“Billets-doux, I daresay.” Captain Nelson chortled and peered a-larboard. “And it seems they could not have come at a more opportune moment, as you blush, Mr. Douglas.”
“I may be a tad under the weather, sir.” Mortified that his superior had just put his finger on Mark’s Achilles’ heel, he tucked the dispatch in his coat pocket and cleared his throat. “The effects of the cold, you know. And I took Eccleston’s watch for the past three nights.”
“If that is your story, Douglas, you stay with it.” With a snort of unutterable disbelief, Nelson folded his arms. “Have the bos’n pipe the men to the noon meal, and you may forgo the wardroom and dine in your cabin, as you seem to be a hotbed of infestation.”
“Aye, sir.” He would have taken exception to the captain’s smile, were Mark in possession of sufficient faculties to form a suitable rejoinder, but all he could think about was his lady’s constancy. “I shall--”
“Douglas.”
Again, Mark shot to the fore, as he descended the companionway. “Here.”
With a broad grin, the second lieutenant remitted a medium-sized parcel. “Looks like you swept the pool, Mr. Douglas.”
“Indeed, it appears so.” A tremor of uncontrollable excitement shivered over his flesh when he identified Amanda’s handwriting. Mark swaggered two steps and noted a smudge on the brass. With his coat sleeve, he restored the unmarred shine and then spied the boatswain. “Mr. Harker, pipe the men to the noon meal, and Captain has the watch.”
“Aye, sir.” The boatswain nodded once.
Acknowledging the various salutes offered as he navigated to the mess deck, Mark fought the urge to charge into his cabin, but his heart beat a salvo of delight. Soon, he was lost amid a vortex of anticipation, burning as an unquenchable flame, and passion rode hard in its wake. He entered his cabin, kicked the door shut behind him, deposited his priceless bounty on his bunk, and grinned. “My Amanda, you did not forget me.”
At the washstand, he poured water into the basin and then splashed his face. In mere seconds, he doffed his hat, coat, gloves, stock, and boots, before sitting on the bed. Examining his treasure, he arranged the items according to their franking date. Three letters and the box had been posted in December. The two remaining envelopes had been dispatched in January.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he tore into the parcel. As soon as he parted the brown paper, a seductive scent teased his nose, and the signature perfume bathed him in a tidal wave of sumptuous memories. Resting his head against the timbers, Mark closed his eyes and invoked Amanda’s image.
He envisioned her in an endless stream of blue velvet gowns, her military-styled pelisse, and her scarlet confection, which had set his blood boiling. But one scene danced at the fringe of his consciousness, ever-present, beckoning as a demanding lover, which refused to be overlooked. It had occurred in the early morning hours in her bedchamber, after he had stoked the flames in the hearth, which had refueled his lady’s fire.
Naked and splayed beneath him, with her breasts jostling in time with his thrusts, his Amanda had cast him a shy smile and framed his face. Without care for her own safety, she had aroused, provoked, and then commanded his wild and hedonistic streak, taking unveiled pleasure in his licentious hunger. Heeling his flanks, driving him harder and faster, she had taunted and tempted his barbarian self, until he devoured her. And then, after the sensuous torrent had passed, she held him to her, occasionally kissing his hair, rubbing his scalp, and trailing her fingers on his shoulders. Lying in her arms, Mark had fallen in love with his lady, all over again.
“Oh, sweet Amanda.” He groaned, gritted his teeth, and shifted his hips. “How I miss you.” Wrenching himself to reality, he opened the oldest letter and laughed.
December 11, 1785
My most cherished, indomitable First Lieutenant,
To say that my heart beats only for you is to diminish the depth of my affection, as I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
“Damn straight, darling.” He growled and then read aloud. “At night, I sleep with your pillow, as I have refused to allow Ellie to launder the case, because it smells of my Mark. And I slip between the sheets wearing nothing more than the remembrance of your lips and hands on my body, as I will allow no impediment to the ardent fantasies of you, which haunt my slumber without fail.”
After completing the missive, he made short work of the second and third letters, which manifested equal fervor and further stimulated an already vicious erection, and then he returned his attention to the parcel. Inside the box, he found a new pair of pristine gloves and handkerchiefs embroidered with their combined initials, as well as a navy wool scarf and a white waistcoat, the latter two items made by his lady. In an instant, Mark exchanged his garment for hers.
Standing before the small mirror he used for grooming, he turned left and then right, as her hard work had produced an extraordinary fit. And as her note explained, the waistcoat featured an additional inner pocket, sewn over the heart expressly to accommodate her miniature. “Superb, my Amanda. I shall wear it exclusively.”
One thing that nagged his conscience was the final statement on the brief correspondence included in the container.
P.S. Why have you not written?
Had he not warned Amanda that the post was erratic at sea? And yet he had endured in his amorous communications. He could only hope that his carefully penned pledges of eternal love reached her, at some point. Then he broke the seal on the fourth envelope.
January 1, 1786
My dearest Mark,
While I understand you labor in the King’s service, and I am so very proud of you, I require some sign of your continued persistence, a minor expression, however small, that I remain your beloved. With each passing day, my agony grows, such that I can scarcely maintain my routine. Please, I beg you, as it has been too long. Take pity on my gentle spirit, as it wanes beneath the weight of your indifference. I must know that you are all right.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Again and again, he digested the contents of her letter and the palpable desperation underscoring her words. “I could never be indifferent to you.”
With a heavy sigh, he glanced at the last unopened envelope and hesitated. Then he speared his fingers through his hair, muttered a curse, cracked the wax seal, unfolded the correspondence--and spiraled into Amanda’s pit of melancholy.
January 18, 1786
My beloved Mark,
Am I still your beloved Amanda? Do you pine for me, as I ache for you? Did you receive your Christmas presents? Were the items to your liking? I had thought you might forward even a brief directive in observation of the holidays, yet I have heard nothing from you, despite your promise to write.
Sinking ever deeper into his own hell on earth, Mark whisked a stray tear as he read her detailed events of her family celebrations, struggling to portray an air of genial cordiality, while inside she wallowed in indescribable loss. As he had done with her previous compositions, he recited her penned thoughts. “No longer can I eat or sleep, as my heart bleeds for you. But a single word from you would abolish my misery. How I love you, my darling. I remain, now and forever, your Amanda.”
Rubbing his eyes, he stood and then walked to the window, which doubled as a gun portal in battle. Gazing at the eastern sky, Mark swallowed hard. “My Amanda, can you hear me? Can you feel me reaching for you? I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. And you are my only love, darling Amanda. Know that when I have my own ship, you shall sail with me, as we are stronger, together. We will marry, my girl, as I will fulfill your father’s requirements or die trying.”
#
February roared into London in the wake of a crippling snowstorm, which had brought the heart of the British Empire to a crawl. Given the poor road conditions, Amanda’s elder sister Olivia, along with her husband Henry and newborn son George, extended their weekend visit. Sitting in the dining room at her family home, Amanda gazed at the dry toast and weak tea positioned before her
and blanched.
“Amanda, you will eat your meal.” Her father pounded his fist on the table. “I have had enough of your nonsense.”
With nary a missive from her beloved Mark, she wallowed in a seemingly endless pit of desolation and despair. The greater portion of her days she spent locked in her room, knitting scarves for her charity, unable to sleep or take sustenance, as whatever she consumed she soon revisited. And while her lieutenant had remarked on the capricious nature of the post, she should have received something from him by January, or so she thought.
“Leave her be, Hiram.” Her mother sniffed. “After all, you broke her heart.”
“Eleanor, I did no such thing.” Papa set down his fork, and Amanda braced for the argument she knew was forthcoming, as her parents bickered constantly, in light of her sire’s inexplicable actions regarding her betrothal, the motives of which he steadfastly refused to divulge. “I issued my requirements, which young Douglas will either fulfill or fail.”
“May I be excused?” A familiar knot settled in her belly, and Amanda fought encroaching nausea.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Of course, you may retire, my darling girl.” Mama smiled. “I shall send up Ellie with a fresh pot of tea.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Amanda stood.
“Does no one abide my edicts anymore?” Her father frowned and snorted. “Am I not head of this household? Does no one listen to me?”
“Not until you have something worthwhile to contribute to the conversation.” With that, Mama tossed her napkin to her plate, eased back her chair, and rose from her seat. “Come, Olivia. Let us leave the men to their cigars, brandy, and vastly superior dialogue.”
“Hold hard, little one.” In the hall, Olivia caught Amanda by the wrist. “Wait for me in your chamber, as I have something important for you.”
“Of course.” Intrigued, Amanda nodded once and hurried upstairs. In her sitting room, she sank to the chaise and twisted the engraved band on her finger. As always, images from that spectacular night flooded her consciousness, and she swayed with heady excitement.
Then she plucked a satin covered box from the table and lifted the lid. Inside, cradled in a puff of white cotton, rested a sterling silver holiday ornament, engraved with the phrase, Our First Christmas, 1785. The Yule decoration, which had been purchased as a celebration of her union with Mark, now served as a painful reminder of their separation. With a mournful exhalation, she abandoned the parcel.
“Alone, at last, little sister.” Olivia locked the door and then scurried forth. “These arrived only this afternoon, and Mama bade me hide them from Papa, as he has been entirely unreasonable where your Lieutenant Douglas is concerned.”
“Oh.” With a squeal of delight mixed with relief, Amanda grabbed the bound collection of envelopes, bearing instantly recognizable military franking. Clutching the precious, much-prayed-for-correspondence to her chest, she sank amid the cushions. “They are from Mark.”
“I suspected as much.” Olivia sat beside Amanda and slipped an arm about her shoulders. “I am so sorry Papa placed conditions on your betrothal, but I am not surprised, as he made Henry wait six months for our nuptials, and my husband is an earl. My what a charming ring. Where did you get it?”
“It is from my beloved, and I shall never take it off.” In that instant, the tension holding her prisoner yielded to the sorrow over her predicament, and the damn burst. Resting in her sister’s embrace, Amanda wept and sobbed without shame. “I swear if Mark is injured, or worse, I will never forgive Papa.”
“Poor gadling.” Olivia rocked and crooned in a gentle rhythm. “There, there, dearest. You have had a terrible time of it, but your lieutenant sends proof of his regard, so you must rejoice and rally. And has Papa disclosed his requirements for his consent?”
“I know, and I can’t wait to read his letters.” She scanned the dispatch dates, which spanned the length of their separation. “I should have known he had not forgot me. My love warned me that the post was unreliable at sea, but I feared something terrible had happened. And Papa will not tell me what he requires, and he made Mark promise to keep it secret, which, to my frustration, my beau obeyed.”
“Then I should abandon you to your task, but I have something else to impart, which may allay your concerns.” Olivia revealed a red velvet pouch, along with a leather-bound journal. “Mama gave this to me the night Papa announced my engagement. She was unsure of my devotion to Henry and our determination to wed, and she wanted me to be certain of my chosen mate.”
“What is it?” Amanda held up her hand and accepted into her palm a curious piece of jewelry, which Olivia deposited from the nondescript purse. “How lovely.”
Turning the unique item in her grasp, she studied the face and the underside. Fashioned of old gold, the simple but remarkable egg-shaped lady’s badge boasted four round rubies and a large oval-cut sapphire. Ornate, if ancient, craftsmanship bespoke a master goldsmith, as intricate etching, which featured a lotus blossom and a lotus in buds, rendered the otherwise ordinary brooch quite extraordinary.
“It belonged to our ancestors, and as the oldest, I am to pass it down to my first daughter,” Olivia explained. “But nothing says I cannot loan it to you, now, so you may benefit from its influence. According to lore, the wearer of the brooch will dream of her true love. It worked for Mama, as well as I.”
“Pull my other leg.” Amanda emitted a half-suppressed laugh, even as her suspicions roused, and she was tempted. “What game are you about, sister?”
“No, you mistake my intent, as I am serious.” Olivia opened the old tome. “See? It says right here, ‘Ye lady what dons this brooch of ethereal sight, shall enjoy unfettered dreams of her one true knight.’”
“And the entries describe what the brooch revealed to various women, over the years. This is fascinating.” Amanda flipped through the parchment, yellowed with age, and located her sibling’s notation at the end. “You envisioned Henry’s signet ring?”
“Yes.” With a watery gaze, Olivia dipped her chin. “Every night, without fail, I saw his signet ring, before I ever knew it existed, and I realized, without the slightest bit of skepticism, I had made the right choice. Never have I doubted Henry’s love, and I would give you the same peace of mind, little sister.”
“Thank you, but I require no antique artifact to discern that Mark is my future husband.” Amanda recalled the heated consummation of their tender pledge, and her cheeks burned as fierce as the memory. “In fact, in our perspective, we are already married.”
“I do not believe it.” With mouth agape, Olivia stood. “You dallied with Lieutenant Douglas.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I beg your pardon?” Amanda gulped, as she had no plans to reveal that scrap of information. “I have done no--”
“Please, do not insult my intelligence or my eyes with denial.” She settled hands on hips and shifted her weight. “I am a happily wedded wife, with an equally attentive husband, and I know the signs. Are you with child? Is that the cause of your stomach ailment, of late?”
“No, I am not pregnant.” In desperate search of distraction, Amanda commenced a more careful appraisal of the brooch.
“Are you positive?” Olivia tapped an impatient cadence with her slippered foot. “You had better be sure, as Papa will kill you and Douglas.”
“Yes, I am certain, because my courses have flowed twice since he departed London.” Amanda sniffed. “Much to my disappointment.”
“Upon my word, but you do astonish me. So you gifted him your maidenhead?” Olivia inquired in a small voice.
Incapable of speech, she nodded her confirmation.
“How I wish you had talked with me prior to embarking on such ambitious stratagem, as I could have provided useful insight and instruction. Although Mama detailed what I could expect of the consummation, I am left to presume she could never fathom the capacity for passion my Henry possesses.” To Amanda’s infinite shock, h
er sister returned to the chaise. “Were you frightened? Did he hurt you--well, beyond the obvious?”
“Oh, Olivia.” Dying to share her experience with someone, Amanda smiled and pressed a clenched fist to her breast. “Mark was wonderful--amazing, so thoughtful and gentle, yet he was--oh, I know not how to describe it.”
“Did he curl your toes?” With an arched brow, Olivia giggled.
“He curled everything.” She closed her eyes and sighed, as she recalled the breathtaking pinnacle of their nocturnal maneuvers. “I get gooseflesh just thinking of him.”
“I believe that bodes well for your union.” Olivia cupped Amanda’s cheek and then her older sister averted her gaze. “And I must confess a secret, given your candor, and yet I know I can trust you to maintain my confidence, as we are a pair. While everyone fretted over George’s early arrival, my son was, in fact, right on time.”
“No.” Amanda gasped and squeezed her sister’s fingers. “You mean you and Henry--”
“Indeed.” Olivia tittered. “Several times, as we could not wait, so I understand your actions, sweet Amanda. And, like your Mark, my Henry is a most considerate lover.”
“Is it not good fortune, for both our sakes?” Now Amanda wanted to cry, as the unimaginable happiness associated with thoughts of Mark, absent of late, resurfaced with a vengeance. “I mean the ton is littered with indifferent husbands, and we found two such estimable men.”
“Yes, we are most blessed.” Olivia slid from the chaise and surveyed the room. “You have made quite a few changes to the décor, since you moved into my old apartments, and the color suits you. I have countless fond memories in these chambers, many of which involve suspect use of the trellis, just outside that window.”
A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology Page 8
