The Patriot's Conquest

by Vanak, Bonnie

  “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.

  Chapter Seven

  PARISHIONERS 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 territor
y. 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.

  Thinking of Amanda kept the dreams at bay. By dreaming of her soft, moist mouth, he kept the hellhounds away, as if she were an angel with power to vanquish evil dreams. Thankfully, the sermon was nearly at an end, so he need not consider the promise of her body inside the church.

  Warm currents of air swirled dust about their feet as Jeffrey and the children exited the church. He donned his hat and herded them past people gathered in the usual social exchanges after services. Amanda Reeves stood with her imposing warship of a mother and the dumpier Mr. Arthur Reeves.

  “Jeffrey, good day to you sir.”

  Jeffrey turned to greet Jacob Richards, accompanied by his wife and daughter. Somehow he’d known they’d find him. Polly giggled girlishly. He returned the greeting, tipping his hat politely. The women smiled at the children, who murmured a greeting.

  “Mr. Clayton, my father speaks so admiringly of your patriotic service in Boston. Have you any news of that city and how they fare in these heated days?”

  Jeffrey favored Polly with serious look. “I recently received a letter from Sam Adams detailing a small threat during the fifth annual commemoration of the Boston Massacre. British soldiers joined the audience.”

  “Pray tell, what did they do?” she asked, looking nearly ready to swoon.

  “Sam assured me they sat stone still, merely listening to Dr. Joseph Warren’s oration. ’Twas a fine speech, Dr. Warren draped in a toga to mimic Cicero. But at its end, Sam took the pulpit to thank the good patriot, and when he did, the British guard yelled ‘fie,’ but some thought ’twas ‘fire’ they shouted, and all manner of tumult occurred. Their cries caused much panic in the crowd, but Sam soon restored it.”

  “Heavens, things are much stirred in Boston,” she cried, putting her hand to her breast. Her father shook his head grimly.

  “The day draws closer when the stand will be made. Boston suffers much since the port closing and we must stand with her.”

  Jacob was a fervent patriot like Jeffrey, and had an eligible, pretty and very rich daughter. A match with Polly assured marrying into a family with shared sentiments. All he needed to do was crook his little finger and Polly would spill into his lap, and later, into his bed, with the proper wedding ring, of course.

  Yet he couldn’t cease thinking of Amanda, the contrast of her cool, haughty manner and her passionate kisses. He glanced about at the people chattering in the churchyard like magpies. Birds of a feather. Amanda was a brilliant peacock, he a fierce hawk. A lesson from nature—stick to your own kind.

  Jeffrey tipped his hat. “Good day to you, Jacob, Mrs. Richards. Miss Richards. Please excuse me; I’ve business to attend to.”

  “Of course,” breathed Polly. Probably thought he was raising an army of radicals to march against Dunmore. Unfortunately, her adulation did not make him feel anything but weary.

  Patrick awaited him in the tavern. Jeffrey had planned to bring the children home, then return to town to deliver the vitally important information. He wished he could find a diversion for them to save him a trip to the farm. At the stairs, a soft female voice startled him.

  “Good day to you, sir.”

  Jeffrey turned, concealing shock. Amanda Reeves, loosened from the tight grip of her parents. She acted as if they were strangers. Could she have forgotten their previous intimacies so easily?

  “Good day,” he said in a guarded tone. He put a protective hand on the children’s shoulders.

  Miles and Sara stared curiously at the well-dressed, pretty figure Amanda cut. Her gown was embroidered with tiny blue flowers. She looked bright and pretty as a spring garden. Jeffrey swallowed a distant dream. What would it be like to walk with her, share a meal, court her as he would Polly?

  Last time he’d had such experiences, the woman had ripped his heart asunder. Best to stick to his own kind, like Polly.

  Jeffrey became aware of her studied silence. He felt a flush of embarrassment at his obvious rudeness.

  “Miss Reeves, this is my niece, Sara, and my nephew, Miles.”

  She smiled sweetly at their ensuing greetings. “I have had the great pleasure of meeting your mother, but not you. You much resemble her. Children, would you like some licorice rounds? My father has a jar in his store.”

  Faces alight, they looked to him. Jeffrey frowned.

  “Imported from England? We do not consume English goods in our household.” He hated their disappointed looks, but principle was principle.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You would deny children a small treat on the Sabbath just to parade your own political views?” She sniffed. “If not licorice then, candied apple slices. Those are made locally and I am certain you cannot find a reason for their denial.”

  Two innocent, pleading faces looked up at him. Sara’s lower lip jutted out. “Please, Uncle Jeffrey?”

  He sighed. He had no power to defend himself against his adorable niece’s soft pleas. They had enjoyed such few treats since Roger died. “Very well. But one only!”

  “Meet me at the store, children, and I shall open it for you.”

  As they scampered away, Amanda’s face softened into a smile. “Lovely children. They remind me of your sister.”

  She fell into step as he walked to the street below. Frank mistrust filled him. They’d shared passion in the kitchen and she’d fled from him in apparent disgust. Yet here she was again, as guileless as Polly.

  “And after such a tedious sermon by our good reverend, I do believe patient children should be rewarded.”

  “And what of patient adults, Miss Reeves? Should they be rewarded as well?”

  “If you desire, I may spare a candied apple slice for you as well.”

  “I desire a greater temptation than candied apple slices. Something I tasted the other day, sweet as warm honey.” Jeffrey stopped, turned and deliberately focused on her lips.

  Scarlet flamed her cheeks and she swallowed convulsively. She did remember their kiss. Pleased, Jeffrey hid a smile as she watched the children running down the street.

  “Are Miles and Sara lettered? Can they read?”

  “Miles is quite lettered and attends school. Sara...” Guilt flooded him. Meg hadn’t the time to school Sara since Roger’s death. Neither did he.
He should hire a tutor, he realized.

  “Are not girls as deserving of education as young boys?”

  “If the girls have a parent who has time to indulge them thus.” They turned down Duke of Gloucester Street. Carriages rattled past.

  “Oh. ’Tis not a prejudice against women learning, but a mere matter of finding a proper tutor? I may remedy that.”

  “You?” Jeffrey stopped. His suspicions rose.

  “Why not? I have been trained in classical Greek and Latin. I am quite lettered and I adore children. I could start today. A story, since ’tis such a fine spring morn. I shall read to them on market square.”

  Why would she desire to read to Meg’s children? Jeffrey made a mental note to do more checking on Amanda Reeves. But no harm could come giving her charge of his niece and nephew for a short while. If she occupied them for a good hour, he’d deliver his news, discuss options, and could collect them on his way home.

  “I do have business about town. But what of you? Have you no plans with your parents?”

  She colored charmingly, the roses in her cheeks making him think of spring strolls in green grass with a pretty lady. An intense, wistful longing filled him.

  “I find myself alone this Sunday morn. I would read your niece and nephew a tale of adventure. The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner.”

  “By all means, please do indulge Miles and Sara. I’m certain they will enjoy the pleasure of the tale, as well as hearing your voice relay it,” he responded, clasping her gloved hand.

  Raising her hand to his lips, Jeffrey glanced around. Tongues would wag over cups of tea regarding Miss Amanda Reeves the Tory and Mr. Jeffrey Clayton the patriot. A peculiar match to be sure.

  They reached her father’s store, where Miles and Sara stood waiting. “Very well then, I shall be with them on the market square when you are finished.”

  Jeffrey nodded his thanks. “Mind Miss Reeves now. She’s to read you a story after you consume one candied apple slice.”

  “A story? I love stories.” Sara’s face shone with expectation. Jeffrey sighed, seeing how the small treat filled her with joy.