The Patriot's Conquest (23 page)

“Spring is a time for lovers as well. Many have written of its mystery.”

She broached the subject tentatively. Jeffrey did not love her. But her heart longed for love. He brushed back a strand of her hair, giving her an intense look, his mouth thinned as if deeply troubled.

“Some men find it easier to write about it, aye, even talk of what other men have written, than to express it themselves,” he mused, sounding wistful.

Then he chuckled and tickled her in the ribs. “Or they recite it in a bawdy tune. I know one or two of these. Shall I recite for you?”

She smiled briefly. Jeffrey had married without a drop of love for her. With a deep-seated pang, Amanda realized how deeply that hurt. It would make all the difference in the world to be married to a man who loved her.

He stroked her hair as she lay on her stomach. He always wanted to touch her. Even after making love, when she was certain he was sated, Jeffrey caressed her.

“You have such beautiful hair, he murmured. “Such a rich, vibrant color.”

She laughed into the pillow. “Mother tried dyeing it when I was younger with walnut juice. ’Tis not a fashionable color for young ladies.”

He muttered an oath against her mother.

“She always insisted on one hundred strokes with the brush at night to keep it soft and shiny. I had our maid do it for me. I love having my hair brushed.”

She heard the bed ropes creak as he got up. When he climbed back into bed, she felt the firmness of a brush tug gently through her hair. The soothing strokes nearly lulled her into drowsy sleep.

His foot played with hers, rubbing up and down. “Mandy, what was your childhood like?”

“The usual for a girl. Mother insisted I attend a school fashionable for the gentry. Father scraped up the money for me to attend. I hated it. I was too tall. Too thin. And my hair, they all had beautiful, straight blonde hair. One day the girls all were talking about whom they would marry when they grew up and how many titles they’d have and I chimed in that I could marry a title as well. One just looked at me and sniffed, ‘Nobility does not marry trade.’”

“Mandy,” he said softly. He stopped brushing her hair.

Amanda cringed, hating she’d revealed a private secret. Like a turtle curling its head into its shell, she felt herself shrink into a tight ball.

“They were jealous of your beauty and your intellect.” Her husband gently rubbed her backside.

“They were right. ’Tis not a life for a merchant’s daughter, a life of nobility,” she muttered, the sting still hurting.

“’Tis a good life you shall have here with me in America, a new start where all are equal, Mandy. And our sons and daughters will stand proud among their peers and walk with equal pride.”

“Children,” she murmured. “A family of our own.”

“Aye. But to start one, I must plant a babe in your belly. Shall we try once more?”

His deep, teasing voice roused her out of self-pity. Amanda glanced over her shoulder. “Is this yet another excuse for exercising your male affliction, husband?”

“No excuse needed with you, wife, for I could make love with you all day and never tire.”

Jeffrey lifted her hair and pulled it to one side. He began kissing her back slowly. Each press of his lips brought a fever pitch of agonized pleasure. She tried drawing away.

“Good Christian couples are not so active. What will Sadie think, me being gone this long?”

“She’ll think we are a normal couple, newly married. Mandy, why do you resist me? I know making love brings you much pleasure. ’Tis nothing to be shamed of.”

“’Tis unnatural,” she muttered in a low voice so he could not hear her. He kissed her deeply and began making love to her once more. As he once again brought her to a feverish pitch, she arched her back and cried out. He chuckled against her mouth. “See, my darling Mandy? Don’t fight me. Just let it go.”

But even as her body sang with bliss, her mind rebelled. Resolve filled her. She could not fight her own passion, and he had trapped her in this marriage with her own lust. Yet there were other ways to fight. She would not be a meek, biddable wife. Amanda smiled inwardly. Tomorrow, Jeffrey would find out exactly how much fight she had in her.

H
E
’
D THOUGHT
A
MANDA
’
S
capitulation in bed signaled her willingness to be a good wife.

Wrong. The following day, Jeffrey’s irritation grew as he watched his wife bustle around the kitchen.

He’d recited the house rules while they broke fast with biscuits and fresh milk. No bare feet in the kitchen, for dropped glass easily cut feet. And no use of imported English items. “Here, we make our own,” he insisted.

She had smiled so sweetly and nodded. He should have known by the spark in her eyes Amanda had other plans in mind.

Like the imported brass toiletry case with the unicorn, the coat of arms for England, imprinted on it. While he was planting in the fields, she’d unpacked and placed the case on her dressing table. The gleaming brass caught the sunlight and his wife’s defiant look.

“Thought they would brighten the place up, since it has such a man’s touch about it. The home needs a woman’s touch.”

“Not a woman’s touch, but an English touch with the arrogance of the Crown stamped upon it,” he had said. “Put it away.”

He excused her behavior. A mistake, best overlooked. But the soap she used to wash the dishes was no mistake. Not the lye soup Sadie and Meg made. This soap had the scent of foul England stamped on it.

“Mandy, what are you doing?”

“Dishes,” she replied, scrubbing a pot.

“Mandy, I told you we don’t use English imports in this house. Including soap.”

She held out her white hands, offering a pretty smile. “But Jeffrey, your soap, ’tis such a harsh agent that it strips the skin from my fingers. Would you want me to have chapped skin?”

He examined her soapy hand, thumbing her palm, feeling the rough edges of calluses on her skin. “Mandy you forget I felt every inch of your lovely hands upon my back this morn. You have the hands not of a lady, but a woman accustomed to labor. All that work you do in the almshouse gives you away. Lye soap will not do any more damage,” he chided her.

He walked to the shelf, fetched a bar and tossed it into the wood tub of water. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. She took the imported soap.

“And what shall I do with this? Eat it?”

Sorely tempted to scrub her mouth out with it, Jeffrey took it from her. It landed in the fire with a soft hiss.

“Best place for English products.”

He walked out of the kitchen. Damn if it didn’t feel like her eyes burned holes into the back of his queue.

Amanda sought revenge at dinner.

Sitting at the table at the main house, she bowed her head as Jeffrey offered prayers. Her husband thought himself a rebel. So was she. With every ounce of strength, she would thwart him. His kisses and caresses made her weak with longing in bed. But out of bed...

He finished praying and passed his plate to her. She heaped it full of the roasted rabbit and a generous portion of fish, as well as some vegetables.

“Are you quite hungry, dear husband?” she asked cheerfully.

“I’ve a fierce appetite. Jake, Jason and I plowed the east field today. Tilled the soil with fertilizer. Planting’s next.”

All that hard work. He even looked ravenous. She dismissed a pinch of guilt.

Jeffrey dug into his food like a big man with a big hunger. Swallowing, he smiled gently. “’Tis delicious.”

“I flavored the rabbit with spices. Imported from England.”

At his incredulous look, she laughed. “No, Sadie cooked the rabbit. ’Tis nothing on it more than wine. Marinated well. Madeira. The stock you said Roger had laid away, remember?”

Jeffrey stared, scarlet coloring his cheeks.

“Why husband, your face does grow so fiercely red. Are you feeling well?”

“Madeira is imported from England.” He set down his fork.

“Oh, ’tis right. Madeira. I forgot. ’Tis a shame then, you cannot eat the rabbit. Try the fish. Oh dear. I marinated that in Madeira as well. Dear me. ’Tis only pastries, bread and vegetables then. The cabbage is all American,” she offered.

She saw him stare at the hefty helping of meat and fish with the longing of a starving man. Curiosity pricked her. What manner of man was her husband? Would he be that principled to deny himself a goodly meal?

As he pushed back his plate, she felt no surprise, only a healthy respect. The man could be a brigand, but did not set aside his values even when hungered.

Jeffrey glanced at her plate. Amanda had generous portions of cabbage, the fresh tarts, bread and pickled carrots. She nibbled at her food, not really hungry, for she had cut off slices of the rabbit earlier while helping Sadie cook.

She bit back a laugh as he rose, clearing the meat from the table.

Amanda vexed him sorely. Late the next afternoon, Jeffrey swore she’d wear down the patience of the saints. He’d given Sadie strict instructions to cook all meals, for he was too hungry have Amanda continue poisoning his food with British imports.

That morning, he’d gone into town to visit George Wythe, authorizing his lawyer to sell 500 acres on the western frontier. The land sat amid a large tract owned by Lord Dunmore. Jeffrey instructed George to squeeze 2,500 pounds out of the bastard. His secret mirth at knowing how badly Dunmore wanted the land faded fast when George told him the news.

Lexington and Concord. Men had died at the hands of British soldiers. War had been officially declared. As he rode back to the farm, Jeffrey had felt torn between wanting to ride back to Boston to pick up a musket and join his friends and a great fear of unleashing the beast within. Last time he’d unchained that beast, hundreds had died.

Now, as he made his way from the kitchen to the fields, his ire grew. Sadie had said Amanda had gone for a walk. Jeffrey crossed the fields. At the wood’s edge, he spotted two footprints in the spring mud.

Anger mixed with concern. Spring was not the time for a leisurely stroll in these woods. All manner of animals meant danger for unwary city folk like Amanda.

A scream echoed through the trees. Fear rushed through him as he ran. Past a copse of trees, near a fallen log, Amanda hugged herself. Terror widened her eyes.

“Snake!” she cried out.

The deadly rattle alerted him before he saw it. Jeffrey drew out the knife at his waist, flung it and killed the rattlesnake. Amanda sank onto the log, sobbing.

“Mandy, did it bite you?” Jeffrey knelt beside her, anxiety curdling his gut. Rattler bites were almost always fatal.

No answer. More sobs.

“Amanda!”

“No.”

“Thank the Almighty,” Jeffrey whispered.

Relief as sharp as the knife cut through his fear. He retrieved his blade, wiped it on nearby moss and then sheathed it. His knees grew weak. If she had died, he would have simply died along with her. The thought startled and disturbed him. He did care, too deeply. This would give her power over him. Never again would he give a woman such power. His temper fractured.

“I had thought I told you the house rules. No walking alone in the woods!”

Two big tears slid down her pale cheeks. “But Jeffrey, I barely entered the woods.”

“No matter! See what happens? What in Heaven’s name were you doing, wife? Had I not told you never to walk in these woods alone? ’Tis not safe, as seen!” he roared.

Amanda shrank back. Immediately Jeffrey regretted the outburst. Damn, he’d sworn he’d never scream. Lord knew what happened when he allowed himself to get too angry.

“Mandy,” he said in calmer tone, “I worry about your safety...”

She jerked away from his outstretched hands. “Thank you for your concern, Jeffrey. Your solicitous manner is much appreciated, as is your raised voice. I am not a child to be lectured nor told to obey.”

“Amanda,” he said very slowly, “You are my wife. You will obey the rules, for safety’s sake.”

“Aye, your wife, but I will not meekly submit. You may claim me in bed, but I have a mind of my own and you cannot force me to do all you request!”