The Patriot's Conquest

by Vanak, Bonnie

  “Mandy, I must know. Don’t be afraid, sweet. But you are my wife now and I will find the cause of your fears.”

  Flickering light cast ghostly shadows upon the wall as he lifted the candle holder and brought it closer.

  Huge goose bumps broke out as he examined her arm. When he saw the fading purple mark, his eyes darkened. He sucked in a whistling breath but kept silent, continuing to examine her.

  “Turn around,” he said quietly.

  Deeply humiliated, Amanda complied. Jeffrey lifted the long masses of her hair, setting them over her shoulder. With a gentle finger, he traced her back and the bruises left from Father’s cane. Jeffrey set the candle down on the bedside table. His jaw grew stony and his gaze steely.

  “Your father beats you.” He gathered her into his arms.

  “Jeffrey, ’tis not a concern of yours.” She tried pulling away, but he would not let go.

  Pressing his lips against her temple, he spoke in a hard voice. “Nay, Mandy, ’tis my concern. You are my wife now. Anything that affects you, affects me.”

  Tears dripped down her cheek. “’Tis not his fault! But mine! Papa only does it when I fail him.”

  “The night you didn’t bring him the rum.”

  “A few other times. ’Tis the drink that causes him to change.”

  “So he beats you when he drinks? Blames you for his troubles. And he’s been drinking more often lately?”

  “Since his business has dropped off...” Her voice trailed off, remembering Jeffrey was the reason for the loss in business.

  Amanda’s shame dissolved into wild alarm at the fury darkening his eyes. “Jeffrey, what will you do?”

  His expression softened. “Mandy, fear not. Only know that you are safe now. He’ll not beat you again.”

  By the Almighty, she wanted to believe him, desperately needed to know that particular nightmare had passed. Amanda slowly began to relax as he quietly held her, murmuring assurance. “He will not? Are you certain?”

  “That I can most definitely promise,” he said tightly.

  At last, she slept. Curled up against him trustingly, Amanda lay quiet, her expression as innocent as a child’s.

  He could not sleep. Not while this hot rage claimed him.

  Jeffrey exhaled a shaky breath as he stroked Amanda’s brow. She sighed and nestled closer. He wanted to toss a saddle onto Liberty, ride to Arthur Reeves’ house and slam his fist into the man’s jaw for what he’d done to Amanda. He hadn’t felt this violent since his military days. To calm his anger, Jeffrey silently ticked off Rogers’ Rules.

  When finished he swore a silent oath. No one would ever dare hurt his Mandy again, nor would any other man touch his wife. A fierce, protective feeling filled him. He wanted to hold her, and shelter her from all pain and hurt. He’d brush away all the cobwebs of her nightmares, if only she’d let him.

  Jeffrey watched her tenderly as she slept, wondering what in hell he’d gotten himself into. He’d sworn their marriage was a convenient arrangement and no more. He’d claim her lovely body for his pleasure and she’d bear his name and later, his children. No emotions involved. Not as before with Caroline. Yet here he was, feeling all protective and tender. Ready to take on the demons of Hell to keep her safe.

  What in the name of the Almighty was he doing? Falling in love with her? He sucked in a quivering breath. Love was for addle-minded fools who let a woman steal their hearts. He’d done it once before with Caroline. Never again could he fully trust a woman. Not even his own wife.

  With his thumb and forefinger, Jeffrey pinched out the candle. It was a thought best left for later. Right now, in the cover of darkness, he only wanted to hold Amanda in his arms and feel her safe as he slept.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AMANDA WOKE TO find a hard male body tangled with hers. Half-asleep, she struggled with her surroundings and turned to meet Jeffrey’s solemn gaze. She felt hard muscle and sinew and realized with some embarrassment she’d tucked her leg firmly between his thighs. Married. In Jeffrey’s bed. She remembered his tender affection and the way he’d soothed away her nightmares.

  “Morning, Mandy,” he said softly, brushing her tousled hair back from her face. The caress made her sigh with contentment.

  “Any more nightmares, sweet?”

  “Nay, all gone now.”

  He nestled closer, continuing to stroke her hair. She felt the hardness of his male member prod her belly.

  “Jeffrey,” she squealed.

  Her husband gave a wry smile. “’Tis a morning affliction of most men. One I hope to indulge with my pretty wife.”

  She gave him an arch look. “After last night, I thought your affliction would go away.”

  “You’ve much to learn about me, Mandy. I could take your lovely body many times a day and still not be satisfied.”

  Suspicious, she narrowed her gaze. “How many times?”

  He lifted those broad shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “Ten to twenty.”

  “’Tis not humanly possible!”

  “Shall we find out?”

  The warmth of his teasing smile melted her. He kissed her lightly, and then cupped her breast, his fingers gently rubbing her tightening nipple. The space between her legs pulsed with sensation, but Amanda drew away, remembering what completed this ritual.

  Instantly he stopped, giving her a concerned look. “Are you still sore from last night, sweet?”

  She flushed. Such an intimate question. “Nay.”

  Jeffrey kissed her again, continuing his slow assault on her body. Amanda arched with pleasure as he caressed and stroked her. Then Jeffrey mounted her, pressing her into the feather mattress. She tensed, waiting for the pain. To her surprise, he slid into her much easier, his member stretching her but not hurting.

  Raising his head, he gazed down at her, his expression tender. “’Tis much better, Mandy? I have no desire to hurt you. Tell me to stop and I shall.”

  “Nay, do not stop, ’tis pleasant.”

  He began to move, slowly, thrusting deep inside her and then out.

  She curled her hands around his neck, explored the breadth of his strong back. He groaned as he moved inside her, increasing the pace and rhythm and she curved her hips up to meet his pace. Her hands roamed across his back, feeling muscle and sinew bending and flexing. Amanda curled her legs around his waist, gasping as he slid across a very tender spot.

  She bit her lip. ’Twas not proper, this feeling, so lovely... No proper lady would ever feel this way. The incredible pleasure built and built in her as he stroked deeper and harder. A low scream rose in her throat. She writhed beneath his heavy weight, half-mad with aching need.

  “Mandy, don’t hold back, sweet. Don’t resist it. Let it flow over you. Come now, I want you to feel the same pleasure I do,” Jeffrey whispered into her ear. He laced his fingers through hers. He rocked his hips skillfully, in slow deliberate strokes, making her yearn and strain when he eased nearly all the way out.

  She arched her back as her entire body grew taut. Her breath came in rapid, ragged pants. The fire burst into an inferno raging through her whole body and she cried out his name in startled wonder, her body shaking fiercely.

  Then her husband gave one tremendous thrust forward and groaned, filling her with his seed as he collapsed atop her.

  Jeffrey raised himself up on his elbows and regarded her, then brushed a soft kiss on her chin. He rolled off her, giving a low chuckle as he caressed her cheek.

  “Jeffrey,” she gasped as her body gradually slowed its trembling. “It happened again.”

  He chuckled against her throat. “Aye, it did,” he said softly with a note of masculine pride. “Such passion, my Mandy. I knew it hid deep inside you. Your body was made to be loved by a man. I sensed it from the time we first kissed.”

  Loved. Jeffrey did not love her. He desired her, wanted her fiercely, but he did not love. Amanda turned over, her heart twisting. Her own passions had damned her to this marriage. Love was for
simpering fools, her mother had declared. Wealth and security in a marriage mattered more. Now Amanda had neither love nor status.

  Passion had ruined her reputation in England, and now trapped her into marrying Jeffrey. Real ladies, her mother had informed her, did not let passion rule them. They did not enjoy themselves. Certainly they did not scream or writhe with pleasure. Only strumpets did.

  Jeffrey nestled against her back and draped a muscled arm around her waist. He cupped her breast, circling the nipple with lazy swirls, making heat pool again between her legs. She hated the fact he owned her body and had every right to coax her into this sinful pleasure.

  “’Tis not right,” she muttered. “A lady shows no such passion.”

  “Mandy, ’tis most certainly right,” he said gently. “We are married now and there is no shame in how you feel. I want you to feel pleasure. You’ll learn to accept my kisses and caresses as natural. You’ll see there is no shame in it.”

  Not bloody likely, she thought. Not bloody likely at all.

  He simply could not get enough of her.

  Jeffrey had thought once he’d made love to Amanda, his desire would fade. Yet lovemaking had the opposite effect. It made him into a starving man who’d finally sat down to a feast and needed more, always more.

  Two days later, he walked into the kitchen as Amanda helped Sadie cook dinner. He’d spent the morning tending the animals and going over the farm’s accounts. Every time he dipped quill into the ink stand and scribbled numbers, they danced before his eyes. All he could see was his beautiful Mandy, her lush body stretched out in bed, her arms eagerly reaching out for him.

  Heat from the roaring fire brought a lovely flush to her high cheeks. Her lower lip pouted as she sliced vegetables. Amanda had offered to help Sadie. His wife amazed him. Once he’d thought her a haughty, spoiled aristocrat afraid to soil her hands. Now he knew she had a kind, nurturing temperament beneath her cool British reserve. And her passion in bed—another layer of the woman he was determined to peel back.

  She rested the knife on the table and sighed deeply, her bodice rising until he could see the shadows between her breasts. Pulse racing, Jeffrey’s desire mounted. He wanted her now with an intensity that shook his tightly maintained control.

  “Mandy,” he said in a pleasant tone, stretching out his hand to her. “Come with me.”

  She glanced up. “Jeffrey, can this wait? I’m helping Sadie.”

  “No, it cannot.”

  Amanda wiped her hands, removed her apron. She took his hand, two deep lines furrowing her brow as they entered the house. He tugged her up the stairs.

  “Jeffrey, is there something that you...”

  When he opened the bedroom door, she hung back.

  “Here? Now? ’Tis not even twilight.”

  Jeffrey glanced out the window. “’Tis twilight somewhere.”

  He kicked the door shut and pulled her into his arms. Cupping her head, he devoured her mouth in a fevered kiss, seeking the sweetness of her lips. Jeffrey thrust his tongue between the seam of her lips, the action mimicking what would soon transpire between her legs.

  Amanda moaned and opened her mouth, accepting his tongue and holding him close. Lord he felt as randy and out of control as a stripling youth with his first bedding.

  Jeffrey turned her around, unfastening her gown with trembling fingers. Never had he felt this kind of frenzied need. His blood sang in his veins with a primitive male need to bond her body to his. He wanted to wrap himself around her like a hot, tight blanket. Her gown dropped to the floor. Jeffrey stared at her stays with raging frustration as he crossed to her front. Amanda sighed, unfastened them and pulled them off, then removed her shift. He shucked his clothing and captured her in his arms.

  He kissed her deeply, then traced his lips down her pale, slender neck. She arched back, whimpering with pleasure as his hand cupped her feminine flesh and he began to caress her in long, slow strokes. Warm moistness flowed under his expert touch. Blood surged thickly through his veins at her tiny, excited cries.

  “Jeffrey, ’tis...”

  “Shhhh, sweet,” he said huskily. He lifted her left leg high, then impaled her, thrusting upward in one swift penetrating move. Wet, tight warmth surrounded him. Jeffrey closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. He couldn’t wait. Desire surged through him, fogging his mind, making him forget everything except thrusting deep inside her. Cupping her soft rounded bottom, he lifted and carried her to the wall..

  Supporting her lovely bottom with his hands, he began thrusting hard and heavy. Amanda wrapped her hands around his muscled neck, her whimpers of excitement and hot breath against his ear assuring him she enjoyed this equally.

  It felt so damn good. Jeffrey closed his eyes and pumped his hips upward in furious rhythm.

  Panting, he drove into her as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Then he twisted his hips and moved in a way he knew would heighten her pleasure. Amanda screamed and raked her nails down his back. Through the red haze of lust, Jeffrey grunted in satisfaction, proud of her unleashed passion.

  His excitement mounted further as a scream ripped from her throat and her passage tightened around him convulsively. An outrageous inclination surged through him to throw back his head and howl with possessive pride. He felt his own release building and growing until finally it griped him and he let loose a great, shuddering yell as he pumped himself into his wife.

  The man was insatiable. Amanda’s limbs felt like melted tallow candles as Jeffrey kissed her gently, untangled himself and then lifted her into his arms. With one hand, he impatiently tore the covers off the bed, then set her down. Opening one eye, she glanced up at him.

  “Is it not a little late for this? The bed, I mean.”

  He chuckled, smoothing back her hair. “’Tis for a bit of rest Mandy. I can still feel you trembling.”

  Flipping over on her stomach, she buried her face into the pillow. She felt his weight press into the mattress. The soft cool spine of a book rested against her own spine.

  “Jeffrey, what are you doing?”

  “Reading to you. I’ve a mind for poetry.”

  “But dinner...”

  “Sadie has it under control. Rest here a while and listen. The Spring by Thomas Carew. One of my favorites.” He cleared his throat and began to read.

  Enchanted by his husky recitation of Carew’s poem of rebirth and renewal, she lay drowsing upon the bed. Jeffrey’s deep melodious voice brought to life the buds upon the trees, the grass reaching for the sun’s caress. Halfway through she felt a sudden chill brush her naked flesh as he talked of the poet’s love who had “June in her eyes, in her heart January.”

  “Is that what you think of me, Jeffrey? A woman with a heart imprisoned in ice but with warm, sunny eyes?”

  His lips brushed against her bottom, the move bringing a flush to her cheeks. “Nay, you are more like July. The sun has no power over you, for your heat would burn that sphere from the sky.”

  “You make it sound as if I am on fire.”

  “Aye, you are, almost too hot for me,” he teased, pulling a strand of her hair playfully.

  “Why is that poem one of your favorites?”

  “I like the imagery of winter fleeing. Always in Boston winter held us in its harsh, icy grip. When the sun finally began beating back the snow and the icicles started dripping, it was like all that was bitter and cold finally melted into the promise of hope.”

  Amanda sensed Jeffrey hid this sensitive, dreamy side from the world.

  “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 tickle
d 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.