Silver Sea (55 page)

Music and laughter drifted back from the house and each window was ablaze with candlelight. Looking down at her simple sky-blue frock and the full-length white apron that covered it, Lisette wondered what the elegant women guests were wearing tonight. Were their upswept curls studded with jewels? Did they smell of jasmine or gardenias?

Wearily, Lisette pushed loose tendrils from her brow, set down the wooden frosting spoon, and closed her eyes. Images flickered through her mind of the richly garbed people dancing, laughing, and chatting with witty sophistication.

I don't envy them,
she reminded herself,
but tonight... it
would
be nice to feel beautiful, to be free of worry and responsibility, to feel alive... even to be in love.

The last thought was so out of character that Lisette smiled at herself and what she decided must be utter fatigue. She opened her eyes, blinked in disbelief, then took a second look.

A strange man stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned indolently against the frame, regarding her with emerald eyes that sparkled like real jewels.

Lisette's heart quickened. The man could not be a guest, for he wore a soft leather coat over a casual dirt-streaked shirt, fawn breeches, and riding boots that were mud-spattered. His face and hands were deeply tanned, dark hair curled where his shirt was open at the neck, and his flashing smile was as rakish as a pirate's.

"Bonsoir,
mademoiselle," he said in a husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her back.

"Are you employed here, sir?"

He seemed to find this question highly amusing. "No, I am not."

Lisette wondered with a start if he was a highwayman or a criminal of some sort. Perhaps he meant to rob the guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her physical harm.

"I must insist that you tell me who you are," she commanded, "and why you are here!"

Slowly, with graceful strength, he crossed the kitchen's planked floor. In the firelight, Lisette could see that his hair was a dark chestnut color. It was not queued, but cut into ruffled layers that grew away from his face and curled negligently over his collar. There was a long fresh gash across one dark cheek. In spite of the dusty condition of his clothing, Lisette realized that the man beneath was quite clean. Tall, lean, and muscular, he smelled pleasantly of salt water, horses, and night air. To her surprise, the stranger reached out to catch her flour-smudged hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that startled her by its sensuousness.

"Nicholai Beauvisage, at your service, mademoiselle," he said with wry jauntiness.

Lisette was stunned as she tried to absorb this news.
"Nicholai Beauvisage?"
she echoed. "I—but—why, I don't believe you!"

"You don't?" Both eyebrows flew up. "I am devastated to hear you say so. And, now that we have that matter settled, I believe it is
my
turn to insist that
you
identify yourself."

Seated, Lisette felt at a disadvantage. The man towered over her, seeming to mock her somehow, so she wiped her hands on her apron and stood up. It was disconcerting to find herself only even with his wide shoulders, for Lisette was taller than most women.

"My name is Lisette Hahn."

"Hmmm... that seems to—" He broke off, snapping his fingers in amusement. "I have it! Hahn's CoffeeHouse. I was there tonight for a jug of ale and I was surprised to learn that I could get supper as well. The stew was like ambrosia after the food I ate at sea. Are you one of
those
Hahns?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I am pleased that you enjoyed my stew, sir."

"Why the devil are you here?"

"As a favor to your alleged brother and sister-in-law. I made these tortes for this party tonight." When he moved to the window, gazing toward the house, Lisette persisted, "I still don't believe you are Nicholai, but
if
I did, I would want to know how you came to be here tonight."

He looked down at the lovely girl who stood at his shoulder. Moonlight streamed in through the window, shooting her long pale curls with silver lights. He was unaccustomed to seeing a female in public with her hair loose and flowing this way, and there was a direct, intelligent glint in these blue eyes that he found intriguing. She smelled of vanilla and butter, yet was utterly appealing: slender and graceful, with an exquisite neck and soft rose-tinted lips...

"It is quite simple, Lisette. The situation in France has become rather uncomfortable, so I decided the time was ripe for a visit home. My ship docked tonight. Since my house in town is closed up, I went to my parents' to see them and fetch the key, only to learn they had come
here.
So, I procured a horse and rode out. When I saw the light on back here I thought I might find some soap and water before venturing into the fray –" He gestured toward the lights, music, and laughter. "Where are Mrs. Forbes and Pierre and all the rest?"

"They've all gone to the main house. Dinner will be served momentarily, so they are busy with that. As you can see, I'm left with the last course—and I had better finish up before Pierre returns to fetch these."

Nicholai's eyes lit up at this. "Pierre is coming?
Bon Dieu,
it will be wonderful to see that old elf. Do you know, I've been gone ten years... and it suddenly seems a lifetime."

She regarded him from the corner of her eye as she assembled the last torte. He certainly did sound authentic. "I don't think you will find your family much changed. Have you been in touch?"

"Letters, yes—until a few months ago, when I was forced to leave my chateau for Paris. I've been duly informed of all the births, weddings... and Grandmere's death." He perched on the edge of the table and stared into the fire. As she spread orange icing, Lisette's eyes wandered over Nicholai Beauvisage. There was a chiseled strength about his profile that was very unlike the description Katya had given of her brother. Fun loving, easygoing, vulnerable—those were the adjectives people had used in reference to the younger Beauvisage brother. But if this was indeed Nicholai, it was obvious that the decade he had spent in France had carved out a very different man. The lines of his body were steely; muscles and tendons showed in his bronzed neck and were outlined beneath the clothes that concealed the rest of his body. All outward signs of a harder inner man, Lisette thought.

"You are staring, mademoiselle," Nicholai told her sardonically. "Do you find me odd looking?"

The last torte was done; Lisette put the wooden spoon into an empty bowl and gave him a wry smile. "Not at all, Mr. Beauvisage. I was thinking that, although you may not see many changes in your family, I'll wager that they will be surprised by the transformation
you
have undergone!"

Excerpt from

Surrender the Stars

The Author's Cut Edition

Raveneau Novel #2

by

Cynthia Wright

It's the spring of 1814 and the War of 1812 is in progress. Andre and Devon Raveneau live on the coast of Connecticut with their bluestocking daughter, Lindsay. Andre still owns ships, one of which is captained by Ryan Coleraine, a rakish Irishman. The book's prologue finds the elder Raveneaus in Philadelphia, meeting with old friends who want to persuade the Raveneau family to go to Regency England on a mission for the president, with Coleraine taking the place of their son Nathan who is in the West Indies. 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?"