Surrender the Stars (4 page)

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, but 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 had kindled deep inside of her. The mere thought of him sent a current of exhilaration through her heart, while her mind shouted, "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 literate 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 weren't 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 shall we do?" cried Drew, 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, and you know it. 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!" Drew 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 Andre Raveneau's finest accomplishment, a privateer that Ryan had been forced to admit would surpass even his own sleek and beautiful vessel.

"I know, Drew, 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 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."

Chapter 2

April 8, 1814

"Kindly tell your henchmen to loose me!" Lindsay cried angrily. Drew and Harvey were already backing away from her, staring in consternation. When their captain cocked his head slightly to one side, they were glad to remove themselves from the confrontation.

"I would like a word with you in private," Ryan told her coolly, his eyes sweeping Lindsay's male garb, which did little to conceal the feminine curves of her body.

"You have no right!" she protested, even as his fingers closed around her elbow and he masterfully steered her toward the hatch.

"I think your father would disagree, Miss Raveneau."

Realizing that she had little choice, Lindsay saved her tirade for the privacy of the captain's cabin. Ryan said nothing as he guided her along the narrow gangway, pausing only once to pluck from the bulkhead a lantern that provided weak, flickering light once they reached his darkened cabin.

"I would offer you a glass of sherry, but somehow this occasion doesn't seem to call for a display of manners," he remarked sardonically, setting the lantern on the table next to them.

"I seriously doubt that you have manners to display, Captain!" Lindsay shot back. "However, I did not allow myself to be dragged down here to discuss your lack of breeding. How dare you interfere in my efforts to save Papa's ship?"

Ryan's Irish temper flared brighter, but he clenched his teeth in an effort to hold it in check. "My dear Miss Raveneau, I have neither the time nor the inclination to engage in an argument with you. Let me say simply that I feel certain your father would be the first person to thank me for removing his daughter from a situation that was not only life-threatening but incredibly foolhardy and—"

"And what?"

"Forget it."

"I see. You are not only ill-mannered but also too cowardly to say what you think."

"Oh, believe me, it is an exercise of will for me
not
to say
exactly
what I think of your stupid behavior!"

Lindsay knew a powerful urge to slap his bearded face. "Stupid!
Stupid?
How dare you? I was only trying to protect my father's property, and if you were half the man you pretend to be, you'd have saved me the trouble instead of standing by like a half-wit while those redcoats maneuvered to destroy every Raveneau ship in the harbor!"

His hand caught her forearm, and blue eyes blazed down at Lindsay. "What do you suppose would have happened if I trotted over to join you in throwing buckets of water on that fire? If, between us, we had even succeeded in putting it out? Would the British have thrown up their hands and given up?" Ryan laughed harshly. "Ridiculous. They'd have simply removed us from the ship, quite possibly by killing us, and torched it all over again. The unfortunate truth is that there isn't a single defense anyone can wage tonight. The British have planned and executed a successful sneak attack, the aim of which is to destroy every ship at the Point. A girl dressed in breeches with a few buckets of water could not deter them."