The Patriot's Conquest (9 page)

“My dear, you must not let him intimidate you. Remember your duty to King and Country.”

Amanda raised her gaze. Her father, Arthur, had mellow features, jowls and a thoughtful air. His powdered wig sat in straight perfection on his head. Most of the time. When he was sober. Lately, thank the good Almighty, that had been quite often.

“I remember. I also remember that you forced me into this.” Her own bravado surprised her. She had not stood up to her parents in some time.

“Hold your tongue young lady,” warned her mother. “Do you forget you are the reason we moved to these ill-bred colonies?”

“How could I forget? When you choose to keep reminding me,” Amanda muttered.

“Did you find out anything useful?” her father asked.

“Jeffrey Clayton is very intelligent. It will not be an easy task to find out much.”

“Clayton. Rabble rouser from Boston. Trying to drive me out of business! Thank the Almighty only a few citizens have the pea brains to listen to him. He is a dangerous one, Clayton. Heard he was among the first to talk of raising a militia up north. He should have been flogged for sedition.”

Amanda swallowed hard. Never had she heard her mild-mannered father spout such venom. What would he say if he knew she’d kissed that traitor to the Crown? Would she suffer the same condemnation, or worse?

Her mother frowned. “But he is not among those who actually joined the militia, is he?”

“He’s talked enough in the Raleigh tavern with the radicals. They’ll recruit him for the militia eventually. Fought in the French and Indian war. From what I hear he did ghastly things in the war. Dreadful, unspeakable acts.”

Amanda blanched. Her father nodded. “I am sorry to upset you, but he has a violent streak.”

“And this is the man you set me to spy upon? Do you not fear for my own safety, Papa?”

He reached over and patted her hand. “As long as you are among others in his company, you are safe from him. I fear he may be a man who would use violence against innocent maidens.”

The irony was too much to bear
. Safer than I am when alone with you when you have imbibed, father?
Would Jeffrey raise a cane against a woman?

Amanda remembered the gentle way Jeffrey’s lips had claimed hers and how his kiss had intensified. Yet even amid the heated passion his mouth delivered, there was a tenderness to his actions that belied her father’s claim of vulgar aggression. Jeffrey kissed with confidence and purpose, but did not force her.

“These colonists who insist on independence from England, who complain of being governed by the best government in the world. This is why Parliament stopped shipping British goods to the colonies, because of these dull, uneducated commoners! And they refuse to purchase my merchandise.” Her father slammed a fist on the table. Silverware and china rattled.

“Not all colonists are dull and uneducated. Meg Flanders is highly intelligent. I like her very much. She asked me to visit again.”

“Do so. ’Tis an excellent excuse to spy upon her brother,” her mother suggested. “Visit her Sunday after church services. But not today. William does plan to call on you.”

William. A proper British subject, rigid in his duty and what her mother thought of as a decent catch. And dull.

Not Jeffrey, who aroused passions she buried deep within her breast. She need not fear such passion from William and his rigid moral code.

Amanda exhaled so deeply her stays dug painfully into her ribs. A small feeling of rebellion surfaced. Why must she do everything her parents asked? What of her own expectations?

“Mother, William is not my type of gentleman.”

“Amanda, matters such as choice of suitors are best left to your father and me. We have only your best interests in mind as a lady of social standing.”

She gripped her chair, certain steam poured forth from her ears. Enough of them forcing him upon her!

“William is a pompous, overstuffed oaf who—”

“Amanda that is enough! You will be present this afternoon when William comes to call. You will be respectable and polite to him! You have no choice in this matter. Do I speak plainly?” Her mother clenched her fists so hard the knuckles whitened.

“We want only the best for you, m’dear. ’Tis a fine match, a captain and Lord Dunmore’s private secretary, if he should ask for your hand. Amanda, we only think of you,” her father said in a milder tone.

Defeated, she nodded her head. “Yes father, I will do my duty.” It was for her sake her parents had left their beloved England.

In her room after dinner that afternoon, Amanda indulged herself in the secret pleasures of Voltaire. Settled comfortably in a favorite chair, she turned a page, but the words danced on the paper. Each lovely, radical phrase echoed in her head in a mocking, Yankee accent affected by Jeffrey Clayton.

“Amanda!” A sharp rap came at her door. “I know you are reading. Stop this instant. Captain William Christopher has come calling.”

Amanda jumped with a guilty start. If mother knew she read Voltaire, the theist, who turned the tables on Christianity...

In pure defiance, she turned the page. Perhaps if she pretended not to hear.

“Amanda!” her mother hissed.

She rose with a slight groan, tucking the book into its hiding place under the seat cushion. Staring at her appearance in the mirrored glass, she adjusted a stray curl. Oh bother. She must simply get on with it. William was persistent.

Excitement sparkled in her mother’s expression as she trudged into the hallway. Captain Christopher, private secretary and head of Lord Dunmore’s personal guard, had courted Amanda for three months. He hailed from a notable British family and had excellent social standing.

The kind that would elevate her family’s status at long last.

Her mother pinched her cheeks. “You are too pale. Now go into the parlor and behave!”

As she entered the parlor, William’s florid face broke into a wide smile. He rose from an overstuffed wing chair, hat in hand. William had an erect military carriage. However, his bright blue waistcoat trimmed with gold braid had a tendency to jut out at the waist. Three years as Dunmore’s secretary and a fondness for strawberry tarts had made the soldier flabby.

“William,” she murmured.

“Amanda, my dear, as usual your radiance puts the sun to shame,” he uttered, bending over her hand. A small drift of white from his powdered wig tickled her nose.

“I had thought we would enjoy a ride today around Williamsburg and into the country, with your mother, seeing as ’tis a fine spring day.”

Amanda peered outside. A crisp wind rattled tree branches against the windows. “Oh?”

Her mother hastily bounded to her side. “Why how very thoughtful of you, William. Of course we shall be delighted and Amanda as well.”

“Yes of course,” she murmured, thinking longingly of the abandoned Voltaire sitting upstairs.

“Pray, make yourself at home, William. Amanda, see to our guest whilst I change.”

Amanda settled on the green brocade couch. She patted a space beside her. “Come William, sit beside me. There’s a matter I wish to ask of you.”

“Anything you wish, my dear Amanda, for I am here to serve your needs.”

“You know of my work at the parish almshouse.”

William sniffed. “Yes, you have mentioned it. ’Tis a task far beneath you, Amanda.”

She hid her irritation. “Be that as it may, there is a young widow I have promised to help. Her husband left her without means of support and she was forced to seek desperate measures. Julie is in a delicate situation, for there is one at the almshouse who could cause her great harm. Can you find her a position in Lord Dunmore’s household? She is a hard worker, willing to do anything.”

She knew William could influence the hiring of Dunmore’s household, as he held a position of great authority.

William frowned. “You wish me to find employment for a resident of the almshouse at the governor’s house? ’Tis a high request, Amanda.”

Amanda steeled her resolve, determined to honor her promise. “Nay, not that high, for even work as a scullery maid would suit her. Please, William. I would be much indebted to you for being a gallant and saving Julie.”

“A scullery maid.” He sank into his jowls, seemingly lost in thought. “’Tis a difficult matter, but I will do it.”

“Oh William, I do thank you and I know Julie will be much relieved and joyous.” Amanda clutched his hand, sighing with relief.

He stared at her with dawning lust. “What will you give me in return for this favor? ’Tis deserving, at least, of some small affection.”

Amanda recoiled, thinking of how her chaste kisses, when doled out discreetly, always left William panting for more. Like a dog on a summer day, she thought in disgust.

William leered at her. “Now, ’tis turn for payment.”

She swallowed hard. Amanda struggled with revulsion as William lowered his head and kissed her. She stifled her impulse to gag on his onion-laced breath. Amanda closed her eyes and thought of respectability. Wealth. Social standing. Married to William, she’d have all that.

His tongue slithered rudely over her mouth in a wet smacking sound. He rubbed himself against her and dared to knead one of her breasts roughly. She struggled in his embrace, remembering the passion of Jeffrey’s kiss, how she’d longed to melt into him.

Breaking free, she drew back. “You take liberties with me!”

Why could not Jeffrey’s kiss be this revolting? And William stir her to flames?

Amanda had an urge to run and rinse out her mouth as William regarded her slyly. He’d probably jot down the small triumph in his private journal later that day. He told her once how he recorded all his accomplishments in his journal “to remember sweet victories.”

“You’ll learn to enjoy my kisses. ’Tis but a taste of what pleasures I’ll offer you when we are married. I’ll take your reluctance now as maidenly shyness, but when you are mine there will be no holding back.” he whispered.

William sat back as Amanda’s mother swept into the room.

Pleasures? Lying with him in the marriage bed brought no pleasant images to mind. He’d paw at her greedily every night. After her debacle in the garden, her mother had grimly informed her in vivid detail what transpired between a man and a woman in the marriage bed. Pain and blood, the man lying naked atop the woman, violating her body, for she was his now to do with as he pleased.

The image came, unbidden. Lying on the marriage bed as William climbed between her thighs, probing between her legs with his man part. No tenderness or consideration of her young, untried body, only desire to seek his own pleasure. Amanda thought of William’s naked, pudgy flesh against hers and wanted to retch.

Another vision flickered—Jeffrey’s naked, muscular body pressing her against the feather bed as he spread her thighs wide and settled between them. Tenderness, not lust, etched his expression. He’d rouse her to passion before seeing to his own.

Amanda rubbed her temple, aware of the headache pressing beneath her skull.

Jeffrey was the devil incarnate. He worked with fire, cast fire upon her in slow, sensual kisses, and sparked her passions into flames.

There was but one cure for the devil. Cast him out. In this case, to England in chains. The sooner, the better for her.

P
ARISHIONERS PACKED THE
Bruton church full on Sunday morning. Flanked by his nephew and niece, Miles and Sara, Jeffrey examined his surroundings like a scout studying enemy territory. Dunmore sat across from the lectern on an ornate, carved, crimson cushioned throne in a box surrounded by his council, like a king protected by royal guards. He spotted Patrick, Dunmore’s arch nemesis, just in front to the left.

The good reverend preached today on damnation for those who succumbed to the lustful sins of the flesh. Sitting across the aisle, Amanda looked fresh as unplucked citrus in buttercup yellow. Jeffrey glanced away, all too aware his body was eager to embrace the very sins the reverend preached about, if such sinning were engaged with the lovely Amanda.

In front, Miss Polly Richards looked over her shoulder and shyly lowered her lashes before darting another look at him. Polly, of good, solid, American stock. Parents of a radical leaning. Father a rich planter inclined to keep his own counsel. She had a twist of long blonde hair, plump cheeks and a shapely figure.

He studied her bare nape and thought of kissing Amanda’s swan neck. Jeffrey shifted his weight and concentrated on the sermon.

Closing his eyes, he half-heard the reverend drone about hellfire and damnation for sinners.
Hellfire. Marching to St. Francis with Rogers’ Rangers. Dawn raid. Indians. The ground running red. His hands, stained. The sick, coppery smell of blood. The silent screams of horror rising from his own throat...

Shaken awake, Jeffrey gasped. People sitting nearby glanced at him.

“Uncle Jeffrey? Did you have a bad brain fever?” Seven-year-old Sara looked troubled.

He took a long, controlling breath. “Nay, ’tis the good reverend’s powerful descriptions of that fiery pit that caused me to react.”

Would the infernal nightmares never end? Each day as the colonies crept closer to war, the dreams intensified. Now they plagued him almost nightly, as if the demons of Hell indeed pursued his heels.