The Patriot's Conquest (14 page)

Pleasure warred with real alarm as he hoisted the hem of her skirts and slid a hand along her calf, up her thigh. Skillfully he stroked her skin, his touch teasing and light as he threatened to broach the area between her clenched thighs. Amanda whimpered under the sensual onslaught. Finally, he released her.

“There now, Amanda. A small taste of what I do with my female companions. I’ve the inclination to show you a larger taste since you’ve whetted my appetite.”

Anger laced his husky voice. She recognized how dangerous this man was and the game she had chosen to play. Spy on him? Suddenly afraid, Amanda pushed at his chest.

With a polite bow, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the door.

“If you desire to leave, Jake will drive you home. He’s in the barn. But if you wish to stay, the feather bed is quite soft and large enough for two. And since you have such curiosity about my private life, I’m more than willing to satisfy it.”

“’Tis best you keep your inclinations to yourself, Jeffrey, for you forget I am not one of your lower-class female companions. I’d no more willingly bed you than I’d turn tailcoat to my King and Country.”

The smile he gave her was chilling in its fierce intensity.

“Oh? We shall see about that. We shall see.”

She suppressed a shudder at the low threat in his words. Amanda fumbled with the doorknob, then fled down the hallway to the stairs.

T
IRED OF THE
sleepy mood that had descended upon Williamsburg since Lord Dunmore had dissolved the House of Burgesses, George Wythe decided to make merry.

He rented out the Apollo Room for the night and invited friends to join in singing, dancing and drinking. Thirty people packed the room, including the Richards, who brought Polly. Jeffrey brought Meg, arranging for Sadie to watch the children.

Tables had been pushed off to one side to make room for dancing. Sitting at one now, Jeffrey lifted his tankard. Silently he toasted his own cleverness. He’d managed to leech from Amanda that her cousin feared the militia and felt defenseless. But kissing her brought not pleasure, but burning longing. The woman teased his male senses to the point of agony. Being near her left him vulnerable, as if he stood alone in an open field facing a volley of British musket fire.

As friends struck up violin and flute to begin the dancing, Jeffrey found himself remembering Amanda’s eager response to his caresses. She was a flint and he dry kindling, ready to burn for her.

Polly Richards crossed the pegged pine floor and stood before him, looking pretty in a sprigged gown.

“Mr. Clayton, please dance with me. ’Tis a festive night to celebrate. Is nothing more wonderful than dancing?”

Polly was a sweet-faced girl and he needed to shake off these feelings about Amanda. He took her hand and they joined the group in several hearty country dances. Meg, dancing nearby with Stephen, a cousin of the Richards’, looked rapt with joy.

As the couples sat down again, Stephen escorted Meg to her chair and hovered nearby. Jeffrey made a note to track the relationship. If Meg remarried, he’d give her back the 400 acres he’d purchased to relieve her debt, plus a few acres of his land on Virginia’s northwest frontier. It would make a handsome dowry and provide as well for Miles and Sara.

An unexpected twist of pure loneliness stabbed him. If Meg married, he’d be left alone once more. Mayhap he should rethink marriage and a family of his own.

Polly sat beside him, smiling coyly. “Mr. Clayton, you dance quite well. You put me out of breath, you do. My heart is pounding so very fast. You should feel how fast it pounds.”

She put a hand on her narrow chest as if suggesting he dare to check her heart. Amused, he reached for his tankard and drank. Certainly Polly would love the position of being Mrs. Jeffrey Clayton. She looked at him like he’d seen portly Peyton Randolph eye a plump roast. Maybe she’d enjoy the other positions that came with marriage as well.

“I fear I will wear out my shoes before the night is over. Look at my poor shoes!”

She pouted and lifted her skirt to mid-calf, peering at her cloth slipper.

Jeffrey choked on his Virginia beer, startled at the bold revealing of her naked ankle. The girl was indeed a practiced flirt. Then he realized Polly actually worried her shoes would wear out from dancing, more than the impropriety of lifting her skirts to show off her leg.

He thought of Amanda and how she’d no more present part of her leg for his inspection than she’d stand up in the tavern and give a toast to Patrick Henry.

“Fear not, Miss Richards. If your shoes give out, your stockings are sturdy enough for dancing the night through.”

Perhaps he should try engaging her in solid conversation. A good American girl, she fit into his life much easier than say, Amanda. He fished around for a compliment.

“’Tis a pretty dress you wear, Miss Richards. Makes your cheeks blossom like two roses.”

A wave of color flooded those cheeks and she gave a pretty smile. Jeffrey considered. Quite charming, really.

“This dress, ’tis old. Mother insists we spin our own from now on to honor the boycott. I tire of linsey-woolsey. It scratches something fierce!”

“’Tis a sacrifice we make to demonstrate to England we’ll not bend to her pressure on us for closing the Boston port.”

“Oh indeed! But the sassafras tea is nothing compared to English tea. And I so wanted new hair ribbons for tonight, lovely pink ones that would go with my gown, but there’s no purchasing them, for they are English as well.”

He tried again. “If America is to become united, we must forge ahead on our own and break all ties with England. Make our own hair ribbons. Boston’s port remains closed and the boycott is our small way of demonstrating unity with our sister colony. Do you not agree?”

“Oh indeed! Father says we must show support for Boston. Still, I do hope this boycott is over with soon. ’Tis tiring living with all these pressures.”

She batted her lashes. “I did want to look ever so nice for you tonight, Mr. Clayton.”

Jeffrey sighed deeply. Conversing with her was as stimulating as talking to his pewter tankard. Polly merely saw the boycott as an inconvenience. She’d do what her parents asked, but he suspected if someone handed her a new gown and new ribbons, she’d be warbling “God save the King” quicker than she could slip into the new frock.

He wanted something deeper, more meaningful, not this insipid chatter. Sparks and fire. The enormous room seemed to close on his skull. Jeffrey smiled and stood, offering an apology to Polly for abandoning her. He headed for the double doors, desperate to escape to fresh air.

“A quart of rum, please. The Reeves account.”

“We only sell
Virginia made
rum here.” The bartender frowned as soon as he’d heard her British accent.

“Whatever you have will suffice.”

Amanda’s heart vaulted into her stomach as she smiled at the green-aproned man tending bar. Papa wanted a bit of “something to wet my tongue.” Mother had threatened to beat their one remaining servant if she bought any more rum, and warned her to keep Papa from leaving the house. So he’d sent Amanda when Mother visited her weekly prayer circle.

The bartender scowled his disapproval. Bad enough to be a woman alone in the Raleigh. But purchasing rum? She glanced around the room and prayed no one of her acquaintance would be nearby. He scanned the debt accounts and his finger landed upon her father’s name. Amanda bit her lip. Just yesterday, her father had sold Sage, telling her gruffly he needed the funds as business at the store had dropped. Her heart had broken at never seeing her beloved friend again.

But for now, another, more pressing, matter awaited her.

“Have to check with Mr. Southall on this account before I can sell to you,” he grumbled.

Her hands trembled wildly. Utterly humiliated, she felt certain the two men who sat nearby playing a game of whist gawked at the sight of Amanda Reeves buying rum like a drunk sot. The Reeves account was long past overdue. She felt like shucking it all and running out into the street. Then she remembered what Papa would do if she returned without the rum.

She followed the man out the door into the Raleigh’s back hallway. And stopped short, seeing a familiar face leave the Apollo room at the same time.

“Mr. Clayton, do you require anything?” the bartender asked in a courteous voice. Much more respectful than how he’d treated her.

Light from candles on the wall sconces revealed Jeffrey’s shocked expression. He’d dressed for a social occasion. The tailored mulberry breeches, matching coat and dove gray waistcoat molded to his athletic frame. His thick ebony hair was tied back with a black ribbon into a queue. Immaculate white ruffles dripped from his coat sleeves. Black shoes boasted shiny buckles her merchant’s eye told her were too expensive for a blacksmith’s wages. Silk hose encased his strong calves. Amanda found her gaze riveted to the hard curves of his legs. The comparison between his ordinary dress and this elegant clothing, as splendid as that worn by the wealthiest gentry, flustered her. She looked up to find him staring.

“Amanda, what brings you here?”

She felt her face redden. Embarrassed, she realized the bartender had not left.

Stiffening her spine, she lifted her chin, determined not to sacrifice her pride. “’Tis a feast night and I’ve a mind for feasting. I came here to buy rum.”

Jeffrey looked doubtful. Well then, who cared if he did? What of his business was it anyway?

“Have you seen Mr. Southall, Mr. Clayton? The Reeves account is long past overdue. I need to check with him before I can sell it to her.”

Mortified, Amanda wanted to race out the door. Jeffrey’s gaze hardened at the bartender.

“Put the bill on my account.”

As the man began to protest, Jeffrey added, “Do it now, and fetch Miss Reeves her rum.”

As the man scurried away, she tried to cling to the remaining shreds of her tattered dignity. “Jeffrey, thank you but there’s no need. We can pay our bills. ’Tis just a slight shortage we shall make up. I will repay you.”

His only answer was a soft smile. She winced inwardly, hoping he didn’t pity her. Lord, how she hated being pitied. Almost as much as she hated Papa beating her.

Amanda drinking? He doubted it. Rumors flew about town of her father’s secret dalliances with the demon rum. The sot sent his own daughter to fetch alcohol for him. What manner of man was he? Jeffrey struggled with his rising temper.

She looked slightly disheveled. Beneath her cap, strands of auburn hair tumbled astray, making her look adorable and fetching. Her plain gray gown and white petticoats accented her creamy white skin, sensual pink mouth and soft, flame-colored hair.

He admired her bravado. The woman could be caught in the most trying circumstances and still have dignity. That stiff British spine was not the only thing he truly respected about her. The woman had such control he wished he could see it loosen.

Maybe he could. Not to shame her, but to peel back that reserve to find the core of the woman who kissed him with such passion. As the bartender handed her the quart of rum, she turned to leave.

“’Tis feasting then, that brings you here. Well then, don’t drink alone, Amanda. ’Tis not a good thing. Come, join us.”

“Us?” she echoed. Loud laughter and music from behind the closed doors of the Apollo Room. She tilted her lovely head and gazed in that direction.

“Meg’s here. She’s spending the night at the Wythe’s. Elizabeth is here as well.”

She looked at the doors with such longing his heart twisted. He could see the play of emotions on her soft white face. Tempted to join them, but restrained.

“Come, just a little while,” he urged.

Candlelight caught and reflected in her eyes, making them luminous as a shimmering amethyst pool. Suddenly he wanted her there more than anything, to see her face light up, to spend a little time sparring with the wicked tongue that renewed his jaded spirits.

“Meg would love to see you. And seeing that I just paid for your rum, ’tis only right you share some with me. I’d call it an even debt. No need to repay.”

One of those wheedling sentences worked, for she uttered a pretty little sigh. “All right, for a little while.”