by Jo Goodman
"Never say you are going to chew the buttons off," she said, smiling as she felt his lips on her nape. Then she couldn't have spoken to save her soul as his mouth unerringly found a most sensitive spot. Her legs grew weak and she shivered. If not for his hands about her waist she thought she would have fallen. His hands, those warm loving hands, crept upward to cup the underside of her heavy breasts. Her soft moan was filled with longing. She wanted more than the feel of his hands through the velvet of her gown. "Please," she said faintly. "Please touch me. It's—it's been so long."
"My love," was all he said. Trembling fingers undid enough buttons so the bodice of her gown could be pushed to her waist. Her chemise followed, and when his hands cupped her again it was the warm velvet of her skin that he felt. His thumbs lightly touched the pink swollen tips. She fell back against him. Her hands reached for his thighs. Her palms smoothed the material of his breeches, felt the hard muscular strength of him. She settled her buttocks against the cradle of his thighs, and his husky murmur was her satisfaction. His lips were at her ear, the line of her throat. He whispered against her flesh, tiny sounds of desire and need that made her feel weak with yearning.
Salem finished unfastening her dress, and when it slid to the floor he turned Ashley to face him. "Undress me," he said.
Ashley helped him shrug out of his coat and vest then slipped her hands beneath his linen shirt to pull it over his head. Her hands caressed his shoulders and upper arms, his taut abdomen and solid back. Her mouth teased his male nipples until they budded like her own, then standing on tiptoes, she pressed her bosom against his chest.
"Get on with it, madam," he growled darkly, "or I swear I'll take you standing up."
Ashley dropped back on her heels. "You couldn't do that—could you?"
"Tease me more, wench, and you'll discover what I can do."
She raised an eyebrow at him but her fingers deftly undid his breeches. "I'm only complying because I find the bed ever so comfortable," she informed him. She rolled down her undergarments and stockings as he kicked out of his shoes and pants. Ashley took his hand and led him to the fourposter, unaware that the gentle sway of her backside was being appreciatively watched. She gave a little yelp as she was tackled from behind and tossed on the bed. Salem's body quickly followed, covering hers. She thought to protest, but then she saw the warm look in his eye and realized it would have been an outburst without substance. She wanted him. Now.
Her body shifted to accommodate him. She yielded to him, taking him into her, then clasped him close and matched his energy, his passion. Their fingers tangled, their tongues touched. Ashley felt as if her toes were curling, and Salem thought his heart would surely burst. Once, when they had to move slightly, it was awkward and they laughed together as they readjusted their bodies. She didn't think she could love him any more than she did at that moment. In his soul there was an echo.
They loved one another twice more that night, once when he reached for her, once when she reached for him, and they agreed it didn't seem to matter who initiated their loveplay; each union was uniquely pleasurable.
* * *
Ashley closed her eyes, resting her head against the rim of the tub. Droplets of perspiration formed on her brow and at her temples. Idly she brushed back a wet strand of hair, not particularly caring if it fell into its proper place or curled with a will of its own. The mist rising from the tub dampened the cool window, and the light from the fire danced reflectively in each pane. Outside the night was black, not even a sliver of moon or starlight penetrated the thick inky blanket hovering over New York. It was not a very welcoming sign, she thought tiredly. She picked up the washcloth and dribbled a few drops of hot water on her neck and breasts. For the moment it was as much energy as she cared to muster.
The swiftness with which she and Salem had moved to the city still surprised her. Two weeks ago she had been at the landing, overwhelmingly content with the daily routine of her life. Then Salem had announced he could not put off the move any longer, and Ashley felt as if she had been caught in a whirlwind ever since. None of the physical preparation was as taxing as the emotional one. It had wrenched her heart to have to leave the landing behind.
Robert was stoic about the departure which made it harder for Ashley to bear. She knew he was proud of Salem's work but knowledgeable of the dangers. She thought he was probably bleeding a little inside as he stood on the private dock and waved them off. Charity was at his side, face wet with tears she made no effort to erase. The war was taking away another son, and these tears were the proof of the aching in her breast. Leah was silent; there was nothing romantic about war and this maturity weighed heavily on her shoulders. Rae's bright eyes held a different emotion than the others: that of longing. If Charity had turned and seen her daughter's face at that moment, Ashley was certain she would have locked Rae in her room for the duration of the fighting.
A hint of a smile curved Ashley's mouth as she imagined Rae McClellan dressed in her brother's breeches and leading a charge of rebels. "No mercy for the prisoners," she would declare. "They shall embroider rattlesnakes on the seat of their pants."
Ashley giggled.
"You sound delicious, love," Salem said, dropping to his knees beside the tub. "Dare I ask what you were thinking?"
"You're going to be disappointed. My mind is not always occupied with randy notions. I was thinking of Rahab."
Dramatically Salem placed his hand over his heart. "Then I am cut to the quick."
Without opening her eyes Ashley lazily tossed her washcloth at his face. "I am of the opinion that she would like to command a troop of rebels."
"You underestimate her, love," he mumbled from under the damp cloth. "She would like Washington's post."
Leaning over, Ashley retrieved her missile. "Fool," she said fondly. She searched for the soap, slapping Salem's hands away when he tried to help her, and worked up a lather on her arms and shoulders. "D'you suppose we could send for her? I think she would like to be with us."
"You're right, but this is not the time. Mother would not let her go. Perhaps in a few months, when we are more settled and accepted, she can come. Would that please you?"
"Oh, yes. She is such a good companion."
Salem grew serious. "Ashley, are you lonely here? I never thought how it would be for you."
"Salem, we've only been here two days. I haven't had time to be lonely. There have been any number of things to keep me occupied. I never appreciated how much there was to running a household because your mother was the chatelaine of the landing. But here, well, I am mistress, and it's quite enough to keep me busy."
"Is it too fatiguing?" he asked roughly, concerned.
Exasperated, she sighed. "I shall manage well enough, thank you. I have Meg to help with Courtney, Esther to cook, and a staff to help with the cleaning and entertaining. If I am fatigued it is because everyone looks to me for answers over the slightest detail, and I haven't the heart to tell them I don't care. I expect we will all learn our way around each other in time, so don't give it any thought."
"Would you like me to scrub your back?"
In answer she gave him the cloth and soap and let him lather her shoulders and neck. She leaned forward, hugging her arms about her knees to allow him an easier reach. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of his massaging touch. "Have you heard any word of when the British may land?" It was a compliment to his hands that her question was so dreamy sounding.
"They left on St. Patrick's Day, according to the reports just received, and they've gone to Halifax in Nova Scotia to wait for reinforcements and new supplies."
"But that's Canada. Aren't they going the wrong way?"
"They have support there, but they'll come here once they've received men and munitions. They can't stay in Halifax forever. No one's fighting them there."
"Oh. Of course. So what do we do while we're waiting their arrival?"
"We prepare, just as Washington is doing by moving his hea
dquarters here. I begin to endear myself to the Loyalists of this city and you do the same."
"I doubt that you will find it difficult."
"Yes. Using the Lydta to provide luxuries to the townsfolk certainly reaches their pocketbooks, if not their secrets."
"I suspect you'll charm them out of their blunt and their confidences. Will you have to do much sailing?"
"Some. For the most part I will leave the Lydia in the command of others."
The Congress had recently sanctioned privateering on British vessels. Although Salem had initially wanted no part of it, when he realized that in his present position he could use the Lydia to steal from the British and sell the merchandise back to them, it was too delicious an opportunity to ignore. His decision to give over the command was dictated by the dangers of being linked directly to the privateering. If the Lydia were captured and he was on board, only a complete simpleton would still believe he was a Loyalist.
The plan for the ship was simple. The Lydia would sail from harbor and once out of sight, become the ghost of her sunken sister ship, the Caroline. The Caroline would secure the prizes, and the Lydia would bring them back to port. A few marking changes, properly forged papers, and a wily crew would see that officials were satisfied.
"I do believe you wish you could sail with them," Ashley said.
"No, I don't."
"You're really a very terrible liar. I saw how you were on the voyage here. You didn't want to leave the deck." She wriggled a little as she felt his soapy hand on her back, this time without benefit of the cloth. "I can hardly credit what I had to do to get you to your cabin."
"Madam, if you had said at the outset you wanted me for carnal purposes, I would have come without a murmur." His hand slipped to the underside of her breasts which were squashed against her knees. It was all the encouragement she needed to languidly unfold in the water. He lavished soap on the arched column of her throat and the silky curves of her breasts. "First you said there was a crisis below deck and refused to name it. Then you said that Courtney was colicky and would I rock her. Then you claimed Meg had taken ill. How was I to know the entire time you were inventing excuses you were attired in the flimsiest excuse for a nightgown ever proposed? And I kept thinking the reason you were clutching your pelisse was because you were cold."
"I was."
Salem shook his head as he removed all traces of lather with a bucket of warm water. He drew Ashley to her feet and nuzzled her ear, whispering wickedly. "My dear wife, you were hot."
"Salem!"
Her protest came to naught. He lifted her, dripping wet, and took her to bed, loving her with complete abandon, satisfied when she gave as good as she got. Then he clasped her to him and held her until she fell deep into the sleep she deserved.
Much rested the following day, Ashley began setting her new home to rights. Although the agent Salem hired had done a considerable amount of work on the three-story red brick house, Ashley thought it still required some personal touches before it became their home. Several paintings Charity had given her were hung in the dining and music rooms. She had the servants exchange the rose drapes in the library with the forest green velvet ones in the breakfast nook. Furniture was arranged and rearranged as she sheepishly admitted to herself there were some fine details she did care about. Courtney's nursery was repainted a sunny hue that nearly matched her room at the landing, and Ashley dragged a rocker from the parlor up the long flight of stairs to place by the baby's crib.
Everyone was too busy when Salem came in from his work at the warehouse to pay him any mind. He wandered from one room to another looking for Ashley and discovered she had turned everything on its ear. He admitted he liked the way she had arranged the furniture in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, showing each piece of quality cherry wood to its advantage, while still creating an atmosphere of warmth. He couldn't say what was different about the breakfast room, but he thought it looked cheerier.
In the music room the harpsichord was receiving a blinding shine by a young girl in a mobcap and apron. She was humming to herself as she polished the legs of the instrument. Salem stepped out of the room, smiling. She wasn't the first servant he had noticed who seemed to actually be enjoying the work. Ashley had certainly breathed some life into this house. She—no, it couldn't be—she wouldn't—she would. Without turning around he retraced his steps into the music room and took a second look at the maid under the harpsichord. He eyed the slender back and narrow waist, the hint of dark curls beneath the dusty cap, and the dainty feet all but hidden in working clogs. He gritted his teeth. If she had been scrubbing floors today, he was going to—
Hands on hips, feet apart, in the best tradition of a tyrannical sea captain, he barked, "Ashley Caroline McClellan! Come out from under there at once!"
At the first stentorian tones she sat up in surprise and banged her head on the underside of the instrument. Holding her much abused pate she crawled out from her work place. "There are gentler ways to get my attention, Salem. I am not one of your men."
"What are you doing in here?"
"I am cleaning."
"I pay servants to do this."
"They're busy elsewhere."
"I saw that. Couldn't this wait?"
Ashley got to her feet and walked over to her husband. His dark countenance remained unchanged when he saw her try to shake the stiffness from her legs.
"How long have you been working?"
She frowned. "You are making too much of this, Salem. I have worked no longer than you. I started shortly after you left and here it is dinner. Not so long."
"I was not on my hands and knees polishing furniture and scrubbing floors."
"How did you know—" She looked down at her wooden shoes. "Oh, well, as to the floors, it was only a small area and—you're very angry, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Ashley's rebuttal was cut off by Meg's entry. Her hair was in a frizz about her cap, and there were pink dabs of paint on the ruffle and a few among her freckles. "Sure, and it's a good thing you're back now," she said to Salem. "You'd have a loyal staff 'til you draw your last breath if you'd take your wife in hand. She's been workin' like the sun won't set if this house don't come together in one day. I never did hear of such foolishness before, and her a new mother and all."
Salem spoke to Meg but remained looking at his wife. "Thank you. I plan to take her in hand directly. Have Esther send our dinner to our chamber and tell everyone Mrs. McClellan has retired for the day."
Meg lifted her eyes heavenward in thanks as Salem led his wife from the room, then went to spread the news of the deliverance.
Ashley would always remember April as the month she and Salem learned to know one another as husband and wife. She suspected it would have happened earlier, these arguments that gave zest and extended understanding to their marriage, if they hadn't had the other McClellans to provide an unintentional buffer. As much as she sometimes missed the landing, she recognized that leaving had brought a certain strength to their relationship as they had to deal together without direction or guidance from anyone else.
Salem thought his concerns stemmed from a natural desire to make life easy for his wife. Ashley said he would never let her out of the bedroom if he had his way. When that particular discussion was ended, Salem showed his wife he was willing to have his way in the library.
Ashley thought he was reckless with the chances he took sailing the Lydia. Salem said he was taking only acceptable risks. She cried that there was no such thing and he had no reply, for if their positions had been reversed he would have felt the same.
They went to bed very quiet that evening, afraid that touching was somehow wrong in the face of their anger. In the darkness Ashley had reached for him, holding his hand even when he stiffened. "I think I must be a complete fool," she said, forcing words past the lump in her throat. "I am so fearful of losing you that I am losing you. I feel as if I am further away from you now than when you were scouting the
bay this morning."
Salem relaxed beneath her touch. "I think we could argue as to which of us is the most foolish, but I would like to hold you."
Ashley rolled into his waiting arms. They didn't make love that night, but something precious and loving was reaffirmed in their bed and it warmed them whenever they thought of it.
Throughout May Salem began cementing relationships with other Loyalist merchants. He introduced Ashley to the Marches and the Wards, the Forsythes and the McDowells. She tried not to like any of them too much, but in truth it was hard.
It was difficult to believe their heartfelt political ties to the king made them her enemy. At least twice a week she entertained a small gathering in their home. Just as often they were invited out. Salem spoke so often of supporting the crown and bringing the rebels to their senses that Ashley wondered how he did not choke on his words. He spoke eloquently and with regret of the break with his family over the rebellion. As Ashley had predicted, he charmed them all.
June brought them news from Gareth that the Assembly in Virginia had voted on a resolution for independence. Richard Henry Lee would be delivering the resolution to the Congress: that the thirteen "United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States..."
"It's rather a dangerous proposal, isn't it?" Ashley asked. "To actually put such a document in writing."
Salem kissed her knitted brow as well as the delicate lines of his daughter's forehead. "She's looking more like you everyday, Ashley."
Ashley glanced down and, seeing the frown on Courtney's small face, she laughed. "Naughty puss."
Salem sat on the floor at Ashley's feet and held out his arms for Courtney. She cooed and burbled as she went to her father then grew quiet, easily amused with the brass buttons on his waistcoat. "Yes, it is a dangerous proposal, and if Congress votes to adopt it, there can be no turning back. Any man who puts his name to such a document will be announcing his part in treason."
"But you think it will be done, don't you?"
Salem shrugged, cradling his daughter tightly to his breast. "Who can say? It is foolish trying to predict the vagaries of Congress. You can be certain that whatever is decided won't be decided soon enough to suit half the people, and the other half will wail that Congress was precipitous."
