The Patriot's Conquest

by Vanak, Bonnie

  The frilled ribbon holding her bodice tight came loose easily, as did her stays. Jeffrey freed her breasts then removed the rest of her clothing. Two dusky pink nipples tautened in the air. Most inviting. He bent his head over one, his lips teasing it into hardness. With each lazy flick of his tongue over the cresting nipple, he felt his wife tremble. She moaned, clutching his head.

  Then he stepped back and shucked his coat, waistcoat and shirt, stockings and shoes. Fumbling with his breeches, he unfastened the two gold buttons where the fabric tented. Sexual anticipation flushed Amanda’s face. Turning her around, he bent her over the bed.

  “Hold on, dear wife.”

  “This way? ’Tis... like animals coupling!” Her squeal of surprise made him smile.

  “Aye, for ’tis the best means for christening the bed. And a means to achieve deep pleasure.”

  And I intend to give you every bit of that pleasure, he silently promised her. For she deserved nothing less.

  Jeffrey withdrew his erection from the cloth imprisoning it and shed the rest of his clothing

  Eyes smoky with passion, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “What if Mother returns?”

  “George will keep them quite a while.” He stroked a hand down the curve of her spine, delighting in how she arched beneath his touch.

  His excitement doubled now, he hitched up her skirts. Her round, white bottom, smooth and saucy, felt like satin beneath his caressing palm. He gave it a light kiss and heard her gasp. Jeffrey grasped her hips.

  Her naked flesh felt so warm and inviting. Jeffrey positioned himself over her and thrust into his wife, shuddering at the wet warmth of her passage. She uttered a low, strangled moan. He eased in and out in slow, deep, deliberate strokes, intending to allow her feel every inch of him. Wriggling her hips, she pushed back against him.

  Amanda’s impassioned reaction stirred him to increase his pace and rhythm. As he stroked harder and faster, she cried out, her whimpers of pleasure stirring him to greater heights. Her spine arched as she tilted her bottom upward. Jeffrey bent over her, aching to please her and drive away her sadness.

  “Mandy, sweet, you tempt me beyond belief. Have I told you exactly how lovely you are, dear wife?” he whispered into her shell-like ear.

  “Jeffrey, oh, ’tis... ’tis...” she cried, now fisting her hands.

  Her passion pleased him. But he wanted more, wanted to make her forget every hateful thing that had transpired in this house and replace her sorrow with rapt pleasure.

  With one hand, he reached down and rubbed her at the juncture of her thighs. Amanda cried out as his fingers tenderly caressed her.

  “Jeffrey, oh, please,” she gasped.

  “Now, Mandy, time to let it go,” he said in a husky voice, thrusting deeper still. “Come honey, let it out. Give it over.”

  “Jeffrey, I cannot...” she protested, her breath wheezing in frantic gasps.

  “You can. I’ll not take my pleasure until you’ve had yours.”

  Jeffrey felt his heart trip in a crazy cadence. He slid deep inside her, desiring to heighten her response. The woman had a raw sensuality and driving passion she fought desperately to suppress. And he fought equally hard to draw it from her, to teach her the art of lovemaking.

  “Come, my sweet Mandy, do not hold back from me,” he coaxed.

  She moaned again, a raw, rippling sound that tore from her throat. Jeffrey stroked her again and again. She arched her back and grew taut as a bowstring.

  “Now, Mandy,” he commanded, thrusting deeper. “Now, for do I hear your mother’s footsteps downstairs?”

  She came then, bucking wildly against him, a scream rising from her throat. Jeffrey felt triumphant as he thrust deep, and let his own cry echo hers as he spilled his seed deep within his wife.

  Their ragged pants filled the room. Jeffrey pulled away from her, and fell on the bed beside her as she collapsed. He tenderly brushed away a curl from her face and she glanced at him.

  “Did you truly hear footsteps?”

  He smiled, continuing to stroke her perspiring temple. “Nay, I said that to tease you into reaching your pleasure, Mandy.”

  She gave a pretty little sigh. “’Tis too bad. I’d dearly have loved to see the expression on Mother’s face when she saw us coupling. I am certain she would have been forced to lower the price on the bed.”

  Their combined laughter rang throughout the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MEG AND THE children returned to the farm two days later, thrilled at the news of Jeffrey and Amanda’s marriage. As he left his wife chatting with his sister, Jeffrey rode into town with Jake to attend a slave auction.

  He purchased eight slaves. All were skilled field workers specializing in tobacco and corn. The owner added a bonus, the sister, a “runty, scrawny thing to clean and keep house,” for an extra 15 pounds.”

  Jeffrey agreed, happy to keep the family together.

  After the auction, he told them they were free and if they wanted, they could leave. He’d give them a small stipend and some food. Or they could remain on the farm and work and he would pay them. The pay would not arrive until the crops did, but if they needed money, he’d advance them a loan against their wages, interest-free.

  At first the family stared at him as if he were daft. Then, as the sister cried, they nodded eagerly. Jeffrey introduced them to Jake and said they’d be working under his supervision. When the father asked if Jeffrey could purchase the children’s mother, a good, hard worker, he promised to make inquiries.

  Then Jeffrey purchased a second plow and two mules, plus three fine-blooded Spanish mares for breeding and a stallion to put to stud. With the men working the fields, and the added income from stallion’s stud fees, he could return to the blacksmith’s shop. Since the gunpowder incident, things had heated up and Jeffrey planned to immerse himself fully in that particular heat.

  Two days later, he saddled Liberty to ride to Williamsburg. Amanda followed him to the barn. With a wistful look, she petted Daphne, one of the Spanish mares. Jeffrey felt a tugging regret, knowing how she pined for Sage. Her bastard father had sold the mare to down his debts.

  “Will you be gone all day?” she asked with a woeful expression.

  “Aye, but back by nightfall,” he said, tightening the saddle’s girth. He felt a stab of guilt for abandoning her.

  “I do not see why you must work as a smith when you have money, Jeffrey.”

  He swallowed hard. Amanda was his wife, but he couldn’t take her fully into his confidences. Not even Meg knew about his clandestine activities, for his family’s ignorance assured their innocence should the British ever question them.

  “Every man should labor. I need to keep my hand in the trade.” He added, hoping to make her smile, “Sara is eager for her lessons with you. She’s prattled on about nothing else.”

  Amanda smiled. “Miles and Sara adore being read to almost as much as they love your violin playing. Perhaps after supper tonight you can honor us with a tune.”

  Another deep tug of guilt. Jacob Richards, Polly’s father, captained a group of militia and possessed rifles needing repair. Jeffrey had agreed to fix the rifles at Anderson’s shop at night, and return them to Richards’ plantation. The work was too risky during the day for neither Jim Anderson, Jacob or Jeffrey wanted the Loyalists to know the militia lacked sufficient arms.

  He gave Liberty a pat. “Not tonight. I’ve business after supper and it will take some time.”

  “Business? Where? How long?”

  “In town. I’m not certain how long. But I’ll be home as fast as I can,” he promised. Jeffrey kissed her as she opened her mouth to ask more questions. He mounted Liberty, blew his wife another kiss and rode off.

  The day proved too boring for Amanda. Meg had gone to the almshouse to begin spinning lessons for the women. Amanda would have liked to accompany her, but she did not know how to spin wool, and would only be a hindrance.

  Busy training the new servant
girl, Sadie gently rejected her offers of help. In the afternoon when Meg returned home, Amanda helped Sara with her letters. A few hours later, Jeffrey arrived home, sweaty and tired. He washed up and then joined the family for dinner. But barely had he finished wiping his mouth with the napkin when he took off again without a word on where he was headed.

  At nine o’clock, Amanda sat alone in the parlor, listening to the clock on the mantle tick the minutes away. She missed her husband. His quiet support and passionate lovemaking at her parents’ house had changed her views. No longer did she resist her own passions, but eagerly went into his arms. They were married, and those moments drew them closer together. They were a couple, sealed together in spirit and flesh.

  But on nights like this, when he’d left without a word, she felt more alone than ever.

  At midnight, she finally returned to their cabin, hoping desperately Jeffrey would return soon. Never had the walk seemed longer. An owl hooted in a nearby tree, making her jump. Shadows cast by the lantern light danced along the path.

  The cabin was dark. Amanda undressed down to her shift, set the lantern on the mantle and climbed into bed. She drifted off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.

  Some time later, she awoke, hearing Jeffrey. Icy rage gripped her. If the brigand stayed out all night, and then expected her to be all eager for his lovemaking, he’d get a fine surprise. Not bloody likely.

  As Jeffrey climbed into bed with her, his big body slightly chilled from bathing in the creek, she stiffened. Her husband slid an arm around her waist, drawing close.

  “Mandy,” he said softly, “I tried hurrying as fast as I could. ’Twas no use. Did you wait up for me sweet?”

  She shut her eyes tight as Jeffrey lifted her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her nape. Amanda gritted her teeth. More kisses, this time on her vulnerable neck, but she resisted capitulating to the fire he created. Jeffrey toyed with her nipple, teasing the delicate bud with his fingers. She muttered as if asleep and slid away from him. He stopped, sighed and kissed her temple and rolled over.

  As she drifted off to sleep, uneasy thoughts filled her mind. Why was Jeffrey working so late? And what new secrets did he hide?

  Amanda climbed into bed alone again the next night. Anxiety stabbed her. Did he have another woman? He had not married her for love. Was she still the enemy, the English Loyalist? Inhaling her husband’s clean scent, Amanda hugged his pillow and cried herself to sleep.

  She woke hours later to feel his big body, slightly damp and chilled, settling next to her. Jeffrey turned her around, took her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Angered by her earlier tears and furious at his abandonment, Amanda clenched her teeth. When he drew away, she turned her back.

  “Go to sleep, Jeffrey. I am too tired for your love play and ’tis too late. If you desire me, then return home at a decent hour.”

  She heard him swear softly. Somehow her victory felt hollow.

  The fourth night of her self-imposed exile from her husband’s arms was the hardest. Again she turned away, fighting her desire to return his caresses.

  “Jeffrey, ’tis no reason for you to return so late. Where were you?”

  “Out,” came his curt reply. “’Tis all you need to know.”

  “Nay, I need to know more.”

  “Mandy, I cannot tell you more. You must trust me.”

  Bitter laughter tore from her throat. “Trust you? When you cannot answer me a simple question? Good night, Jeffrey.”

  Damn his secrecy!

  The next day Amanda baked a crisp squab pudding. When she spotted Jake returning from the fields, she trotted down, pudding in hand.

  Amanda handed him the pudding and smiled at her husband’s overseer. “I thought I would bake you a treat for your family. Normally I would gift Jeffrey with such a delight, but seeing he seldom arrives home on time, ’tis no use.”

  Jake sighed. “Mr. Jeffrey, he don’t do nothing unless it for a good reason. You have to trust him.”

  The words irritated her. “’Tis just that I worry so. Riding Liberty that late at night, what if he should meet with misfortune? If I knew where he was, I could stop fretting.”

  “Well, I don’t rightly know ’xactly where Mr. Jeffrey go. But I’m pretty sure he come from the Richard’s farm.”

  Her heart skipped a few beats. “How so?”

  “That pathway he takes. I was out by the river hunting some frogs late the other night. Ain’t nothing like fresh frog legs to settle good in the stomach. I saw him ride by. That ol’ river path is one Mr. Roger used as a short cut to the Richards’ farm. They’s our closest neighbors.”

  Amanda remembered how Polly and Jeffrey had danced at the Apollo room. And how the young girl had looked so adoringly at him. Would Polly meet Jeffrey for a midnight tryst? Jeffrey would not bed Polly. Or would he?

  “Thank you, Jake. You have helped a great deal more than you know.”

  Back at the main house, as they sat down to dinner and Meg began prayers, Amanda added a silent one for strength. Maybe just for once, Jeffrey could join them. Her heart twisted with unexpected pain. Why did she care if he stayed out?

  Because she was falling in love with him. She missed his eager caresses, his bristling vitality, his fierce protectiveness, his charming grin. She had fallen in love with this complex man whose radical ideas of freedom turned her upside down.

  Once respectability and being on equal footing with the gentry had mattered most. Jeffrey had shaken free her convictions, forced her to see the difference between what she’d thought she wanted and what her heart longed for. The tiny spark inside her had created a raging fire, burning away previous ideals and dreams. Did she truly care about fitting into a society that had shunned her for being a tradesman’s daughter?

  Amanda set down her fork and gazed thoughtfully around the trestle table. With his wealth, Jeffrey could have easily entered society, whereas she had always circulated around its fringes. Instead, he chose to work in a profession he loved, disdaining the English class differences.

  Was this why he pushed for freedom? To be free, not merely of the country that governed the colonies, but of old conventions that governed society as well?

  For the first time, Amanda thought she understood her husband’s motivations. She remembered Voltaire. “True greatness consists in the use of a powerful understanding to enlighten oneself and others.”

  Footsteps stamped in the hall. Jeffrey trudged into the dining room, glancing at the astonished faces staring at him.

  “What’s the matter? Can not a man even come home to dinner in his own house?”

  After dinner, he helped clear the table. Meg cornered him, asking the others to leave them alone in the parlor for a private moment.

  “Jeffrey, I have business to discuss.”

  Feeling drowsy and sated, he waited for her to bring up spring crops.

  “I will not have you being so cruel to Mandy anymore.”

  Jeffrey sat up in the Boston rocker. “Meg, what are you...”

  “Don’t,” she grated out. “Do not play games with me, Jeffrey Clayton.”

  Her pretty, round face colored with evidence of that famous Clayton temper. He’d thought the trait had passed Meg. For a brief moment Jeffrey wondered how Roger, her late husband, had felt when exposed to this assault.

  “Mandy is a sweet child, a good wife to you, Jeffrey. Aye, she’s British. She’s also a wonderful woman who loves the children and they adore her. She never fails to offer help. She is trying so hard. And every night you ride off to your spying adventures or whatever patriotic duties you see as fit, and leave her alone. I’ve heard her crying here at night, pining for you! ’Tis not right! Would you sacrifice your marriage for the sake of freedom?”

  He felt his jaw drop in pure astonishment, along with a tug of guilt. He’d no idea Amanda pined for him. “I did not mean—”

  “I know you married Mandy for some secret reason. I’ve two eyes and two ears and I know you. But you are a husband
now and if you do not start according some tender respect to your wife, I will put my foot down,” she snapped.

  Jeffrey could only stare, feeling the tips of his ears redden from his mortified flush. Lord, he felt as humiliated as he had when he was twelve and Meg had caught him packing his breeches with stockings.

  “I’ve come to love Mandy as much as I could a sister of my own, and I will not see you hurt her!”

  “Meg, how do you know what I do at night? What would give you reason to think I spy?” He kept his expression impassive.

  “Do not play innocent with me! You were always one for excitement and adventure, running off to join the Rangers. Uncle Gil told me of your activities with Sam Adams. Do you think I am so addle-brained I would not know you’d resort to the same down here? Do as you must, but I will not stand for you to treat Mandy so poorly. Be a good husband and accord her every attention she deserves.”

  Jeffrey felt like a child receiving a vicious tongue thrashing. He reeled in his temper and smiled at his sister, whom he loved with all his heart. He thought of how Amanda had rebuffed his lovemaking attempts.

  “Accord her every attention? Aye, Meg, have no fear. I will devote every attention to my lovely bride.” He silently vowed Amanda would know every attention from him, both this afternoon when he presented her wedding gift, and then later tonight in bed.

  Every one.

  “Come to the barn Mandy, for I’ve something for you to see.”

  Confused, she squinted, wiping her hands on her apron. What could it be? A new milk cow? His grin was boyish as he impatiently tugged her hand. He had the eager manner of Sara wanting to show off her new kittens.

  “Jeffrey, what is it that has you all in a dither?”

  “You shall see.” His gray eyes sparkled as he steered her into the barn. Jeffrey placed his hands over her eyes. “Do not peek. ’Tis a surprise.”

  “Jeffrey,” she said laughing, “You are as giddy as Sara.”