The Patriot's Conquest (18 page)

“Caught in the act,” he said, tapping her pert nose to each syllable.

“Bloody hell!” she swore. “’Tis your fault, you brigand!”

What a feisty mouth! Jeffrey felt a hard urge to kiss it again. He chuckled. “Amanda, I hardly performed the act by myself. I recall you were a most willing participant.”

Her eyes crackled with violet fire.

“You put me in this predicament, Jeffrey!” She laced up her bodice.

Amanda crossed the room to the mirror and stared stonily at her reflection as she removed pins and unfurled the tangled bun. Shimmering curls spilled down in a fiery cloud past her waist. Jeffrey watched with dawning hunger. His hands itched to rake through the luxuriant masses and feel the silk slide through his fingers. Amanda finger combed her hair, then yanked the strands with a vicious twist and bound it into a secure knot. She snatched her cap off the floor and covered her hair. Disappointment surged through him.

What would those rose gold tresses look like spread upon his pillow? He closed his eyes and imagined caressing her soft cheek, then touching that glorious hair, feeling its silky texture. Her amber beauty, unveiled for him and him alone.

“You are a heartless cad to take advantage of me!”

His eyes flew open. Struggling to control his desire, Jeffrey gave her a cool look. “Should you expect less of a man when you prance about his room uninvited? You did not ask me to stop. Indeed, you seemed most willing.”

Cheeks sprouted two rose pink blossoms. So lovely. And angry.

“Surely James could see that as well.”

Color drained from her face. “He will not.”

“James is no tale bearer. But should he tell one or two in this place.” Jeffrey glanced at the open doorway. James had promised to keep their secret quiet. He’d no more tell a living soul, not even his wife, than he’d walk down Duke of Gloucester Street without his breeches.

Naturally, Jeffrey had no intention of sharing this with Amanda. On the contrary...

“By the morrow, all of Williamsburg should know what transpired here.”

Her composure crumbled. He felt a rush of pity.

“The Raleigh is the best place to get news and exchange gossip,” he reminded her.

“Nay, ’tis not so. Cannot be,” she whispered, crossing her hands over her bodice.

“I can hear the tongues wagging now. In the taverns. On market square. In church. Miss Amanda Reeves, caught in a state of half-dress with Mr. Jeffrey Clayton. A young maid in such an indecent act. Shameful. She was a lovely girl, but now her marriage chances are ruined. More’s the pity.”

Trembling, Amanda craned her neck toward the window as if hearing church bells ring out the news. Miss Amanda Reeves is ruined! Panic creased her brow.

He walked behind her and traced a finger down her spine, stroking her gown’s soft fabric, wishing he stroked her bare skin. She arched, like a cat under a tender caress, then with a startled cry, jerked away.

“Brigand,” she whispered.

“Such a passionate nature, that Miss Amanda Reeves. Shocking. Disgraceful. What will the good gentry of Williamsburg think? Mrs. Wythe, how disappointed she will be? What will Mrs. Peyton Randolph say now of the gentle, proper Amanda?”

Jeffrey circled around her, facing Amanda, hating the stark terror darkening her face. Yet he must do this. He could not trust her. Let her walk away and he risked not only himself, but Patrick as well. Perhaps even his “friend.” He didn’t know what other papers she had seen in his private chest. Dunmore hated Patrick. All he needed was good solid information and Patrick might be bound in chains, on a ship heading for England and on trial for treason.

“Jeffrey, you cannot...” Amanda backed toward the open door.

He rubbed the back of his tightening neck. “Nay, not me. Mr. Southall. Lovely Amanda, her reputation ruined. Disgraced. Seen in a gentleman’s room in his embrace.”

“Please, there must be some way of preventing Mr. Southall from spreading this news,” she pled, wringing her hands. Her pitiful plea kicked him in the stomach.

“I think not, Amanda. You and I both know that,” he said softly.

One hand touched her lips. “Please, Jeffrey.”

“But there is one other remedy. A solution to our mutual problem, if you will. One thing you can do to save your reputation.”

Wild hope lit her eyes. “Aye? Aye, name it and I shall try to remedy the situation.”

“Marry me.”

I
F HE HAD
slapped her, Jeffrey could not have shocked her more. “Marry you?”

Marry a radical, a brigand, her country’s enemy? Open-mouthed, she stared at him. Thoughts of a ruined reputation and her parents’ severe disappointment faded, replaced by stunned disbelief. Marry him! A host of disturbing feelings drummed upon her raw nerves. Shock. Anger. And worst, pleasure.

“Aye, marry me.” His expression softened.

“’Tis blackmail, sir! You would force me to marry you or let my reputation go tarnished! When you were the one blackening it!”

Jeffrey flashed his charming, lopsided grin. “Call it what you will, my dear Mandy. Think of it as a business arrangement. You thought to snoop into my business. And tied my hands as a result. Do you truly think I would let you out of my sight to run back to your cousin?”

“But I would not...”

His gaze darkened again. “Do not lie to me. We both know, even with your noblest intentions, Dunmore would hound you for what information you gained.”

“I cannot marry you!”

He thrust his hands on his hips. “Why not? Have you a husband you hide?”

“Nay, of course not,” she shot back impatiently.

“Then you are two and twenty, of eligible age, a maiden and free to take a husband.”

“Jeffrey, you do not wish to marry me! Why would it appeal to you?”

Now her breath quickened into ragged pants as he stroked her cheek with his fingers. “You do yourself a disservice. You are quite lovely and very desirable. Marriage appeals to me. I’m growing older. I’ve a great yearning for children of my own. I’ve seen your gentle manner with Miles and Sara. And,” his gaze rested pointedly on her abdomen, “you look to be a healthy women who could give me many fine sons.”

Anger snaked through her. “’Tis a bold assumption you make, to think I would consent to marrying you and producing children with you.”

“You have no choice. Unless you wish to have the town gossips chatter about you for months.”

“And what makes you think marriage will be your remedy? That I will not turn on you? That our good Lord Dunmore will not use me, his loyal subject, to have you arrested for treason?”

Jeffrey gave her a pitying smile. “Nay, he cannot if we marry. You are useless to him then. For you will be my wife, and subject to a new lord and master. Me. The law recognizes it as such.”

With dawning horror, Amanda realized he told the truth. When married, society and the law considered her and her husband as one person under common law. She could not give testimony against her husband. Any evidence she had against him would be rendered useless.

The laws were made to favor men, she thought bitterly. Colonists bellowing they had the right to govern themselves did not extend the same privilege to women.

Watching his smug grin, she realized he’d devised a brilliant solution. Jeffrey could imprison her reputation or imprison her as his wife. Bound forever as his mate, and legally bound to live with him, bear his children, and submit to his demands in bed. Amanda controlled her anger, and summoned a beseeching look. Perhaps she could still reason with him.

“Jeffrey, please, there must be another way.”

Encircling her hand with his own, he lifted it to his lips. His kiss burned with torrid heat. “Nay, I cannot trust you now, Mandy. ’Tis only when you are legally wed to me that I may accord some measure of that.”

Shoulders sagging, she shook her head, thinking of the almshouse. “I cannot marry you. ’Tis not a choice I am free to make.”

“Is that what you told Lord Dunmore when you agreed to spy on me? What does Dunmore hold over you? Your father’s debt?”

At her outraged expression he added, “’Tis a matter of common knowledge, for he owes the Raleigh alone some fifty pounds. And all know how Dunmore financed his ship and store.”

“My parents set me to it. He agreed to dismiss all debts against my father if I spied upon you,” she muttered.

“Then I shall remedy that. Marry me and I’ll pay all your father’s debts.”

“You? With what?”

“I have some small savings.”

“My father owes Lord Dunmore 150 pounds sterling. With the debt at the Raleigh, the total is 200 pounds. Your annual wages as a blacksmith could cover nary one-quarter of that.”

“True,” he agreed. “I’ll use my own money from my Boston business. It will hardly create a dent in that account.”

“Your Boston business? What business?” she demanded. He gave an indifferent shrug.

“Three blacksmith shops my uncle and I own. Quite profitable. Or some land in Virginia I can sell. A few acres will cover my losses.”

Realization dawned on her. “Exactly how much land do you own?”

“In Virginia?” He cocked his head, considering. “A tidewater plantation of some 2,000 acres, now leased out to a farmer and his family. They grow tobacco, corn and wheat. Turned a nice profit last year with crops. Oh, and some to the southwest, near the North Carolina border. About 6,000 acres there. The Massachusetts farm has only 1,000 acres.”

Nine thousand acres of land, a working plantation and ownership of three Boston businesses. Amanda gaped at him. Enough money to pay her father’s debt without blinking an eye. Gentleman farmer, bloody hell. He was a land baron!

“So you see Mandy, you have no reason not to marry me. I’ve more than enough means to support you. You have every reason to be my bride.”

Filled with hopeless resignation, Amanda shrugged. “Then do what you will. Aye, I will marry you, only to save my parents from further shame.”

She drew in a deep breath. “But know this. It will be a mockery of a marriage. A false victory for you, Jeffrey. I am still His Majesty’s loyal subject and will never consort with your seditious views. Claim what rights you will. You will never claim my heart.”

Pained regret flickered in his gaze, then his expression shuttered. Jeffrey pulled her into his arms.

“’Tis not your heart claiming my interest.” He lowered his mouth. Amanda struggled in his embrace, whimpering as he kissed her with a gentle possessiveness as if he’d already won the rights to her body. Heat curled deep in her lower belly and loins. Jeffrey released her.

“I shall wait, dear Mandy, for the rest of what is due to me ’til we are man and wife,” he murmured, lifting her hand and grazing her knuckles with those treacherous lips.

His gaze flicked to the window. “Best we be on our way now. ’Tis a long drive to Hanover. Will have to stop on the way to overnight.”

“On our way? Jeffrey, I cannot wed you right now.”

Jeffrey’s eyes blazed. “I have no intention of letting you go and having your cousin stop us. We’ll marry in Hanover in private, far from meddling relatives. Pat’s uncle is a preacher. No need for banns. I’ll post the marriage bond and we shall be man and wife.”

“My clothing...”

“I’ll send Jake to your house for a trunk. With the excuse you’re to spend some days with us at Evergreen. Since your parents still think you spy on me, they will agree.”

Mortified, she realized his exceedingly well-orchestrated schedule meant he had planned this all along. His confident air indicated he knew she’d capitulate. She’d marched into his arms and he’d ruthlessly used her affections to take her prisoner.

In a few days, she’d be his wife. And there would be no turning back.

N
O GRAND WEDDING
with distinguished guests, hours of feasting and dancing, or crystal tiers of sweetmeats and tables laden with rich roasted meats and sparkling red wine.

For a dowry, Jeffrey received her silence. Her wedding gown was the freshly laundered yellow silk embroidered with blue iris. Jeffrey had requested she wear it, for it had special meaning for him. For her, it felt like wearing a shroud. The church was a small parish and the minister an elderly, but kind preacher related to one of her country’s worst enemies. Witnessing the blessed event was the enemy himself, the esteemed Patrick Henry. He had sallow cheeks, deep-set fierce blue eyes and a stooped manner. But his smile sparkled upon seeing Jeffrey and he treated her with utmost kindness.

“Jeffrey, ’tis a fine day when I can host an elopement for you. You are far more romantic than I gave you credit for, my friend!” he had fervently enthused.

He did not comment but looked puzzled at Jeffrey’s cryptic smile and her own silent demeanor. Little did he know exactly what manner of wedding he hosted.

They spent the night at Patrick’s farm, Jeffrey talking long into the night with his friend. Planning more sedition, most likely. But the conversation meant he did not touch her, and instead, took his rest on the settee.

Amanda stared at the gold band on her left hand as Jeffrey drove them to the farm. It encircled her finger with a firmness that reminded her of his tight hold. No rights of her own. Her entire existence now wound around him, according to the laws of society and culture. Amanda realized she was in a fragile and precarious situation. A ruined reputation as a maiden exchanged for a lifetime as a wife to an American! Her mother would faint. She could see the hand wringing now. The wailing. Amanda felt a little like wailing herself. She was a loyal King’s subject married to a radical patriot.

Or was she? She remembered her tiny spark of rebellion. Would Jeffrey fan the spark into an inferno, causing her to turn back on her very loyalties to England? She would not, Amanda promised herself.

She darted a glanced at the man beside her. Jeffrey was a big man, full of passion and life who would not wait to claim his husbandly rights tonight. She damned the desires that had led her into this trap. Fie on her for being so eager for a gentle caress, a tender moment! Hadn’t she learned by now that men’s affections were merely lust? First John in England. Now Jeffrey in America. Two countries in which she’d let her passions run wild, ruining her life.