The Patriot's Conquest (6 page)

Outside, she jumped slightly as he pressed harder against her elbow. “Looks like a lovely night for a stroll. Shall we?”

Outside, they descended to the walkway and strolled at a measured pace as if truly enjoying the budding fragrance of spring blossoms. Stars studded the sky and moonbeams cast shadows upon the beech trees and holly bushes.

Finally, they reached a side garden. A tall hedged archway led to the stables. Voices drew near. He gripped her elbow tighter, taking her to a wooden bench and forced her to sit.

Fear intensified as Jeffrey’s hand encircled hers. She’d hoped he’d take her outside and flee. Now he sat her down as if to woo her in the moonlight. She tried not to stare at the sensual curve of his mouth, remembering it pressed against hers. Amanda licked her lips. How could she harbor such lustful thoughts when acting upon them had sent her running in shame from England?

Memories flooded back. Last time she’d sat on a garden bench, she’d been ruined. Once more, she was in the same position. This time, with a man who not only coaxed out her sensual side with white-hot kisses, but a dangerous radical who presented another, more ominous threat to King and Country. What had he been doing in her cousin’s rooms?

Jeffrey glanced up at the moon bathing Amanda in a silver glow and accenting her natural beauty. He rested his hand atop hers, his thumb stroking over her smooth skin. She trembled.

Upstairs, his heart had lurched at the fear on her face. He knew that kind of fear, the type that froze your limbs and turned your mind soft as porridge. Male instinct urged him to hand back the offending garter and pull her into his arms to offer comfort. Self-preservation forced him to hold hostage the evidence of her misconduct.

And his, he reminded himself.

He admired her absolute poise. That ramrod British spine probably wouldn’t curve no matter how hard he hammered it with threats. Her red hair reflected the fiery Scots blood that ran through Dunmore’s veins. Passion. Vulnerable to seductive words and kisses.

He’d brushed her soft cheek with his fingertips, barely a caress, but she reacted with more desire than many of his bed partners.

Upstairs, Jeffrey had watched as her reddened lips parted on a quivering breath, saw the flush of passion tint her pale skin. Experienced in all the signs of a woman’s arousal, he’d known how to make good his escape. ’Twas the move of a desperate man.

But now, surrounded by moonlight and freedom mere footfalls away, he yearned to repeat the dance of seduction.

Maidenly giggles wafted across the tall hedges. An unwitting lady alone with her fellow drew closer. Jealousy stabbed him at their intimacy, moments of shared pleasure denied to him. He had not enjoyed a woman’s company for a long time. Kissing Amanda had burned him with hot need and awakened long-dead feelings better left buried in the past.

She glanced up with an air of expectation. What flickered through her pretty head? Fears that he’d dare steal another kiss? Or did the garter he held hostage in his sleeve motivate that wistful glance?

He
wanted
to kiss her again. Kiss her hard and let loose all the howling passion held tight inside him. Slip that lovely gown off her shoulders and bare her white bosom to his hungry gaze. Let his lips graze along her graceful swan’s neck, trail down to those lovely firm breasts, encase one of her nipples with his mouth and pleasure her. Jeffrey brushed his fingers against her downy cheek and leaned closer to the temptation her mouth offered.

“Please, do not,” she begged, her voice trembling. But her actions contradicted her words, for those lush lips parted and her rapid breathing filled the air.

Aye, she wanted him equally. But he couldn’t kiss her now. Jeffrey tensed to leave as the sounds of the giggling couple faded.

He pressed a kiss against her soft palm, rising desire threatening to shake loose his hard-won control and make him toss aside everything to have her in his arms again.

“’Tis best to use vapors as an excuse for your prolonged absence. Good-bye Miss Reeves,” he bade her. As he started to slip off into the shadows, a soft voice called to him.

“Wait!”

A wild hope rose that she would bid him back for one last kiss. He regarded her outstretched hand.

“My garter, if you please.”

Jeffrey withdrew the pink sash, raised it to his nostrils and held her gaze as he inhaled the delicate scent from Amanda’s thigh, woven into the fabric. Then he kissed the cloth.

With a wave, he released the satin, watching it sail on a gentle breeze. Then he spun around and fled into the night, a wraith with raging sexual need, leaving behind a moonlit beauty with an astonished look on her lovely face.

He dared to leave the memory of his lips upon her garter.

The cad. Amanda clutched the cloth with a squeezed fist. Putting that man’s kiss against her naked thigh felt wicked. She debated the action. But for the rest of the night, should she desire her stocking to remain in place, she would have to endure the memory of his mouth upon the fabric.

Of ever a practical nature, Amanda bent, raised her skirt, fixed her limp stocking and reattached the garter.

Darkness blurred as she blinked away a fine sheen of tears. Raising her head, she stared at the full moon. Once more the garden and moonlight had captured her in its embrace, only this time the seduction had taken place away from its starry skies.

Jeffrey had kissed her and she had melted into him like sugar in boiling water.

She was so weak. Why could she not resist the man’s advances? How could she, who came from good, solid British and Scottish stock, let sensuality rule her?

The man had teased her to a fever pitch of torment. Then when he’d finally eased free, she’d only hungered for more, as if he’d invited her to a splendid repast of beef and fine sparkling wines, and then sent it all splattering to the ground in fiendish delight.

Jeffrey Clayton was a dangerous man. A rebel who scoffed at every rule English society set down and she tried to embrace. Ever since setting foot in this new, wild land, she’d worked hard to adhere to society’s edicts. And one brash, darkly seductive blacksmith threatened to ruin all she held dear. Amanda winced, imagining the doors to society she’d pried open slamming firmly shut.

Daughter of a lowly tradesman
, cultured voices from the past mocked her. She would not let Jeffrey Clayton destroy all she’d worked so hard to achieve.

Tomorrow she’d set the plan in motion and visit him at Meg’s home. The sooner she found evidence of his treason, the faster she could rid her family of their debt to Dunmore.

She turned her back on the uncaring moon and walked briskly toward the supper room entrance.

A
MANDA SET OUT
for the Flanders farm the next day, passing green-shuttered houses with gabled roofs and dormer windows as she drove the carriage down Williamsburg’s main street. Boxwood trees and hedges showed signs of spring. A few sheep darted away from her carriage. Strolling pedestrians did not resemble the rebels Jeffrey hinted lay below the surface. Their faces were as placid as grazing cows.

Anxiety flowered as she approached the farm. Amanda resisted the urge to turn the horses back and run home. But she had no choice, if she didn’t want to become a resident of the almshouse, wearing a red patch on her frock signifying her as a pauper and ward of the parish.

Her mother had sent her off with a lecture. Amanda supposed it was because she felt guilty for putting her daughter into this dangerous predicament. So she shifted the blame back onto Amanda, reminding her once more of the reason why they’d left England. Those who committed sins of the flesh would suffer the dire consequences, her mother said. How many times did Amanda have to hear that particular lecture? Hadn’t she been reminded enough?

She flicked the reins as the phaeton pulled into a stretch of woods. The conveyance rolled up a slope past open fields, then she turned onto a pathway winding toward a two-story, white house with black shutters. Amanda set the brake and climbed down, carrying a basket as she mounted the steps.

Grease-streaked windows looked at her like large, sad eyes. The porch needed sweeping as well. Amanda blinked. Sweat coated her palms but she marched forward to the door. She drew a deep breath for courage, raised her fist and knocked.

Sitting in the rocker next to his sister’s bed, Jeffrey winced every time Meg coughed. His sister lay pale and sunken on the feather mattress, blending in with the whiteness of the sheets. He cursed his helplessness.

“Try to eat something. You must get your strength back,” he urged his sister. He held out a plate filled with slices of bread Sadie had made that morn, hoping its fresh-baked aroma would stimulate her appetite.

She shook her head. “Nay. I’m not hungry.”

The plate dropped to his lap. He leaned back. The rocker made a soothing creak. Since Meg had taken to bed, he found himself helpless to run the household in her stead. The sheer enormity of his responsibilities saddled his shoulders with twin weights.

“Meg, I beg you, let me hire some extra help.”

“Nay, do not waste your money, Jeffrey. ’Tis but a small cough and I’ll be on my feet in no time.”

Jeffrey heaved an exasperated sigh. Her stubborn pride made assisting her most difficult.

“You look tired,” Meg observed. Her long hair, once silky and glossy, lay in brown tangles. Her once sparkling eyes were now dull with fever.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He rose, gently raised her thin shoulders, feeling bone where flesh should be, and fluffed her pillow.

“I’m your big sister. I’m supposed to worry about you. Jeffrey, I’m sorry I asked you down here. I know how much you wanted to stay in Boston.”

He resumed his rocking. When Roger had died that winter, Meg wrote to him stating she needed help if she were to save the farm she and Roger had lovingly titled Evergreen. Her letter had deeply troubled him, for Jeffrey knew circumstances were dire indeed if his proud sister had finally broken down and asked for help.

“Meg, family comes first. Now stop it. ’Tis an exciting new adventure, being back in Virginia. I’m here to stay. Whatever you need, I’ll provide it.”

“You’ve already bought 400 acres of Evergreen when I was short of cash. ’Tis enough.”

“’Tis not enough. Meg, I’d have gladly given you the money had I known how bad things were,” Jeffrey said, masking his irritation. Damn stubborn Clayton pride. She’d refused his offer of financial assistance. Only when he’d agreed to an outright purchase of land did she cave in.

“Where are the children?” Meg asked.

“With Sam, Jake, John and Sadie. Repairing the fence in the north field and tilling the soil to prepare for fertilizing until I can purchase more slaves as field hands.”

“And then turn around and free them.” Meg frowned. “Jeffrey, ’tis a thing that turns many planters against you. Freeing slaves is not a way to gain entry into Virginia society.”

“Who said I wish to gain entry?”

“Your radical views will make enemies, I fear.”

“And here I thought I’d left most of them in Boston.” Jeffrey chuckled. “It will be most interesting to make new ones.”