Raven Saint Read Online Free PDF Page A

his. Gone was the glassy shield of courage and defiance he had seen five days ago. In its stead, a pleading innocence stared at him and seeped through the cracks in his armor headed straight toward his heart. But he wouldn’t allow it entrance. Not again. Was it true she cared for those less fortunate than her? Was it true she spent her life caring for others? Non. He would not believe it.
    He could not believe it.
    A drop of sweat slid down the back of his neck, and he wiped it away as he stared at the deck and conjured up a vision of what the British navy had done to his mother. It was the only way to combat the rising guilt those green eyes stirred within him.
    He found the anger. He welcomed it and allowed it to burn away any tender spots on his heart, crusting them over until they were once again hard.
    Mademoiselle Grace must have sensed his fury, for when he lifted his gaze to hers, she flinched and her face drained of color.
    So she was afraid of him. When he had first brought her on board, he had expected either a swooning female, begging for her life, or a ferocious wildcat, clawing and hissing at him. What he had not expected was a woman with the courage of a soldier and the heart of an angel.
    She struggled to get up on one arm, her chest rising and falling, either from the exertion or from her fear, he didn’t know. “Why are you doing this?” she said. Her bottom lip trembled, and Rafe felt that tremble down to his soul.
    He planted his fists upon his waist and tore his gaze from her. “As I have said, for the money.”
    â€œWhat will the don do with me?”
    Rafe shook his head. His anger began to retreat again. He must get away from her before it left him defenseless. “You can ask him when you see him.” Turning, Rafe stormed out the door and slammed it behind him.

CHAPTER 4
    Rafe burst into his cabin. Grabbing the decanter of brandy from his desk, he poured himself a swig and snapped it toward the back of his throat. The sharp liquor burned a soothing trail down to his belly and radiated a numbing heat through his body. Just what he needed. He poured himself another and strode to the stern window, watching as the sun’s orange glow slipped behind the horizon, tugging a curtain of black in its wake. He felt like kicking something—or someone—and what bothered him the most was that he didn’t know why.
    A tap sounded on his door and at his entrez, Father Alers ambled in with a tray. “I thought you would want to eat in your cabin tonight.” The old man’s eyes took in the empty glass in Rafe’s hand.
    â€œAnd why do you assume that?”
    â€œThe crew says you are in a foul mood, Capitaine.”
    Rafe emitted a sinister chuckle.
    The man set the tray on Rafe’s desk. “And they know you well enough to leave you alone.” The plate of salt pork, beans, and a hard biscuit stared back at Rafe, taunting him with the scent of spice and molasses, though he could find no yearning for the food in his belly.
    He huffed. “What, no drink to accompany this savory mélange?”
    â€œWhat need? You have supplied your own.” Father Alers glanced at the decanter of brandy and raised a haughty brow.
    Rafe turned on his heel and stared into the growing darkness outside. The ship groaned beneath a swell and a bell rang above deck, announcing a new watch.
    Father Alers grunted, and Rafe heard the shuffle of his shoes retreating over the wooden planks.
    â€œAsseyez-vous, Father. I wish to speak to you.” Turning, Rafe gestured toward one of the high-backed fauteuils in front of his desk and set his empty glass down.
    The cook scratched his beard as if contemplating whether or not to obey, then he dropped into the chair. “What has soured your humeur, Capitaine? Seeing me holding hands with the mademoiselle?” He chuckled.
    Ignoring him, Rafe opened a desk drawer and chose a French cheroot from within a lined case. Then