Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall Page A

her fingers over the cat ’s fur. She met Rafe’s gaze but quickly lowered her lashes. This evening could not be easy for her. Yet she’d accepted his invitation, and not only that, she had engaged the men in a discussion of what was important to her, no matter the cost to her dignity.
    â€œD’ye think we’ll see more of Captain Howell?” Monsieur Maddock shifted uncomfortably in his seat and faced Rafe.
    â€œNon. I’d say he’s been sufficiently humbled.” Rafe chuckled, eager to follow the conversation on its new tack.
    â€œHe’ll have to assemble a fleet next time to catch you, Captain.” Monsieur Thorn lifted his mug in salute.
    Monsieur Atton scratched his head. “I still can’t figure out what sent ’im after us.”
    Monsieur Thorn coughed and poured himself more wine.
    Rafe couldn’t make sense of it either. He’d never committed piracy, and his reputation as a mercenary was well known throughout the West Indies. That Capitaine Howell sailed the Caribbean in search of him only made Rafe’s job more difficult. As soon as possible, he would send a dispatch to Governor Woodes to inquire after the matter.
    â€œHow long will we anchor at Port-de-Paix, Capitaine?” Monsieur Legard scooped another helping of pork onto his plate.
    â€œJe ne sais pas.” Rafe shook his head. Mademoiselle Grace continued to pet Spyglass, the cat’s purrs filtering over the table. The woman had not eaten much of her food. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to have detached herself from the conversation. Rafe felt the loss immediately.
    â€œLong enough for me to visit Mademoiselle Bertille?” Monsieur Legard asked, his eyes aglow.
    â€œThat trollop.” Monsieur Weylan snickered.
    â€œShe’s no more trollop than the women ye frequent.”
    Mademoiselle Grace cringed.
    â€œJealous?” Weylan grinned.
    â€œAssez!” Rafe slammed down his mug. “Hardly proper conversation with a lady present.”
    â€œIf you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Mademoiselle Grace rose from her chair, cuddling Spyglass in her arms. “My absence will surely allow you to continue your engaging discourse without censure.” She offered the men a weak smile.
    Father Alers pushed his seat back, its legs scraping over the wooden deck. “I will escort you back to your cabin.”
    â€œNon. Allow me.” Rafe stood, feeling the brandy swirl in his head. Steadying himself, he wove around the table and held out his arm while Father Alers gave him a curious look and resumed his seat.
    Fear dashed across Mademoiselle Grace’s eyes. She hesitated then set Spyglass down, nodding her assent but refusing to take his arm.
    â€œC’est-ça.” Rafe hid his disappointment beneath a shrug.
    With a swish of her skirts, she followed him out the door and into the dark companionway.
    â€œMy men have not had opportunities to polish their social graces. My apologies if they offended you.”
    â€œThey did not offend, Captain. I merely wished them to see the peril of their souls so they can choose God’s love rather than continue in a life of sin.” They passed beneath a lantern hanging on the bulkhead. Rafe noticed how its light sought her out and showered over her as if she were the only thing worthy on board the vessel.
    â€œI would leave the fate of their souls up to them, mademoiselle, if I were you. They do not take kindly to religious reprimands. En effet, most left their homes to avoid such castigation.”
    He rounded the corner, opened the door, and ushered her inside.
    She turned to face him. “I fear for your soul as well, Captain. I urge you to flee from this sordid life you have chosen before it is too late.” Yet no urgency or concern could be found in either her tone or in her expression.
    Rafe cocked his head. “Before I sell you to the don, you mean?”
    She looked down. “If that is