He did not comment but looked puzzled at Jeffrey’s cryptic smile and her own silent demeanor. Little did he know exactly what manner of wedding he hosted.
They spent the night at Patrick’s farm, Jeffrey talking long into the night with his friend. Planning more sedition, most likely. But the conversation meant he did not touch her, and instead, took his rest on the settee.
Amanda stared at the gold band on her left hand as Jeffrey drove them to the farm. It encircled her finger with a firmness that reminded her of his tight hold. No rights of her own. Her entire existence now wound around him, according to the laws of society and culture. Amanda realized she was in a fragile and precarious situation. A ruined reputation as a maiden exchanged for a lifetime as a wife to an American! Her mother would faint. She could see the hand wringing now. The wailing. Amanda felt a little like wailing herself. She was a loyal King’s subject married to a radical patriot.
Or was she? She remembered her tiny spark of rebellion. Would Jeffrey fan the spark into an inferno, causing her to turn back on her very loyalties to England? She would not, Amanda promised herself.
She darted a glanced at the man beside her. Jeffrey was a big man, full of passion and life who would not wait to claim his husbandly rights tonight. She damned the desires that had led her into this trap. Fie on her for being so eager for a gentle caress, a tender moment! Hadn’t she learned by now that men’s affections were merely lust? First John in England. Now Jeffrey in America. Two countries in which she’d let her passions run wild, ruining her life.
Amanda felt a stabbing pain of pure loneliness. If only she had married for love, the loneliness would push back a little, for she’d be secure in her husband’s affections.
The crisp air felt cool against her skin, but did not chill her as much as what would soon transpire inside the bed chamber. A marriage in name only, with a husband who used her body to satisfy his lusty appetite, and used her silence to merrily continue with his treasonous activities against her king and country.
As they arrived in Evergreen, Jeffrey told her Meg and the children were visiting her in-laws in South Carolina for two weeks. They would set up housekeeping in his cabin, not the main house, for he desired privacy with his new wife.
The servants greeted them with warm smiles. Sadie fussed over her, organizing Jake and Jason to unpack her things and settle them into Jeffrey’s cabin. Amanda felt glad for the womanly attention.
His two-room cabin was quite large, with a pegged pine floor and four windows. Four candles burned in heavy silver candlesticks set upon a small fruitwood dining table. The table was set with silverware, sparkling crystal wineglasses and fine china. The nearby sideboard held several savory dishes. Amanda swallowed hard, her appetite gone.
In the bedroom, a fire crackled in the brick fireplace. Upon a mahogany dressing table with a matching mirror rested her silver hairbrush and comb. Stunned, Amanda picked up the brush.
Her father had sold the set because business dwindled, and they needed money. As she fussed with a large caldron filled with water heating in the bedroom fireplace, Sadie glanced over.
“Mr. Jeffrey done gave Jake instructions to buy them when your pa listed it for sale.”
“Why?”
Sadie shrugged.
Amanda gave a wistful sigh as she thought of the few family heirlooms her father had sold to relieve his debts. She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. No use thinking of those losses now.
Dominating the room was a bed covered with a patchwork quilt. She gulped and looked quickly away.
Jeffrey’s clothing hung on pegs affixed to the bedroom walls. The servants settled her trunk at the bed’s foot.
In the bedroom, Sadie had set out a large tub. Now, sinking up to her chin in steaming water, Amanda felt all her muscles relax. She slid a bar of lavender soap over one arm, trailing a path of bubbles in its wake. She silently thanked Jake for retrieving the soap, hairpins and other toiletries from her parent’s home.
The delicious heat made her drowsy. She watched Sadie unpack her trunk
“Where is he, Sadie?”
“Mr. Jeffrey, he be bathing in the creek.”
Her entire body puckered in sympathy. “In that cold water? Heavens, why?”
“’Tis an old habit. Mr. Jeffrey says nothing like a cold dash of water to get the spirits going and wake a body up. He done like to do so every day, him working so hard.”
While her hot bath made her languid, his cold one stimulated him.
“Sadie, was Jeffrey gone long in the war?”
The housekeeper paused. “Mr. Jeffrey, he be gone nearly four years. He done be changed when he came home. Quiet. So quiet. Like Satan sucked his soul dry and left him empty inside. After that, Mr. Jeffrey, he done and went what his pa wanted and went to school. Reckon he felt guilty and wanted to make up for running off.”
Sadie assisted her out of the tub and rubbed her dry. She helped her into a soft lawn night rail and a green velvet dressing gown. Sitting in a chair before the fire as the servant brushed her hair, Amanda relaxed. Barely had Sadie finished when the cabin door creaked open. She stiffened, and murmured thanks to Sadie, wishing the woman could stay, but the time had come to be alone with her husband. As the servant went into the other room, she heard Jeffrey bid Sadie good-night and then the door close. Staring into the flames, she shuddered as Jeffrey entered the bedroom and stood behind her. He picked up a strand of her still-damp hair and tugged gently.
“Jeffrey, why did you purchase my hairbrush and comb?”
For a long moment, he did not speak. Finally, he sighed. “I heard your father had sold your possessions, and thought you’d want them back some day. When I lost all I owned in the fire, I felt empty inside. I didn’t want that for you, Mandy.”
His thoughtfulness touched her. “Thank you. It means much to me.”
He kissed the top of her head, his hands resting on her shoulders.
Amanda clutched the folds of her robe together and wondered what awaited her. She would find out soon enough.
Patrick planned to march on Williamsburg with volunteers to demand retribution from Lord Dunmore for the stolen gunpowder. Last night, his friend’s giddy excitement had infected Jeffrey, who longed to join him. His spirit felt caged, itching for action.
Amanda was balm for his restless soul. Her long lashes brushed against peach-down cheeks. With growing hunger, Jeffrey stared at her unbound hair. He reached down and gently picked up another strand. It felt as smooth as corn silk, the color reflecting the fire’s glow. His body flooded with sudden warmth.
“It does not burn,” he murmured aloud.
“What does not?” Amanda’s lush, melodious voice stroked over his skin like a silken palm.
“Your hair. When I touch it. ’Tis the color of fire.”
He lifted its masses, found the soft nape of her neck and planted a kiss there. She shivered. Jeffrey dropped the silky tresses back into place. Soon enough. Supper first, for he knew she must be starving. All they’d eaten was a hasty meal of cold pork and biscuits Patrick’s housekeeper had packed.
“Come, sit at the table, for Sadie has prepared us a delicious supper, I see.” He offered his hand and she took it. Only when she rose did she take in his appearance. Her startled gasp made him chuckle.
“Why Jeffrey, you... are...” She stared at his naked chest.
Jeffrey glanced down, pleased with her fascinated assessment. “No point in wearing that same shirt I wore today when I’ve finished bathing. Sadie took it to wash.”
Twin roses of color flooded her cheeks. “Where are your breeches?”
“Sadie took those as well.” He fingered the knot holding the thick wool blanket around his waist.
“I will not sit at supper with you unless you are decently dressed.”
Jeffrey chuckled. He fetched breeches and a shirt. Noticing her covert glance, he teased, “Would you like to help me dress?”
“I am certain you need no help.
”
He laughed again, pleased at the admiration in those stolen glances. For the life of him, he could not see why she insisted on clothing when soon enough, he’d have everything off again. And off her as well.
Seeing her new husband half-naked sent odd, powerful feelings through Amanda. His broad shoulders seemed sculpted from rock. A crisp mat of hair curled on his firm chest. He was so big, masculine and powerful, her knees grew weak.
Too nervous to eat, she picked at her meal. He ate with great zest, while she nibbled around the edges of a squab tart. Jeffrey glanced at her still-full plate. She sipped wine, hoping it would relax her tattered nerves.
“The wine is a special treat for tonight only,” he said, breaking the silence. “’Tis a fine Madeira Roger had laid down two years ago. I thought you’d like it.”
“’Tis excellent. But I had thought you boycotted English imports.”
“I’m not having any.”
She glanced over and realized his glass contained cloudy cider. “And tea? Do you still have a bit of English tea around?”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Mandy, I haven’t drunk a drop of English tea since the day I dumped it in the Boston harbor.”
Amanda’s jaw hung open. She set down her wine glass. “You were one of those...”
He leaned back. “How did you put it when we first met? ‘Hooligans who partake in civil riots dressed as savages.’ Aye, I was. I was a leader who helped organize the tea party.”
“’Twas stealing! I had thought you an honest man.”
“I am an honest man. My uncle Gilbert’s ship, the Dartmouth, had arrived in the harbor with boxes of tea from England. But we couldn’t unload the tea. Uncle Gil and his partner agreed to send the ship back to London with the tea, but the cargo had already been logged at the Custom House. So the damn Brits demanded duty on the tea or he’d get no clearance for the trip back. If he tried to leave without a pass, they’d sink it or take the tea by force.”
Fascinated, Amanda leaned forward. “Why could he not simply let the ship sit in the harbor?”
“Deadlines. Brits said 20 days to pay the tax or leave port. But with no permit to sail, Uncle Gil’s hands were tied. His partner tried getting a pass, appealing to the governor. Governor turned him down. There was a meeting at the Old South meeting house that same night. Sam, Joseph Hancock and a few others gathered to hear Uncle Gil’s partner report back. He told the crowd the answer was no pass. That’s when Sam said the word and we heard the war cry inside the church. That was the signal.”
“Signal for what?”
“March to Griffin’s Harbor where the Dartmouth and two other ships with tea cargo waited. I had blackened my face with soot from one of our smith shops, put on a blanket and even had a feather or two in my hair.”
“You would make a fine savage indeed.” His damp, unbound hair, thick and black as midnight, curled about his shoulders. It gave him a primitive, exciting look.
He arched black brows. “We dressed as Mohawks. Figured the Brits would blame the Indians. Carried hatchets and pistols and made these grunting noises so we’d pass as Indians. But for me, I actually knew some Mohawk. Spent time with them in Narragansett, trading supplies for their knowledge of growing crops.”
His friendship with Indians surprised her. Then again, many things about this man surprised her.
“At the wharf, we broke into groups. My group and others rowed out to the Dartmouth. Jumped on deck and one lad said to me, he was a carpenter, I think, ‘Lieutenant Clayton, what will we do with all the tea?’ And I replied, ‘Give the fish a rare treat, good quality Ceylon tea. Why they’ll be so bloated on it, there will be a fat lot of fish floating on the surface of Boston harbor on the morrow!’”
Amanda laughed. He grinned and continued.
“We got the ship all blazing with lanterns and pulled the tea chests from the hold, placed them on deck and began our little tea party. Started shoveling that tea into the harbor. Thought the Brits would storm upon us, firing like madmen.”
“Your uncle, what did he think of all this?”
Jeffrey gave a long, slow smile. “Must have approved, for Uncle Gil was right there beside me, commanding the next crew, dumping the tea as well.”
“Your uncle dumped his own tea?”
“Not all his. Mine as well. I had joined Uncle Gil in buying the ship.”
“Jeffrey! Why would you import British tea?”
He rubbed his chin, considering. “’Twas a good business venture. Bought the tea before the tax came into effect. So you see Mandy, I did not steal. I dumped my own tea, 114 full chests. And Uncle Gil’s and his partner’s.”
“You dumped your own cargo worth...” Her merchant’s mind did some quick calculating, “thousands of pounds into the salt water? Good Lord in Heaven, why?”
He shrugged as if the cargo were as inconsequential as fallen autumn leaves. “Our hands were tied. Couldn’t set sail. Had no pass and could not and would not unload the cargo. Not with the tea tax. I had to prove a point.”
She marveled at his principles, as twisted as his reasons were. Amanda shook her head, muttering an oath in French.
“I heard that,” he said, in a teasing voice. “So that is the manner of man you married. One who dumps tea into the ocean as if it were swill instead of good solid cargo.”
He glanced at her plate. “I see you are not hungry anymore.”
After pinching out the candles, he led her into the bedroom. Shadows cast by the dying firelight danced upon the walls. Amanda went to the hearth, stretching her hands out before the fire, trying to warm herself.
Never had she felt this cold, nor this nervous.
The fire provided scant warmth. Jeffrey took her chilled hands, rubbed them gently in his own. A different kind of heat blazed in his gray eyes.
“Mandy, I’ve been a patient man. I’ve given you these past few days, knowing all this came as a shock. But now the time has come to make you my wife,” he said in a husky voice.
Her mouth went drier than the tea leaves he’d sacrificed in the Boston harbor. Fear and dread rapped on her heart like fists upon Indian war drums. Up until now, she’d had a chance to escape and with the marriage unconsummated, could march into the courthouse and demand an annulment. But now with the intent gleam in his eye, the way he advanced toward her...
Time was running out.
No matter how much she protested, he would make her his tonight. She felt helpless faced with his immense power and thought of her mother’s grim lecture after she’d been caught in the garden with John. Stern warnings about the marital act, the blood and pain it caused for a woman, and how good Christian women submitted and endured for the sake of conceiving children. Only strumpets enjoyed a man’s attentions. Amanda’s heart raced as she stared at her husband.
Wrapping his hand around a thick strand of her hair, he tilted her head back and stared at her lips. Jeffrey cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard, his mouth tasting of apples and mint as he ravished her mouth. Stiffening, she endured the kiss, her heart thudding as apprehension surged through her.
He drew back, cradling her chin in his large hands and regarded her thoughtfully. “Mandy, are you afraid of me?”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to answer as he grazed his knuckles over her cheek. The sensation soothed her, dulled the edge of the knife-like fear. It was not the marital act. No, the fear coiling inside her like a tight spring stemmed from the brief moments of passion they’d already shared. Jeffrey had uncorked her like a rare wine and let desire bubble up in effervescent power. Good Christian ladies, her mother always informed her, did not let passion rule them.
Nor would she. You are a lady now, she reminded herself.
She could not let desire rule her, or surrender to the promise of sensual pleasure sparking his eyes. For if she did, she’d lose more than her virginity to her husband.
Amanda feared she stood to lose her very self.
Large violet eyes told hi
m what her lips did not as she remained silent. Distressed at her fear, Jeffrey stroked her satiny cheeks. He did not want her afraid and hating what would transpire tonight. Having previously sampled Amanda’s desire, he wanted to gently coax it from her, teach her to respond to her awakening feelings.
Passion brimmed just below the prim white fabric of her nightgown. Jeffrey knew his bride was filled with life and a vigor equaling his own, but society’s conventions had sealed both deep inside.
They were married and he wanted to gently introduce her to the sensual delights of the marital bed.
His voice was soft as he whispered against her mouth, touching the corner with his lips. “Mandy, you are my wife now. Let me show you what pleasures await you in my arms. I will make you mine tonight, sweet, and there will be no turning back.”
He kissed her again, a tender brush of his mouth against her trembling lips. He would not force her, would not make demands until she was ready. Having sparked her desire, he was even more determined to fan it into flame now.
When she finally sighed, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back with equal fervor, Jeffrey felt satisfied. He broke the kiss and smiled at his bride.
But her small surrender was not enough. He must woo her with words first, and assurances.
He hesitated, for the first time a bit uncertain. ’Twas easier simply to bed the town wenches who enjoyed a bit of bawdy fun, for those trysts meant nothing. This was his wife, and as much as he felt like a randy stallion eager to take her, he must be slow and patient. Remembering how he’d felt upon first glimpsing her, Jeffrey felt his stomach twist into knots. Amanda was not Caroline, who’d smitten him with her fine looks. His wife was more spirited.
Caroline was fragile as old tin.
Amanda was strong as the most stubborn steel.
With a start, he realized Amanda was fashioned from the same metal he worked, her strength and fiery spirit challenging him at every turn. ’Twas what attracted him to her. She was his match, not the simpering blonde he’d left behind in Boston.
Running a thumb along her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin, he lowered his guard. “You are so beautiful, Mandy. From the moment I saw you in the smith’s shop, I was stricken. Felt as if an angel dropped into my midst.”
The Patriot's Conquest Page 14