“We already produce many items here and will learn to produce more. When we boycotted English rum, we began making our own. This wine we drink, ’tis good Virginia wine.”
“What of government?” She sipped more wine. Truly, it did not taste anything as delicate as fine Madeira, but it had a raw, exciting bite to it. As zesty as her husband’s fervor. “England has a long-standing tradition of parliament and monarchy. How can 13 separate colonies that cannot even agree expect to be anything more than fractious?”
“We’ll learn. We learned to survive in the woods, grow our own crops, tend our herds and we shall learn to govern ourselves as well.”
Oh he made her brain swirl! “Jeffrey, you cannot convert me to your treasonous views against my country. Americans are pig-headed, backwoods folk who paint themselves as Indians and launch sneak attacks on merchant ships. You don’t fight fair and you think you can strike free from the mother country. You will never be free.”
His jaw grew tighter than a drum skin. “Nay, I know we can. ’Tis only a matter of time. ’Tis already begun. We will break free.”
Truly he was more obstinate than an old mule. She sputtered, saying the only thing she could summon at the moment. “God save the King.”
Jeffrey exhaled through clenched teeth. “God damn the King.”
Now her fury mounted. “Jeffrey Clayton, how dare you swear in this household! Do you forget children live here? Will you have Miles and Sara grow up cursing the air?”
He had the grace to look ashamed. “I apologize,” he muttered, then added defiantly, “About the swearing. Nothing more.”
Adversaries. Would they ever be anything more? Amanda sipped more wine, then set the glass down. The alcohol threatened to daunt her senses. She needed them honed to keep her wits about her. His face was set like hard iron. Jeffrey polished off his food in silence. Why did he seem so angry tonight? Was he still furious over the earlier incident? Their political bantering usually had a more light-hearted tone, not this fractious quarreling.
Then her husband glanced upward, heat in his gaze. “Come Mandy, finish your supper, for ’tis growing late,” he said softly.
Back in his cabin, Jeffrey lit a fire in their bedchamber. Her raw nerves jumped each time the flames crackled. Amanda sat on the bed. He turned, intent shading his gaze.
“Time for bed.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Didn’t say anything about sleep. I said bed.” He knelt, removing her shoes and slid off her stockings. His lips softly grazed over the bare flesh of her calf. Amanda felt her muscles clench with aching need. She held herself all the more rigid. Damn if she’d cave in to her desires.
Next he pulled her up, unfastened her gown, sliding dress and petticoats off, then removed her stays. She cursed the fact she’d kept them quite loose in order to move about doing chores. Finally he tugged her shift over her head. Jeffrey pulled off her lace cap and removed the pins binding her hair. Giving her a gentle push backwards onto the bed, he smiled.
“There lies England, flat on her back, finally agreeing that America is a great power that can overtake her.”
Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. Amanda glared. Did he think her a wife who would eagerly submit to his demands? Fie on him!
“I’m not easily conquered, Jeffrey.”
“Aye, Mandy. ’Tis half the fun.”
The confession startled her. His playful grin dissolved her anger like snow in a fire. She recognized the challenge in his smile and the gleam in his eye. Leaning over, he tickled her ribs, making her giggle.
“Come now, Mandy, admit it. You like Americans. We’re not all that bad.” Another playful tickle.
“Yes, you are,” she retorted, sticking her tongue out. “You’re very bad.”
“I’ll show you how bad we are.”
“Lie back, Mandy,” he ordered pleasantly. “I’ve a mind to exercise my husbandly rights and sample England’s prettiest export.”
“You can take your husbandly rights and place them with the other rights you braggart Americans lost.”
“’Tis war you want then? I warn you Mandy, this is a battle you will lose,” he warned.
“I think not,” she teased back, locking her legs together at the knees. “England has closed her port to America. All trade ceases from here.”
Jeffrey’s eyes shone like a polished knife edge. He stepped back, shucking his clothing rapidly. She tried to avert her gaze from his firm body and evidence of his growing desire.
He thoughtfully assessed her, much like a general reviewing the enemy’s position. Hers was quite vulnerable—laying naked on the feather bed.
She slid away from him, but he was stronger. Amanda realized she would lose this battle. But not the war...
“I’m not interested in trade. Just in claiming what is mine,” he murmured.
Amanda bolted off the bed and raced into the other room. Jeffrey caught her around the waist as she shrieked with laughter. Hoisting her over one shoulder like a meal sack, he carried her back to bed and dumped her upon it. Straddling her, he kept her motionless between his muscled thighs, easily holding her captive with his strength. Amanda wriggled as he caught her wrists and stretched them above her head.
“Ready to surrender?” A teasing glint shone in his eyes.
“Never to you insolent Americans.”
“’Tis all-out war then. Very well. I accept your challenge.”
Jeffrey fastened his lips upon a breast, suckling and teasing her.
“’Tis not fair,” she wailed, need and yearning racing through her.
He raised his head, grinning insolently. “Now Mandy, you said yourself Americans are but backwoods brigands who don’t fight fair. Come now, time to surrender.”
The assault began anew as his lips descended upon her nipple, stroking and swirling in slow, languid flicks. Amanda whimpered with pleasure.
Hot moistness pooled between her legs. His stiffening member nudged against her thigh, demanding and insistent, weakening her defenses as it brushed against her belly and he teased her with his silky tongue. Amanda felt her body threaten to capitulate.
In a loud voice she began to cry out “God save the King.”
Her husband raised his head. “’Tis only one way to keep your lovely mouth from uttering that hateful tune,” he murmured and kissed her.
His mouth upon hers was firm and warm. He tasted like passion and sin, and she only wanted more. Amanda sighed into his mouth as his tongue slipped inside, exploring, flicking. She deepened the kiss, drawing him closer, but then he levered himself off her and ran a hand down her naked body. Then his hand drifted much lower to the tangle of red curls between her legs. Jeffrey began gently stroking her, his fingers teasing and light. Her knees spilled open. Trade embargo cancelled.
Amanda let loose a low, protesting whimper as the pleasure mounted. Cries of “God save the King” shifted to other pleas to the Almighty. “Oh my... oh my... oh my God... yes...”
“Now there is a melody I love hearing from you,” he said, chuckling. He caressed her naked thighs, stroking gently, then suddenly pushed her legs open and mounted her. Amanda arched in bliss as he thrust into her with slow, deliberate strokes. Wanting to draw him closer inside, she wrapped her legs around his lean hips. Amanda whimpered, recognizing defeat.
“Now, Mandy, is it not lovely?” he said in a hoarse whisper.
She could not speak. Her tongue tripped around her dry mouth as her breathing increased to a frantic pace. Jeffrey thrust deeper, then deliberately angled himself to that very soft part inside of her where he was guaranteed victory. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, screaming out his name in a shattering climax.
Total and complete surrender. Jeffrey thrust deeper, then uttered a heavy groan as he spilled his seed inside her. Panting, he rolled off, sweat slicking his firm muscles, beading on his brow.
Slowly she drifted back down to earth.
Jeffrey draped an arm acros
s her belly, idly stroking the underside of her breast. “Mandy, why must we fight when lovemaking brings us both such pleasure?”
His regretful tone pierced her. “You and I are on opposite sides, Jeffrey. And fighting is not always disagreeable. Note the end result.”
“I said those things to provoke you,” he admitted. “I hate it when you’re quiet.”
She gave a low laugh, feeling some victory. Rolling over to her side, she ran her fingers through his hair. Such thick, ink-black hair. Jeffrey was so handsome. She felt a strange tug of pride. He was her husband.
“So you would rather fight with me than see me quiet. Fighting is more pleasant to you?”
“Nay, fighting is not pleasant,” he disagreed.
Gone was the teasing mood. She raised herself up on an elbow, wondering what happened.
“Jeffrey, what ails you? Something is deeply troubling you.”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
She grit her teeth. “You will not pull that with me. Tell me Jeffrey. What affects me, affects you? Remember what you told me about my father beating me?”
He blew out a breath. “I’d thought it best not to distress you at the beginning of our married life. I received a post this morning. The British fired upon us at Lexington. There was another battle at Concord as well. Men lie dead. General Gage sent regulars to arrest members of the provincial congress. Our militia fought them. I was a member of that congress, but resigned to come here. My friends all still serve.”
A cold finger of fear stroked her spine. “Oh Jeffrey!”
“Aye, war,” he said grimly. “There’s no turning back now.”
She watched his cheek tic violently, as if he suppressed all his emotions. “Jeffrey, your friends—are they safe?”
“I don’t know.”
As he turned away from her, Amanda’s frustration rose. Why did he hide from her? The man bared all his passions in bed, yet when hurting guarded his emotions with a shield as thick as the brick wall around the magazine protecting the town’s arms. He needed her, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Amanda took his hand in hers, caressing it. He finally looked at her, his eyes filled with such torment her own anxiety rose.
“Jeffrey, please, don’t shut me out.”
Amanda hugged him tight. He felt stiff and resisting. She continued caressing him, wishing to ease his pain. Finally he rolled over, captured her in his embrace, stroking her hair with a heavy sigh.
“I’ve no wish to ail you, Mandy. ’Tis a matter I prefer to keep inside.”
“Aye, but you are my husband. Do not shut me out.”
He hugged her tightly, and she felt him heave another great sigh. For a long moment, they lay in silence. Then Amanda confessed. “War. I’m scared, Jeffrey.”
“I as well.”
Their gazes caught and held, and she realized they’d found a common ground. They’d reached a new, deeper level with their mutual confession. Much blood would be shed on both sides. She trembled in his arms.
“Oh Jeffrey. Men taking up arms against each other,” she whispered brokenly. “What’s to become of us all?”
“I don’t know, Mandy,” he answered, his voice fraught with anguish. “I simply do not know.”
Chapter Seventeen
A FEW DAYS later, Amanda found the pistols while putting away Jeffrey’s freshly laundered breeches and shirts.
Dragoon pistols. British military guns. A foot-long pistol sat heavy in her hands.
“Mandy!”
Startled, she dropped the gun into the chest. “I was putting away your clothing.”
Jeffrey knelt down beside her. “Guns are dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He gave her a speculative look. “Though on the farm, ’tis a good idea to know how to use one. Never know when you will need to shoot game, or other things.”
“Other things?”
“Mandy, if there comes a time when I must leave you, Meg and the children alone, ’tis best you know how to defend yourself.”
“But why would you leave, Jeffrey? Where would you go?”
His cheek ticked violently. Jeffrey picked up the pistol and cradled it.
“Oh Jeffrey, you do not mean to fight?”
The thought of him taking arms against her countrymen filled her with great anguish. He could die. Amanda bit her lip. Despite the political chasm between them, her feelings increased steadily for this man. Every day she felt more out of control and helpless, caught in an onslaught of emotion as overpowering as the marching drums of war.
“Aye, to fight, if it comes to that. First I’d join the militia. A task a friend has urged me to do, though I’ve not seen the full need of it until now.”
She touched the pistol’s silver barrel. Its coldness reminded her of a past she did not share with this man, a past hinting of inner torment. “Did you acquire these in the war?”
“Aye. These and my father’s walking cane, plus your ring, were the only things I saved when the British burned my house. I’d hoped to use them against those bastards some day in revenge.” He glanced at her and his expression softened.
“For now, ’tis time to teach you. Come.”
She eyed the gun with suspicion. “You will teach me how to shoot?”
Jeffrey chuckled. “Fear not, Mandy. I have some trust in you.” He leaned close, gently stroking the swell of her breasts. “Or am I to worry my wife will shoot me in the dark of night?”
Amanda smiled ruefully. She had begun to doubt her mother’s declaration that only strumpets enjoyed lovemaking. Those passionate, sometimes tender moments in her husband’s arms had been an exchange of mutual pleasure, and served to draw them closer.
“Nay, not the night. Not ’til morning, Jeffrey, when I’ve had my pleasure with you and then you make all your radical demands and rules.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Although Mother would not approve. Weapons are not for ladies, any more than...”
As her voice trailed off, he suggested, “Enjoying lovemaking is?”
Drawing in a sharp breath, she fought for composure. Jeffrey laid his hand over hers. “You are free from your parents’ beliefs, Mandy, free to form your own opinions.”
Staring at the pistol, she felt guilty. “I’ve not yet told her of my marriage to you, though by now I’m certain she’s heard the town gossips. Mother will never forgive me, nor talk to me.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Perhaps she could be convinced to change her mind.”
Then he kissed her, a heated kiss filled with promise. She eyed the long cold steel of the dragoon pistol, and suppressed a shudder.
She hoped she would never be forced to put Jeffrey’s lessons to practice.
Amanda learned quickly to shoot, Jeffrey thought with pride, as he planted the east field after the shooting lesson. She made an excellent pupil as well. He grinned, thinking of other things he planned to teach her, in their bed.
His smile faded. Though he cared not a fig about her parents, he did not want Amanda distressed. If they snubbed his wife, it would hurt her deeply. Determined to forestall this, he stopped planting.
After washing up at the creek, he found Amanda in the kitchen chopping pickled carrots. Bent over the fire, Sadie stirred the bubbling cauldron. The delicious smell of onions and salt pork tinged the air. A loaf of bread cooled on the side table near the open window. Seeing him, Amanda looked up with a smile.
“Stew for dinner. Sadie’s teaching me to cook your favorite dishes. There’s plenty to eat. I do hope you have a terrible hunger, Jeffrey.”
Heat from the fire flushed her cheeks. With the saucy sway of her hips and the smile on her plush, reddened mouth, she aroused a different kind of hunger.
Jeffrey placed his hands on her slender shoulders and massaged, feeling her arch beneath his touch. Remembering the servant was present, he dropped his hands with a sigh.
“Aye, I have a fierce appetite, but I did not come here to seek f
ood. I came to ask if you would like to drive into town.”
As her face lit up, he added, “I’ve business with George Wythe, and I thought we could formally visit your parents and announce our marriage.”
Amanda chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed. “I would dearly love to call upon Elizabeth. But I do not know if my parents will welcome you, Jeffrey.”
Oh, but they would, he thought. Yesterday while visiting George on another matter, his lawyer informed him that Dunmore had readily agreed to purchase Jeffrey’s tract of land, even promising to pay the extra 500 pounds to expedite the transaction.
Thinking of the gift he planned to bestow on her father, Jeffrey smiled. “Fear not, Mandy. They’ll welcome me. Aye, they will indeed.”
Dressed in a blue and white sprigged gown, excitement and trepidation racing through her, Amanda stepped into her parent’s store. Jeffrey gave her hand a comforting squeeze as he followed her inside. She glanced at her husband with a smile, proud at how handsome and dashing he looked in his mulberry tailored coat, with matching waistcoat and breeches.
They’d visited the Wythes’ home first. As Jeffrey met with George in his study, Elizabeth had served tea in the parlor and complimented Amanda on her marriage. Her dear friend had been supportive and encouraging, even sighing wistfully at the romance of young love, and how he’d spirited her away in his eager haste to marry her. Elizabeth’s approval had bolstered her confidence.
Now, entering the store and seeing few items on the dusty shelves, and no customers waiting to purchase goods, Amanda felt a stir of unease. Where were her parents?
She gave a delicate cough as Jeffrey studied the dusty countertop.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor. Her father emerged from the back storeroom, but as he took in their presence, his eager expression turned to shock.
“Amanda?” His gaze shot to Jeffrey, who nodded. “Mr. Clayton. I’d heard in town of your...”
The Patriot's Conquest Page 18