by Phoebe Conn
That she would refer to him as her lover was all the encouragement Hunter required. He relaxed his hold on her to allow her the freedom to step back slightly, and then kissed her again with the same demanding affection she had welcomed so eagerly that afternoon. He slid his hands to the small of her back and pressed her hips against his. He wanted her, and that blatant gesture made his need shockingly plain.
Although captivated by him, Melissa knew better than to give in to Hunter, and when he ended a lengthy exchange of deep kisses to provide an opportunity for them both to take a much needed deep breath, she slipped out of his arms. "I can't stay," she whispered dramatically, as though having to leave him tore her heart in two. "Meet me here again tomorrow night."
Shocked that she would even consider leaving him now, Hunter delayed an instant too long before reaching out to catch her arm, and she easily eluded him to escape into the night. Left too disappointed to do more than moan, Hunter vowed not to waste a second of their time talking the next evening. It would be his last opportunity to be with Melissa for several months, and he intended to leave her with such exciting memories, no other man would ever win her heart.
* * *
As was her custom, Alanna left the house early the next morning, but Melissa slept late and when she finally awakened, her late-night tryst with Hunter lingered in her memory with the vague sweetness of a dream. She was certain she had met him, but to her mind, the encounter had been far more innocent than the one beside the road, which was precisely how she had intended it to be. She had sought only a few passionate kisses, and surely, despite Hunter's ardor, he could not have expected her to give more.
She was a lady after all, and he was an Indian brave, albeit an immensely appealing one. Where her mind had been the previous day on their ride home from Williamsburg she could not explain, but she was in full possession of her faculties now. A brief exchange of fevered kisses certainly made for a memorable interlude, but falling in love with an Indian would bring only tragedy, and she would certainly not disgrace herself with such an unsuitable match.
Melissa had left her bed, but was still wearing her nightgown and stretching languidly when her mother came to her door. Completely unburdened by guilt, she greeted Rachel warmly. "It looks like another lovely day. Tell me what to do for tonight's party."
"I'd appreciate your help in arranging the flowers," Rachel replied. "Then I'd like for you to convince Alanna to join us at supper tonight. We've had ample opportunity to observe the Indian scout, and he's no savage. Besides, Lieutenant Scott has promised to bring along two of his friends, and I'm hoping she'll like one of them."
"I asked her only yesterday if she would like to meet one of Ian's friends, but I'd no idea two had already been invited."
"What did she say?"
"She gave her usual reply. She doesn't care if she ever meets a man and falls in love." Melissa picked up her brush and began to brush the tangles out of her hair. "I don't think I'll mention Ian's friends. I'll simply insist she be at dinner to tell Byron and Elliott goodbye. If I make it sound as though they'll be insulted if she stays away, she can't refuse to eat with us. After all, we're just asking her to walk down the stairs, not to attend a party in town."
Rachel gave her clever daughter a hug before turning toward the door. "Perfect, I knew you'd think of a way to convince her to join us. I'll be out in the garden when you're dressed."
"Yes, Mama." Very pleased with herself, Melissa moved to the dressing table and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Ian had kissed her cheek a time or two, but now she wondered if he knew how to kiss as well as the Indian. If not, she would most certainly teach him. Not that night, of course, but soon.
* * *
After a day of Melissa's inspired coaxing, Alanna found herself agreeing to wear one of her cousin's fancy satin gowns. She chose a pale blue dress Melissa seldom wore, but the fact that she was several inches taller was readily apparent when she smoothed the skirt into place over a hoop and a dozen petticoats. Even encased in silk stockings, her slender ankles looked horribly unattractive to her.
"Oh, dear," she complained. "This doesn't look right at all."
Melissa stepped back to survey the problem and clucked her tongue impatiently. "That you have no beautiful gowns designed to fit you is your own fault, Alanna. Perhaps now you'll come with me on my next visit to the dressmaker's. It's high time you had more elegant clothes. You think just because you seldom leave the plantation you needn't dress well, but what about all the times we have guests? Hasn't it ever occurred to you that Mother and Father are embarrassed to have you look so neglected? It reflects very badly on them, you know."
Having never once considered that her choice of apparel was anyone's business but her own, Alanna was horribly embarrassed by her cousin's scolding. "Oh, no, I never thought—"
"No, of course not," Melissa chided. "You are too lost in yourself to worry about how we look to our friends. Well, that can't be helped tonight, but if you remain seated, or take care to stand behind me, no one will notice your gown is of an improper length. You look adorable otherwise, so let's go on downstairs and enjoy the party."
Alanna gave her skirt a tug in a vain attempt to find another couple of inches of material that just wasn't there. At least the sky blue slippers were the right size, so any anguish she might suffer was purely mental. A final glance in the mirror revealed a young woman who appeared more uncomfortable than adorable, but Alanna had agreed to go to dinner and forced herself to follow Melissa down the stairs.
It had been the prospect of dining with Hunter which had upset Alanna initially, but when she saw Ian Scott coming through the front door with two other young British officers, she panicked. She would have run right back up the stairs had Melissa not clamped her hand around Alanna's wrist and refused to let go. Trapped, Alanna took a fortifying breath, and telling herself that at least these unexpected guests were not Indians, she managed to respond to the introductions with a shy smile which completely charmed the Englishmen.
Hunter stood back, content to observe the festivities rather than participate. He had not expected Alanna to come to supper, and when she first appeared, he did not immediately recognize her. One of Melissa's ribbon-and-lace-trimmed caps sat atop her curls, and the blue gown was so flattering that for an instant he saw only a lovely young lady, rather than Alanna. When he did realize who she was, he managed a smile rather than an awkward gape, but Alanna appeared not to have seen him.
Knowing that he would not be ignored later that night, was all that kept Hunter from striding out of the Barclays' home, when Melissa appeared no more interested in him than she had been at supper the previous evening. He was pleased to see that she included Alanna in the conversation, and gave as much attention to Ian Scott's friends as she did to Ian. Soon after the British officers' arrival, two young women joined the party. Brunette sisters from a neighboring plantation, Sarah and Robin Frederick barely spoke to the Englishmen, before hurrying over to Byron and Elliott to chat.
When supper was announced, Hunter found himself seated with Byron, Elliott, and the Frederick sisters on one side of the table, with Alanna, Melissa, and the three British officers on the other. Because he had a clear view of Melissa between the silver candelabra and crystal vases filled with colorful cut flowers, he took his place without complaint. The other young men at the party were dressed in military uniforms, but he was not ashamed to attend in his buckskins. He was proud of who and what he was, but as always eager to learn, he kept a close watch on his companions and studied their every move.
Lacking Hunter's natural self-confidence, Alanna twisted her napkin into a tight knot during the blessing. The young man on her left, Graham Tyler, was the most talkative individual she had ever met, and she savored every second of her Uncle John's lengthy prayer, as it forced the young man to be silent. She did not want to be rude to him, but thought he must surely know that conversations required more than one person's comments to be successful. The o
ther officer, Stuart Harnett, appeared to be a taciturn individual, and she thought it a shame that they had not been seated together, since neither would have pestered the other with needless conversation.
As the food was served, Alanna pretended to be listening to Graham and assiduously avoided looking in Hunter's direction. She was proud of herself for being there for Byron and Elliott, and hoped that with all the guests present she and the Indian would not have to exchange a single word. Others at the table addressed questions to him and he gave intelligent replies, but she had already known he was bright, and that did not make him any the less difficult to accept.
Unmindful of Alanna's worries, Melissa had an absolutely wonderful time the whole evening. Despite the presence of Alanna and the Frederick sisters, Ian was especially attentive, which was enormously flattering. She failed to notice that Hunter disappeared after supper somewhere between the dining room and parlor. It wasn't until Byron suggested their mother provide the music for dancing that she looked around and found him gone. Doubting that he knew any of the charming country dances she and her friends loved, she dismissed him from her mind, until after a marvelously entertaining evening their guests departed and she and Alanna went upstairs to bed.
Alanna was exhausted. "Will you please ask Ian—no, beg him—not to bring Graham Tyler here ever again? The only time he ceased talking was when he was forced to pause for a breath."
"Really? I didn't notice. He dances very well."
Noting her shyness, Elliott had been Alanna's partner for the first dance, and between her considerate cousins and the enthusiastic Graham Tyler, she had danced more that evening than she had her entire life. She sank down on her bed and kicked off her slippers. "I suppose he does," she reluctantly agreed. "He's not unattractive either, but my ears positively ache from the sound of his voice."
"Perhaps he was merely nervous. You're very pretty, Alanna. It's only because you bury yourself here that you aren't surrounded by suitors."
In Alanna's mind, suitors were inexorably linked to proposals of marriage, weddings, and babies, which was a most unsettling sequence. Preferring not to encourage the direction of her cousin's thoughts, she covered a wide yawn, then rose, and began to remove her gown. By the time she got into bed, she was half-asleep, and when Melissa left their room twenty minutes later, she did not hear the door close behind her.
Melissa thought she was the first to reach the dock that night, and when she didn't immediately see Hunter, she was insulted. She would have returned to the house, had he not stepped out of the shadows within seconds of her arrival. He had already removed his shirt, and the moonlight sculpted his muscular frame with a haunting perfection that left her staring in awestruck wonder. She might have asked him where he had been most of the evening, but he didn't give her the chance.
Hunter was tempted to scold her for giving Ian more attention than she had given him that night, but decided there were far better ways to spend his time. He caught her in a joyful embrace and, delighted to find her again wearing only her nightgown and shawl, he turned his welcoming kiss into a seductive demand for total surrender. Melissa was soft and warm, her petite figure perfect in all respects; her weight provided a slight burden when he lifted her into his arms. He doubted anyone else would visit the dock that night, but there was a secluded spot shielded by a hedge nearby, and it would provide the privacy he craved.
Melissa hadn't been carried since she was a child. Excited by the strength of Hunter's embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck and again freed his hair from the cord at his nape. When he placed her on her feet, she leaned against him to savor the warmth of his broad chest. In the next instant, he pulled her down into the grass. Had she realized how much he wanted, it would have already been too late to protest, but his kiss muffled any objection she might have wished to make.
Determined this time to keep Melissa with him until he was ready to send her away, Hunter's kisses were slow and deep. His caresses were tender, his touch knowing and sweet, and when he slipped his hand beneath her nightgown and slid it up the smooth skin of her bare thigh, she was too lost in his affection to push him away. He ran his hand over the gentle swell of her hip, tilting her body toward him. It was a simple matter then to separate her legs with his knee, and his fingertips brushed the soft cluster of curls nestled between them.
Far from random in his approach, Hunter knew how to please a woman, and precisely where an easy touch could create exquisite longings he was only too willing to satisfy. He soon felt Melissa tremble with desire, as he continued to explore her most tantalizing secrets with a slow, circling motion. He paused occasionally to dip his fingers into the sweet feminine nectar her body had created to ease his way, and silently rejoiced that she would welcome him so eagerly. When he could no longer delay making her his own, he loosened his belt with one hand, shoved his breeches aside, and plunged deep within her. As her body convulsed with the shock of his forceful thrust, he was stunned by the realization that she had been a virgin.
The blissfully romantic moment shattered by searing pain, Melissa tried to cry out, but Hunter's hand closed over her mouth before she had uttered more than a tiny wail. Betrayed by her own desires, she choked back her sobs, but she knew this time she had blithely encouraged Hunter to take her much further than she had wished to go. She stared up at him, and rather than a handsome man with flowing black hair, she saw only a savage, and knew that should anyone ever learn what they had done, her reputation would be irrevocably ruined. Heartbroken by her own willful folly, she waited for Hunter to speak.
"You should have told me I would be the first, and I would have been much more gentle," Hunter whispered. "I love you, and you belong to me now." He raised his hand from her mouth, but kissed her before she could reply.
He began to move with slow, shallow thrusts, which he hoped would not cause her any additional pain. No longer responsive, Melissa lay still in his arms until he had found his own release, even if he had not provided her with the pleasure he had intended. Mistaking Melissa's horrified sense of shame for merely shy wonder at the power of love, he pulled his clothing back into place and helped her to her feet.
"I want to shout with joy, but I know we must be quiet. Remove your nightgown and wash in the river," he encouraged.
Not wanting to return to her room with any lingering trace of his loving to incriminate her, Melissa allowed him to help her out of the white garment, and then walked down to the river's edge and waded in. The water's chill made her shiver, but that was such a slight discomfort compared with her overwhelming sense of guilt, that she scarcely noticed it. For one terrifying moment, she considered drowning herself, but swiftly abandoned the idea. If she never told anyone what had happened that night, never admitted it to a single soul, no one would ever suspect that she had lost her virginity. Now knowing precisely what to expect on her wedding night, she was confident she could portray a virgin so convincingly that her new husband would believe her to be a chaste bride.
When she left the water, Hunter was waiting to help her again don her nightgown. It had gotten pushed up around her waist before he had entered her, and bore no telltale stains to give away her secret. The instant she was dressed, she turned toward her house, but Hunter reached out to stop her and handed her the shawl she had forgotten.
"Making love will be much better when I get back," he promised. "You will enjoy it as much as I do then."
Melissa dared not tell him that she would never spend another second alone with him, for fear he would complain so loudly he would wake her family. What if he then demanded her for a wife? she agonized. She had been raised to wed a fine gentleman who would give her the same prestigious social position and pampered life her parents had provided.
Unable to bear the possibility she had jeopardized her whole future by foolishly encouraging an amorous Indian's passions, she raised up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, and then fled toward the safety of her home. By the time she had reached her bedroom, she
lost her tenuous hold on her composure and had to muffle her sobs with the shawl she had almost carelessly left at her lover's feet.
Unable to tame an ecstatic grin, Hunter remained at the dock, watching the moonlight play on the river and remembering the delectable softness of his beloved's fair skin. He had never expected to fall in love with a white woman, but Melissa Barclay was so irresistibly appealing, he had not been able to help himself. He would have to move far more slowly with her parents than he had with her, but he intended to take Melissa for his wife, and for her sake, he wanted their consent. While he was certain they had never imagined having a Seneca son-in-law, he would strive to make them proud.
Chapter 4
Melissa struggled against the paralyzing fear that all her bright hopes for an advantageous marriage and blissfully happy life had vanished along with her virtue. She was only eighteen, but all because of an irresistibly appealing Indian brave, her whole future lay in jeopardy. Her tears became hoarse, choking sobs as she weighed the necessity of keeping the shame of her disastrous flirtation with Hunter a secret, and the horrible possibility of it being discovered. She would never tell, never even hint that there had ever been anything whatsoever between them.
But would Hunter be equally discreet? she agonized.
What were the chances he would keep the shocking details of their friendship to himself? Clearly he was a proud man, but if anything, she had minimized whatever compliments Byron and Elliott had bestowed on his talents. He was no braggart, but was that because he had simply not had anything as tantalizing as his affair with her to prompt a boast? Perhaps sleeping with a white woman was the most exciting thing he had ever done, and he would be eager to tell everyone he knew just how easily he had seduced her.
No! she fought to convince herself. He was too clever a man not to realize Byron and Elliott would not allow him to talk about her as though she were a common trollop. Her brothers would beat him senseless—if not much worse—should they ever hear him speak of her in a disrespectful fashion. A fresh wave of tears followed that thought, for surely she had betrayed her brothers' trust that night, when she had betrayed herself.