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Seducing Liberty
Copyright © 2011 by D.L. Jackson
ISBN: 978-1-61333-152-1
Cover art by Dara England
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Seducing Liberty
A 1Night Stand Story
by
D.L. Jackson
~DEDICATION~
For Arlene, Barbara and Laurie, my IPs. Here’s to seven years of hijacked PADs, a kick in the ass when I needed it, and a virtual shoulder to cry on when I didn’t. You’re the best.
Chapter One
August 22nd, 1776, Long Island, NY
“The sooner the rebels learn their treachery will not be tolerated, the sooner we can restore British authority to this Godforsaken soil.” Captain John Simcoe’s voice rose in heated fervor. “We must answer this challenge or appear as cowards and lose our advantage. We will take the war to them; burn them out of their houses if we must.”
William Summers, Madelyn’s father, spoke up. “They’re little threat—farmers—laborers. Your measures sound extreme.”
Understatement. Madelyn reined in the contentious snort. If she wanted to hear more, it was best she remain silent and unnoticed.
“John’s right. If they will not join, they should be considered traitors and treated as such,” Lt. Colonel Robert Rogers said. “Regardless of how they make their living off the king’s land.” Rogers had moved from settlement to settlement looking to recruit Loyalists on Long Island, and met her father during that time. They quickly became close friends and William’s home was a common meeting place for Loyalists and British officers.
Madelyn continued to sit there, drawn into the forbidden discussion. There might be much to gain today. Their tongues were looser than normal and their passions running high. She set her needlework to the side, turned her head toward her father’s study, and strained to catch more of the conversation.
“You can’t execute them all. The better way is to control the money. If you cut off the food and supplies, the resistance will die.”
“This Declaration of Independence is like a disease—spreading everywhere. They would rather eat the soles of their shoes than submit to British authority. I don’t think cutting off supplies will stop it.” Aaron Channing, a tall officer in British red, a member of The Queen’s Rangers, and her future husband, with his handsome face and shiny boots, seemed to sense her intrusion. He turned his head, caught her watching, and shut the door with a soft click.
Madelyn sighed. Politics—revolution, they were of no concern to women, and if her father knew she’d eavesdropped, she’d be reprimanded. Would her fiancé hold his tongue? She bit her lip and stared at the door. Most likely, but he might decide against the marriage or worse yet, question her interest in their conversation.
Her father had insisted she have several quilts and various embellished linens for her bridal chest, and that she should be fervently working on said frippery while her betrothed stood only feet away. All a show of her gentle nature and practical skills, lest he change his mind and seek a more suitable bride elsewhere.
At the age of two and twenty, she was considered an old maid. Her father believed her headstrong nature to be the reason. It was only one of many reasons. Foremost, she wanted her marriage to be for love. She was not a brood mare, nor would she allow herself to be bought and bred like one. She needed passion, a man to sweep her off her feet. A man to love her.
Aaron had passion, she knew he did, but she’d never been on the receiving end of it. Just as well. Secretly, she supported the revolutionaries and planned to do all she could to help them. It was a pity. She could have loved him. Strong, handsome, intelligent, everything a husband should be, except that he supported British rule.
The stitching, the finery, had all been for show, a way to appease her father until she could figure out how to get out of the marriage. Marrying a British officer was not in the best interest of a Patriot, even if he made her stomach flutter every time she looked at him.
Her father had grown frustrated with her, and had decided a husband could take her in hand and squelch her unladylike behavior. So, he’d found Aaron, who would give her plenty of children to tame her wild ways, or at least keep her too busy to involve herself in the matters of men and revolution.
Of course, he’d been wrong. She’d been spying on the British for over three months now, passing information to her maid, who had carried it to Patriot leaders.
“I have indulged you for too long, Mattie,” he’d said. “I fear you will never have a proper match if I don’t take matters into my hands. I have arranged for a marriage and I will hear no argument from you.”
Of course, she’d not spoken a word, as he demanded, but rather smashed an expensive tea set that had belonged to her grandmother. This was a land of freedom and she planned to indulge in that freedom, regardless the cost. Her family had not traveled all the way across the ocean to be shackled to British rule again—at least she had not.
No longer able to sit, Madelyn jumped to her feet and began to pace. All the womanly pursuits made her restless. Perhaps a ride along the beach was what she needed. Her father, the British officers, and the other Loyalists in his library would be there for hours, giving her a brief respite from the drudgery. He’d certainly be furious when he found out she’d left, but truth be told, she no longer cared what he thought. She had her own mind.
She crept out of the sitting room and to her father’s stables. A soft nicker welcomed her inside. She eyed her gray mare and turned to her father’s roan stud instead, slipping a bridle on the stallion and walking him out.
Grabbing a fistful of mane, she jumped up, situating herself astride the roan’s back. Not a ladylike behavior, but a sight more comfortable than riding sideways on a stiff saddle. She applied her heels, and the stallion began to canter down the road. The ride would give her time to think—time to plan her next move, decide how to take her life back.
As she galloped toward the beach, ships came into view. Madelyn drew up on the reins and squinted at the horizon. The stallion hopped to the side and snorted, tossing his head, fighting for the reins. Even though the ships were a good distance out on the ocean, the animal seemed to sense the approaching danger and refused to stand still. A rocky outcropping blocked some of her view. With the stallion already spooked, Madelyn didn’t think she could coax him into the water without getting dumped. She’d need to dismount to get a closer look.
Sliding off the horse, Madelyn led him to a tree and tied the leather strap to a branch. She turned her head and scanned the horizon. A breeze over the ocean lifted loose strands of hair from her neck, stirring a sense of unease.
She kicked off her slippers and began to peel off her stockings. Sh
e needed a count, a good look at the colors flying over the vessels. Lifting her hem, she ran across the hot sand, yipping each time she set a foot down.
Madelyn stepped into the water and sighed. The icy waves lapped at her ankles and calves. Refreshing, but not far enough out to get what she needed. She waded deeper and craned her head to look at the ships. Now at her knees, the water had drenched her hem. A wave washed against her, slapping her thighs. One—two—three, she began to count.
More waves crashed in. Her petticoats stuck to her wet skin and Madelyn dropped her hem, knowing it did little good to hold it further. Four, five, six…. Oh God, there were so many. Twenty, thirty, forty…. The water buffeted her again, causing her to stagger under the weight of her soaked garments. Seventy, eighty…. There were more, she couldn’t see.
A little deeper then. She took ten more steps, rising on her tiptoes in an attempt to see over the rocks. One hundred, one-twenty-two…. So caught up in counting the ships, Madelyn missed a large wave, until it rolled over her head, sending her tumbling back.
Her knee scraped a rock and she swallowed a large mouthful of salt water, surfacing seconds later with a burning throat, stinging eyes, and a throbbing wound. The water-laden garments pulled at her, drawing her deeper into the ocean. Another wave hit before she could regain her footing, and pushed her back toward the shore, burying her in its mass.
Over again she tumbled through the surf, certain to drown. As she hit shallow water, she crawled on her hands and knees toward the beach, but her gown caught, stopping her escape. The water drew back; its power kept her pinned to the sandy bottom. She pushed with all she had, but couldn’t pull herself free of its grip. Her arms and legs shook, while she struggled to rise. The breakers roared behind her like angry beasts. Madelyn turned in time to see a large, foaming cap swallow her. She wanted to call for help, but the tremendous force held her under.
The water began to draw back again, but this time a hand gripped her arm and hefted her out of the surf and onto the beach, where she was released in a soggy heap on the gritty shore. Sand clung to her wet garments and skin, but she cared little. She hacked up seawater and rubbed her eyes. Her skirt had hiked up around her thighs and stuck to her wet flesh like a giant leech. When she opened her eyes, she stared at a pair of worn leather boots. A man’s boots.
Madelyn yelped, yanked her dress down and over her legs. She tipped her head back to look at her rescuer. With the bright sun behind him, he could be old or young, ugly or handsome. All she could see was the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man, who’d saved her life.
“How did you end up in the water?”
“I….” She sucked in a breath. “I saw ships.”
“And you went into the ocean in your gown because of this?”
Madelyn nodded. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel his gaze drift down to her chest, where the already low-cut bodice now showed more than was respectable. She tugged on the neckline, desperate to cover her breasts.
“Foolish woman.” He reached down, pulling her to her feet. “And I’d thought myself truly lucky—that I’d found a mermaid.”
She collapsed against him, unable to support her weight, certain she’d topple otherwise. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths against his hard torso. All her senses seemed heightened from her near drowning. An arm came around her, pulling her tighter to him, keeping her in a most compromising situation.
Mermaid she was not, but he must have gotten the wrong idea by how thin the water had made her gown, and what it most likely displayed, while she clung to him like wet fabric. She knew she must put a stop to the direction the situation traveled. The proper thing to do would be to look him in the eye and let him know she was a lady then gently remind him the situation wasn’t proper.
Madelyn looked up into the most striking face she’d ever seen and all her intentions went out with the tide. Her breath caught in throat, freezing the words on her tongue. Blue eyes looked down into hers. The stranger had a strong, square jaw and dark hair just below shoulder length, tied back at the nape of his neck. Manners dictated she should look away, but she couldn’t. She was a captive to that face and the emotions it held. Heat. Brazen lust. He cocked a brow.
She jerked her gaze away, watching the water lap the sand at her toes instead. Warmth crept up her neck and across her cheeks.
“Are you all right?” His voice rolled through her with the same power as the surf, setting her body to trembling anew. Madelyn fought the pull, the need to look back up. She’d never been held so close by a man, and certainly not while dressed in a wet gown that put little between them. She pressed her hands to his shoulders and pushed, hoping to break contact before someone caught her in his embrace.
He tightened his grip. “I ask again. Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He cupped her chin to tip her face back to his. “Do you have a name, mermaid?”
“Your name, sir?”
“I asked first.”
“Madelyn Summers.”
“William Summers’ daughter, of Summers’ shipping?”
“Yes, and you, sir?” She’d never seen him before. Certainly, she wouldn’t have forgotten a man such as he. Her thighs clenched and a strange heat moved through her, daring her to touch him, kiss his lips or nibble on his chin, thoughts no respectable woman would entertain. “Who would you be?”
“Who would you like me to be?” He smiled, the corners of his mouth curled, making him look an even bigger temptation and danger.
She shoved again. “Whomever you are, sir, you take liberties.” Liberties that had her burning for more, needing to explore the feelings that threatened to twist her inside out.
“Indeed I do. I think I deserve a kiss for my dashing rescue.”
A dashing rescue—yes, but a request to kiss a stranger? Certainly not. Even he had to know her reputation could be ruined by such behavior. She was already in a precarious situation, flirting with a man not her betrothed. If her husband called off their marriage, she’d be ruined.
“Well, do I get a reward?” His warm breath brushed her lips. No jest, he meant it.
“Indeed not, sir. Or should I call you rake? I’m taken.” She glared back even though she enjoyed the embrace and the way her stomach fluttered when he’d cupped her chin.
He released her and stepped back. “Ah I see. Married then.” He gave her a nod. His fingers went to the brim of his tricorn hat. It sat at a cocky angle to the left, making her want to reach up and straighten it. She’d seen soldiers wear it that way, to keep it clear of their musket—or so she’d heard. Was he a soldier then?
“Are you with them?” She nodded toward the ocean.
“Do I look like I am?”
“No.” He wore no red or shiny brass, nor wig or powder on his face. Any kind of rank was absent and she could only assume he was a farmer, a rebel, or perhaps both. Whatever it was about him, though, she couldn’t ignore the draw. It seemed as though invisible straps were buckled to her, tugging her toward him. Pulling, pulling. She wanted to step up to him, close the space he’d put between them, throw her arms around his shoulders.
Wanton.
He continued to watch her, as though he could see through her, into the deepest parts of her soul, and was torn between doing what was right and wrong. “You best get back to your husband before he notices you’ve gone missing.” The words came out a little more than a hushed whisper, drowning in the surf.
“Husband—no. I haven’t yet exchanged my marriage vows,” she spluttered and realized a second too late her mistake when he seized her again and pulled her in tight.
“Ah, betrothed.” Which usually meant no longer a virgin and fair game. In most cases, he would be correct in his assumption, but she wasn’t most cases. Aaron had been nothing but a gentleman. “Then grant me my kiss.”
She tipped her head back to spew something nasty and found his mouth on hers. Madelyn melted into him, her lips ope
ning, tasting the forbidden, lacking the strength to resist.
The man she kissed was not a Loyalist. He was dangerous, her father’s enemy, and she’d be disowned if he saw her consorting with a rebel. Even worse, British soldiers or Loyalists could see her, and that could end badly for all involved. Spies were shot or hung.
He broke the kiss, but didn’t put distance between them. He pressed his forehead to hers and skimmed his fingers down her cheek and along her collarbone. “You should go. It’s not safe to be out here.”
She didn’t want to leave, regardless the danger. The pull increased, making her desperate to keep him in her company a few more moments. Would she ever see him again? She didn’t even know his name, or if he could be trusted. Instinct told her he could. Madelyn seized the courage and asked one question that could get her arrested. “Can you get a message to the Patriots?”
He cocked his head. “What makes you think I know them?”
“You are one of them.” Not a question, her gut told her so.
He gave her a nod.
“Can you tell them the British are invading Long Island—Manhattan was a diversion—I’m certain of it. The Queen’s Rangers will do horrible things to anyone who supports independence from the crown. I’ve heard things from one of their leaders—terrible things.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the horizon. “I fear it’s too late.
Chapter Two
God, his brother would have his hands full with this woman. Thomas Ayers, an officer in Washington’s militia, spy, Patriot, and a man above all, walked over to where Madelyn had tied her horse, possibly one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Every part of his body begged him to scoop her in his arms and carry her away, but continued flirting wasn’t prudent.
He shouldn’t have admitted his association with the rebels, but the look in her eyes told him she’d know if he lied and for some strange reason, the last thing he’d wanted to do was deceive her.
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