Silver Sea (54 page)

"Hush, minx! I may own the shop, but I don't have a talent for making bonnets! Leave me the bill, now. Stay awake in church this week and perhaps you'll see the thing modeled." His eyes danced.

"Nick, you are too bad."

"And you, miss, are an authority on making mischief! Which reminds me—Shaw mentioned today that he's seen you wandering about the docks! That's got to stop, Devon. You'll find yourself with more trouble than even you can handle." He looked at the Frenchman. "Isn't that so?"

"Unquestionably," Raveneau confirmed.

"You'd better be off as well, Devon. Your mother will give me the devil for keeping you all afternoon. Knowing you, you took the longest route getting here." Nick put an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her tumbled hair. "Can't you find a comb in that shop?"

"Must you scold me? I can see that this is not the place to come for a good laugh any longer!"

Nick chuckled and gave her an affectionate wink. "Say, I've an idea! Perhaps Captain Raveneau would see you home. What do you say?"

"Sir, you have read my mind," he said. Devon doubted it but was thrilled all the same, until he added, "The only drawback is that I came on foot."

He's laughing at us! Devon thought, humiliated. The man is a cad!

"Oh, that's no problem," said Nick. "It is getting dark; no time of day to be wandering the streets. I insist that you take my carriage. I'll have a boy drive you."

Raveneau lifted a dark brow, but his only reply was, "You are too kind, M'sieur Nicholson."

"Nonsense! Wouldn't want anything to happen to America's most valued privateersman!"

"What about
me?"
Devon demanded, feigning outrage.

"Well, now, that's another story!" Nick laughed, ducking her effort to cuff his arm. They left the library and were walking toward the door when Nick inquired conversationally, "Still reading
Gulliver's Travels,
Devon?"

She laughed. "You underestimate me! That was last week! I've finished
Candide
and that tiresome
Vicar of Wakefield
since then."

"And now?"

"I don't think I should tell you."

Raveneau looked on with interest as Nick's bristling gray eyebrows came together. "Devon—"

"Tom Jones!"
was her cheerful reply.

"Good Lord! Where on earth did you get a copy of that?"

Rebecca opened the front door and Devon scampered outside before calling back, "From your library, of course!"

Nick clapped a hand to his head and was shaking it hopelessly from side to side as Andre Raveneau bade him farewell. "An interesting visit!" he commented, unable to repress a smile. "I will see you in a few weeks, M'sieur Nicholson."

Nick recovered enough to grasp the Frenchman's hand and wish him luck with the voyage he would undertake on the morrow.

A handsome carriage was brought around, the horses tossing their heads at the sight of Devon, who greeted them and the young driver by name. A bemused Andre Raveneau helped her up, and after a last wave at Nick they started off down Union Street.

Suddenly Devon felt a choking shyness close around her. Gazing at her lap, she was able to view Raveneau's legs as well, only a few inches from her own. The long muscles of his thighs were outlined against the fawn breeches he wore; she yearned to touch him, to find out if his leg could actually be as hard as it looked.

Raveneau could feel her scrutiny. It was unsettling. What was the girl looking at? "I was quite impressed to hear of all the books you read this week," he said at last, hoping to halt her gaze before it continued any farther up his legs.

Startled, Devon looked up. Outside, dusk was deepening into a blue-gray mist, and she had the impression that this entire experience was not real, but one of her recurring dreams.

"Were you really?" she asked. Perhaps he was laughing at her again.

"Of course! I do not know many literary females, especially of your age."

"I am not so young!" Devon retorted hotly.

Raveneau could not help glancing at the soft curves displayed by her too-small dress. "No, of course not, mademoiselle. Not a child, by any means!"

Devon thought she detected a glint of silver in his penetrating gray eyes. Oh, he was so handsome! Even in her dreams he had not looked so devastatingly attractive. Her eyes moved over him in the dimming twilight, memorizing the gleam of his black hair, the hard lines of his scarred jaw, mouth, cheekbones, the strength of his neck, the width of his shoulders...

Raveneau managed to meet her dreamy eyes. "Mademoiselle, you seem to be greatly preoccupied with my looks! Perhaps you'd like a closer view?"

He brought a dark hand up to her chin. Devon shivered at his touch. Her heart pounded in her ears and he moved nearer, then slowly lowered his head until their lips brushed. Raveneau meant to give her the briefest of kisses, just something to dream about, but her lips were so soft, as sweet and moist as crushed berries. Hesitantly, they moved against his harder mouth, and he slid his fingers around her neck, into the cloud of her hair. She smelled of sunshine and fresh air...

Devon was sailing through a sea of stars; she tingled from head to toe. Tentatively, remembering the way Morgan had kissed her, she parted her lips. Raveneau was lost. His tongue touched even white teeth, then the soft, sweet tip of her tongue and he was shot through with the fierce sort of desire he hadn't experienced in years.

Abruptly he broke away, forcing himself to remember that he was kissing an innocent girl who looked to be nearly half his age. He slid his hand from her hair reluctantly, saw huge blue eyes staring up in confusion. He stared back, astounded.

"Good God!" was all he could say, and each word was like a gunshot.

Devon's entire body blushed crimson with shame. As the carriage drew to a halt before the Linen and Pewter Shop, she rallied and delivered a stinging slap to Raveneau's dark, harshly cut cheek.

Excerpt from

Spring Fires

Special Author's Cut Edition

Beauvisage Novel #2

(A Beauvisage/Hampshire/Raveneau Novel)

by

Cynthia Wright

Spring Fires brings back beloved couples from CAROLINE, TOUCH THE SUN, and SILVER STORM! The story centers around the indepedent beauty, Lisette Hahn, who owns a CoffeeHouse in 1793 Philadelphia with her ailing father, and dashing Nicholai Beauvisage, who has lived in France for a decade and lately has been embroiled in the bloody revolution in Paris. This excerpt opens with a party being given by Alec and Caro Beauvisage in honor of the newly-elected Senator Lion Hampshire. Lisette has agreed to provide desserts for the party and has come to Belle Maison's kitchen in spite of her father's worsening health.

March 25, 1793

It was a beautiful, clear starlit evening at Belle Maison. Caro and Meagan dressed for the party upstairs before joining their husbands in the library. The strains of music drifted up to greet them as the two couples descended the wide staircase together.

Caro, lovely in cream satin embroidered with seed pearls, was relieved to see Pierre DuBois hurrying toward them from the dining room.

"Madame, I have delivered Lisette Hahn to the kitchen building," he informed her, "And—"

"Oh, thank goodness! I'd begun to fear that you'd had a carriage accident."

"There is a reason we were late. Her father has taken a turn for the worse and she was reluctant to leave him. But, because she had given you her word, she did come, and she is making the tortes. I promised to bring them over to the main house when they are done."

"I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Hahn! Lisette really didn't need to come; we certainly would have understood. Pierre, you'll tell her, won't you? I was going to invite her to join us, but I can't imagine that she would care to do so..."

Alec wandered closer to capture his wife. "Caro, are you ready?"

Servants were posted in Belle Maison's entryway to greet the guests and take their wraps before they proceeded into the stairhall to greet the host, hostess, and the guests of honor.

Among the first to arrive were Alec's parents. The dashing Frenchman's Russian bride had come to him as pirate's plunder over forty years ago. Although their love remained deep, their life was quieter now. With the latest dark developments in France, both Jean-Philippe and Antonia seemed to move under a cloud of worry.

Caro kissed them and asked, "Is there news?"

"We have no word of Nicky," her mother-in-law replied. "I can think of little else."

They went on into the brightly lit parlor just as William Bingham entered with his beautiful wife Anne, who was known as "Queen of the Republican Court" now that Philadelphia was America's capital.

"I hope you do not mind that I brought a guest?" Anne inquired a trifle haughtily, pulling forward a pale, birdlike girl. "This is my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall, who is visiting us from England. Ophelia, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Beauvisage and Senator and Mrs. Hampshire."

The girl tittered nervously before offering her hand. She stared, first at the dark, rakish Alec and then at the dazzling new senator.

"Ah, here is Samuel Powel," murmured Alec with relief, turning to greet Philadelphia's mayor and his wife. The Powels were followed by President and Mrs. Washington, a fact duly noted by Meagan and Caro. Gossip was thick concerning the close friendship between the coquettish Eliza Powel and the aging president. No one cared to suggest they were lovers, but they enjoyed each other's company to an unseemly degree.

Musicians were tuning up and people milled about, spilling into the south parlor and the huge dining room where food was already being arranged. As the late arrivals tapered off, Alec and Caro took the Hampshires to join the party. When they appeared in the parlor, the musicians began to play and the harmonious mixture of harpsichord, violins, flute, and harp set the tone for the lighthearted evening ahead.

* * *

Belle Maison's kitchen was large, occupying its own building behind the main house. All evening, the wooden floor had been tapped like a drum by the feet of dozens of servants who carried the meticulously prepared dishes over to the house. A mammoth fieldstone hearth spanned one wall and Lisette sat at a nearby table to do her work.

Surveying the seemingly endless cake layers and filling bowls, she sighed heavily and pushed back her unbound golden hair. Mixing and baking the tortes had taken hours and now she struggled to assemble them into beautiful desserts. She was exhausted and sick with worry for her father. What a terrible night it was!

The last of the servants had disappeared into the house. Lisette sat alone in the kitchen, suffused with a melancholy that stole through her body in uneasy waves.