thickening waist. He wore a white wig with side curls and a splendid green brocade coat over a gold satin waistcoat. He cleared his throat nervously and said, without looking at Devon, "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Lindsay. It will be a pleasure to have you here."
Sick with embarrassment, Devon looked over the covers and replied, "Thank you, Mr. Souchet."
"I would not have bothered you, sir, but since you have been in the house for many hours, I thought perhaps you might have need of my assistance in some way. The cook has been wondering..."
"Yes. Feed the crew. Let them come to the house to eat and get out a few bottle
s of rum. Mademoiselle Lindsay and I would like a hot bath and a chilled bottle of champagne. We will eat here in two hours, and you may have a table and chairs brought in. See that the fire is lit."
"As you wish, m'sieur." Souchet bowed and began to back out.
Raveneau added, "Incidentally, I will be using this chamber during my stay. Ask my steward to bring my things here."
Souchet opened his mouth as if to protest. Then he nodded, and left.
Chapter 20
***~~~***
November 9, 1781
Five days slipped away until the day the Black Eagle was scheduled to sail.
Andre and Devon had spoken little, but had clung together violently, all their pent-up emotions exploding in turbulent, often desperate lovemaking. Out of bed, Raveneau remained frosty, and Devon's confusion and humiliation grew.
The last day, Raveneau awoke first and stared at the bed which had belonged to Veronique, the scheming bitch who had made a fool of his father. When he turned to look at Devon, knowing it was the last time they would awaken together, he found it more difficult than usual to believe her a scheming bitch as well. Frothy curls, the color of the sunrise, trailed across his chest. Her face nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. Deceptive innocence! he reminded himself, gazing at her soft, parted lips, tilted nose, and thick lashes. One bare breast peeped enticingly from the covers.
A voice in the corner of his brain declared, "You will miss her!" Raveneau silenced it by turning his hard body toward the supple warmth of hers, embracing her roughly, kissing her awake. For a moment she was limp, then stiffened in the token resistance he had come to expect. When he pushed her deep into the silk pillows and let her feel the strength of his desire, her slender arms came up to grip his back, nails cutting into sun-browned muscles as she feverishly answered his kiss.
* * *
Devon watched Raveneau the entire day, and it was impossible for him not to notice. She joked and laughed, but her sapphire eyes swam with sorrow, and though he questioned its authenticity, he still could not muster his usual coolness.
Just a few more hours, Raveneau told himself. By evening, his existence would be simple once more; at sea, he would know exactly who he was and how he should react. And in port he would go to luscious, uncomplicated Isabelle, who would welcome him with open arms.
As Devon smiled at him across the breakfast table, Raveneau silently cursed Caleb Jackson for having found her. Until that September day, he had never wavered or wondered in all his adult life. He was escaping not a moment too soon. One more day might find him mooning in her wake just as his usually sane father had with Veronique.
Minter was there to see to Raveneau's belongings. Everything he needed would be returned to his cabin without the slightest effort on his part. Mr. Lane was completely in charge on board the Black Eagle, full of himself and his responsibility.
Picking up his coffee cup, Raveneau moved to look out the huge windows, appraising the efficient action on the island and his ship, then turned to Devon. She wore the white muslin gown she had been "married" in. Her luxuriant hair was freshly washed and worn loose, inviting his touch. She sat on the edge of the gilt chair and looked up at him, her expression poignant with hope and longing. Something inside Raveneau crumbled and he said, "I would enjoy a long walk today. Would you care to join me? We might steal some wine and food from the kitchen and have our noon meal on the far beach."
Devon swallowed visibly, fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms. Her joy showed itself in a heart-melting smile. "Oh... I think that is a magnificent idea!"
"Well, then, get up!" He smiled back and put out a tanned hand to assist her. Devon thought she would collapse with happiness when he slipped an arm around her, leading her off toward the stairs and one last bright adventure.
It was only a few hours respite from the misunderstandings that divided their hearts, but this was a day that Devon would contemplate often in the months to come.
Raveneau held her hand as they walked, explaining the island's vegetation and rock formations and even allowing her a few lighthearted reminiscences of their colorful past. On the beach, at the opposite end of the island from the Black Eagle, Devon lay back against his chest as she sipped wine and recalled the times she had stared after him as a child.
"Are you serious?" Raveneau exclaimed, wishing he could believe she was as guileless as she seemed.
"Of course I am!" Devon laughed, remembering that he had forgotten their first kiss in Nick's carriage. "I thought that you were wonderfully dangerous. Totally disreputable."
"And now?" His arm closed tightly around her back, turning her body.
"My opinion has not altered."
"Nor mine of you, petite chatte. The first time I saw you, I knew you would bring me nothing but trouble."
He reached up to slip his fingers into her hair and bring her face closer. They kissed, their lips scarcely touching, yet a searing flame shot through Devon's body and found its mark.
"I have never known a female like you," Raveneau whispered, watching her face.
"Really?" Devon was horrified to feel tears scald her eyes and hastily moved from his gaze, back to the sheltering shoulder. "I suppose I must seem unbearably drab, but then one must make do."
"Please! No plays for flattery. I hope we are beyond that."
Gulping back tears, Devon sat up and announced, "I am famished!"
They ate slowly, chatting about the war, General Washington and the French fleet, and the wonderful battle at sea that they had shared. The future was a taboo subject. Devon watched Andre, not tasting her food but memorizing every chiseled line of his face, the silver-gray of his eyes, the magic of his sudden smiles, the contours of his body. In a white shirt, biscuit breeches, and knee boots, he was more attractive than any man she had ever seen.
After pouring the last of the wine into Devon's glass, Raveneau slipped out a pocket watch and glanced at it. "It is getting late."
"Yes. Of course." She wanted to weep, to have him hold her while she poured out every hidden feeling. There were so many things that needed to be said. But Devon knew they would have to remain locked in her heart, at least through the winter.
Together, they replaced plates, bowls, napkins, glasses, and cutlery in the wicker basket that the cook had supplied. Then Raveneau sat back on his heels and looked hard at Devon's flushed face. He struggled with a powerful desire to let his heart go, but, as always, he remembered the lesson of his father and Veronique in time to save himself.
"Should we start back?" Devon asked, knotting the end of her sash with nervous fingers.
"Ah... no. No, we have a bit of time." His hand reached to capture her own, and suddenly they were kneeling face to face, his arms encircling her waist. "Devon, I—"
Raveneau groped for words, but, finding none, he pulled Devon against him more roughly than he had intended and covered her soft, wine-sweet lips with his mouth. Both of them were hungry now in a different, more urgent way. Eyes locked, they undressed each other in the sandy sunlight and touched slowly, savoring every caress. Raveneau's lips scorched her shoulders and tender breasts as she closed her eyes and moaned aloud.
Finally, he lay back in the sand and pulled Devon over his narrow hips, filling her eager body with his hard, pulsing shaft of desire. As she rode him, her head thrown back in the salt breeze, his stormy eyes committed the picture she made to memory.
* * *
After returning a disheveled Devon to the house, Raveneau went aboard the Black Eagle, promising that he would send Minter to fetch her when they were ready to sail.
In less than half an hour, the steward was at her door. Devon had hurriedly changed her gown and washed away most of the sand that clung to her entire body. When Minter knocked, she had just begun to brush her tangled curls.
"Minter? Come in."
He stood in the doorway and gave her a sad smile. "I’m sorry."
"I am too." She walked to the window and stared out at the ocean
, her rival.
"I know that you can't be looking forward to winter here alone, but if it is any consolation, I will do what I can to steer the captain's heart in the right direction during your separation."
Devon's stomach was knotted and each breath an effort. "Thank you. You know, I feel so helpless! Part of me wants to tell him off; he has no right to treat me as he does, and I shouldn't allow it. But, Minter..." Her face crumpled and she pressed a hand convulsively to her mouth. "I am such a coward these days. I am frightened that anything I might say or do would tip the balance against me. At least now I can cling to the hope that spring will bring us together, but if I ever truly lost him I believe I would die. This love is torment!"
"Now, it must have its good points! Please—I hate to see you cry! Do cling to that hope. I have a feeling here"—he pointed to his chest—"that all will be well. Captain Raveneau is not an ordinary man; he rebels against domesticity like a wild animal. He is suspicious. He has never needed anyone before. It has always been the other way around."
"It would seem that his childhood was not very loving," Devon allowed, comforted by Minter's logic.
"There, you see? And you must realize that so many years of damage cannot be undone overnight." The question was, he brooded silently, was it possible for the captain to ever love Devon as she deserved to be loved?
After a brief sigh, Minter forced his widest grin. "I knew you would be lonely, so I asked Captain Raveneau if I might select a maid for you among the serving girls—one who might also provide some agreeable companionship. I found a girl you should adore. Her name is Elsa, and she will be waiting when you return from the beach."
"Oh, thank you! How shall I manage without you?" She touched his tousled red hair affectionately. "You have been a wonderful friend... I will miss you."
"And I will miss you." He was blushing like a schoolboy. "You may trust me to continue as your friend in the months to come. I shall watch over the captain for you... as best I can."
Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) Page 22