The Patriot's Conquest (13 page)

It was just that she and Jeffrey were at opposite sides of the battlefield.

“Come, honey, let’s leave lessons for after dinner. I would like to see your kittens again.” Sniffling, Sara took the hand she offered. The feel of the tiny hand in hers tugged at her heart. Would she ever have a family of her own? Amanda watched Jeffrey stroll off toward the house.

Whatever the future held for her, certainly it did not include him.

D
URING DINNER
, J
EFFREY
engaged Amanda in a robust discussion of French philosophers. She quoted Voltaire furiously at him and he challenged her back, much to Meg’s amusement.

After the meal, Amanda sat on the floor, scribbling letters with a slate and chalk and had Sara draw each one. Miles indulged himself in
Robinson Crusoe
by the window while Meg spun wool in the corner. Jeffrey sat in a handsome rocking chair, tipping it back.
Creak
, he rocked forward.
Creak
, back. Resting his broad hands on its carved handles, he stared at her. She felt uncomfortable under the heavy weight of his intense scrutiny.

“Now, you take the letter ‘A’.” Remember what I said about ‘A’? ‘A’ is for apple, juicy and sweet. Form two lines at the top, then a line across does it meet.”

The child struggled to copy Amanda.

Jeffrey leaned forward, some unknown intent blazing in his eyes. “And what is the letter ‘B’ for?”

“The letter ‘B’ is for Britain, our mother country,” she replied, meeting his hard stare.
I shall not back down.

A muscle jumped wildly in Jeffrey’s tightened jaw. His gaze darted to Sara and his expression softened. Then he glanced back at Amanda and his expression tightened.

“Need to check on the horses,” he muttered, rising. He strode out the front door, banging it behind him.

Amanda looked around the room. Miles and Meg were absorbed in their work. Time to question the child. Perhaps she had overhead something that would give Amanda information to pass along to Lord Dunmore.

“Sara, ’tis nice to dine with you. Does your Uncle Jeffrey ever ask people to dine here? Friends perhaps?”

“Oh aye, Amanda. Mr. Henry dined here.”

Her ears pricked. She smoothed her skirt, pretending nonchalance. “Patrick Henry?”

“Uh-huh. He and Uncle Jeffrey talked a long, long time!”

“What did they talk about?”

The child’s lower lip jutted out as she traced her letter. “Something about Uncle Jeffrey and a Melissa. Mr. Henry said Melissa is very popular now among the men but this Melissa needs Uncle Jeffrey badly.”

Another woman in his life? Jealousy thrust tiny knife-like needles into her heart. “Why does this Melissa need Uncle Jeffrey?”

“Mr. Henry said Uncle Jeffrey’s a big, strong man who knows a lot about what a Melissa needs. He’s got ’sperience. And Uncle Jeffrey said he had a big gun that this Melissa wanted. He was good at handling his gun and this Melissa would like that.”

Amanda smarted, thinking of how casually Jeffrey and Patrick Henry chatted about Jeffrey’s lover. In front of children yet! Brigand!

She glanced up as the front door creaked open. Jeffrey strolled in and dropped besides Sara. His face split into a tremendous smile as Sara held up her awkwardly drawn letters. The smile extended to Amanda, who returned it with a scowl.

His brow furrowed. “I have declared a truce between us. For the sake of the child, I will not argue with you. What ails you now?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing that I should have not expected of you. I should expect to die before thinking you anything more than a rogue.”

Though his mouth twisted, he remained silent. Jeffrey stood and paced to the stairs, his tread heavy upon the steps.

When he returned, he had a violin in hand. Jeffrey sat in the rocker and played a lively song. Amanda recognized the tune as a spirited tavern song her father frequently bawled out when deep in his cups.

Amanda felt a twinge of envy at the cozy scene. Her Sabbaths were filled with dullness, not music.

“Jeffrey, that was most excellent,” Meg smiled at her brother. “Play ‘One Morning in May’. Amanda, you can join the duet.”

“I’ve not the voice for it,” she said, feeling shy. “I fear my voice will sound as scratchy as an old tin cup rattling against metal bars.”

“’Tis no excuse for not singing, a preacher told me once. He said if you have a lovely voice like a songbird, sing to Heaven and thank the Almighty for it. And if ’tis not the case, then sing to Heaven and get thee revenge!”

She laughed. “’Tis a most excellent rationale.”

Jeffrey played, singing a deep, pleasing tenor. Amanda joined him, their voices dancing together. As they sang the last note, a perfect blend of harmony and melody, she became aware of a reluctant sadness to his tone. As if they were the potential lovers in the song who could never be together and would soon part.

Silence reigned for a moment, then the children clapped.

“How absolutely beautiful,” Meg said. “Amanda, you and Jeffrey complement each other in a lovely harmony.”

Jeffrey’s solemn expression seemed filled with some odd longing. Amanda felt an equal tug, as if they’d broached a tentative understanding filled with something deeper, more meaningful than a simple song. From across the room, they gazed at each other with equal intensity. She drew in a shaky breath. Then Jeffrey assumed his usual cocky grin.

“Aye, Meg, ’twas a most excellent blending of male and female parts. And Amanda’s female part seemed quite receptive to accompany my male part.”

Amanda bristled. Meg merely smiled. If she caught the suggestiveness of her brother’s remark, she chose to ignore it.

“Do sing another for us,” Meg begged.

Jeffrey laid down his violin and bow. “Perhaps later. I’ve the animals to tend to.”

“Let the servants do it. We’ve a guest,” Meg chided him.

“And the servants deserve a day of rest as well from their chores, for they tend the animals all week.”

The door slammed behind Jeffrey. Meg stared after him. “What ails him? Jeffrey is never this abrupt.”

Amanda bit back a sigh. It was her. Rather he’d milk cows and slop hogs than sing again with the enemy.

Without music to liven the room, the mood grew drowsy. Sara rested her head on her arm. Miles yawned. Even Meg began to doze. Soon, all three were asleep.

Now
. Amanda slipped upstairs and peeked in all the rooms. One had a large bed topped with a white quilt. Boots lay carelessly tossed to one side, a man’s clothing hung on a peg.

She slipped inside, opened drawers and inspected them. Nothing. Even a small secretary revealed but stationary and quill, nothing more. Bending down, she peered under the bed and saw a chest. Did it hold secrets?

Upon hearing footsteps, Amanda drew up and banged her head on the wood bed frame. She yelped and sat back, rubbing her head.

“What are you doing in my bed chamber?” Jeffrey asked.

“I had thought to see where you sleep. My father imports beds from London and most are not so sizable. Since your frame is so large, I thought to check to see where your bed was manufactured.”

What a daft lie. Embarrassment bloomed to life in her cheeks.

Jeffrey gave a calculating smile. “Now you have satisfied your curiosity. But why stop there? Wouldn’t you like to test the mattress?” He sat on the bed, patting it. “Come, ’tis most comfortable.”

At her hesitation, he arched a brow. “Come Amanda. Sit. Or was it not my bed you claimed interest in, but something else beneath it?”

Amanda sat gingerly as if lowering her bottom on a bed of hot coals. “’Tis a fine mattress. Quite springy. Horse hair, I’d hazard to guess. Imported from England.”

“Feather,” Jeffrey corrected. “A feather mattress is most enjoyable for sleeping and other bedtime activities.”

“I have no idea what you mean. I merely expressed a merchant’s curiosity.”

“And I express a man’s curiosity about what a maiden is doing in my room,” Jeffrey countered softly. “Testing my bed. Without me in it.”

She raced for the door, only to find him sprinting to it. Jeffrey closed the door and leaned against it, blocking her escape.

“Please. I must leave. ’Tis not proper to be with you in this room.”

“True. A young lady, alone with me. You are much too trusting, Amanda.” His low, husky drawl spoke of promise.

Amanda stepped back, creating space between them as he regarded her with his piercing silver gaze. Though he’d been properly attired at dinner, Jeffrey had stripped down to a linen shirt to attend to the animals. The sleeves were rolled up to display his muscled forearms. Such power and strength in those arms. She remembered how he’d wielded the iron at the forge, and how he’d held her as they kissed in her cousin’s house. Amanda shivered.

“You’re trembling. Have you caught a chill? Shall I keep you warm?” he inquired softly.

“Thank you, but I am quite comfortable.”

“Comfortable in my bed chamber? Mayhap my prayers have been answered, and the Almighty has sent a fiery-haired angel to keep me warm. ‘Tis usually cold and lonely in this room.”

She bristled. “I am surprised you find it chilly, Jeffrey. For with all the hot air you do spout about freedom from England, ’tis a wonder the chamber is not over heated. Indeed, I find the room quite warm.”

“Aye, I nearly forgot you are British and must be accustomed to the cold, for all British have ice water running through their veins. Like your cousin Lord Dunmore. ’Tis a wonder that fool survived in the woods during last year’s skirmishes with the Indians.”

Oh, the cad! “My cousin is a hot-blooded Scot with a great love of adventure and gaming, not a ninny-minded weakling as you indicate.”

“If so, then Virginia would have no need of volunteers, the man could protect the colony all on his own,” Jeffrey rejoined.

“Volunteers! Rude, crude, militia men who march boldly and threaten my cousin’s good peace of mind with their drillings.”

Another shrug. “Your cousin has enough defenses, I am certain.”

“Nay, only the
Magdalen
in Burwell’s Bay and the
H.M.S. Fowey
in the York. The
Magdalen
sails soon for north, though the
Fowey
itself has some fine cannon aboard her. My cousin has the upper hand in arms on sea, and has said he has plans for land defense as well.”

Oh bother! Her wagging tongue revealed valuable information to a radical like Jeffrey. Amanda hastily tried to cover her slip.

“However, good strong men like my beau, William, are more than able to defend his lordship if necessary. He is a good and loyal soldier, dedicated to the cause of defending our lord governor.”

Surprise flickered in Jeffrey’s gaze. His mouth twisted. “And who exactly is this fine beau of yours? Is he a lowly private in His Majesty’s army?”

“Captain William Christopher is Lord Dunmore’s secretary.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I do recall seeing him strut about town. A fair-haired man with a proclivity toward fine foods.”

“William is a well-trained soldier who knows how to fire a weapon with deadly aim.”

“Our guns are bigger, more imposing and our aim much better. So I’ve been told.”

“Your modesty is truly striking, Jeffrey. ’Tis a wonder you can fit through this doorway with your head so stuffed full of yourself,” she shot back.

“I speak truthfully of my prowess. Not like your William who is stuffed full of sweetmeats and quail. Why do you fuss with a soft-bellied beau like that? Can his kisses fill that aching space inside you? Would you not rather fancy a real man instead?”

Jeffrey tugged at her hand, drawing her close. His nearness filled her with dread and longing.

“Now, Amanda,” he said in a coaxing tone, “Come now, just one kiss will not hurt you. From a real man who can teach you exactly how to be a woman.”

One kiss? Amanda remembered what Sara had told her. Her ears burned. Jeffrey thought her an easy mark much as the women he kept company with.

“Why do you not tell the same to your Melissa? I am certain she is more than willing to accommodate you!”

Frank bewilderment crossed his face. “I know of no woman named Melissa.”

“Do not lie to me, Jeffrey Clayton. I have it on good authority that you and this Melissa are quite close. Indeed she clamors after your big gun.”

Dangerous tension coiled around him. “My big gun? Who told you of this? Who is this good authority?”

So angry was she Amanda forgot the reason why she’d started the conversation with Sara in the first place. “Your niece. She overheard you and Patrick Henry talk about your Melissa. And how much she needs ‘big strong men’ like you and your big gun.”

He laughed. The sound echoed throughout his bedchamber. His white teeth flashed. How dare he laugh over one of his conquests?

“Big gun? My long rifle! Melissa? Nay, not a woman, not Melissa. Militia! You spout names from a seven-year-old with a hearty lisp.”

She fell quiet, realizing her mistake as he stopped laughing and his intense gray gaze focused on her. Seeking to retreat, she walked to the window, pretending interest in the view.

He followed, clasping her shoulders and turning her to face him. Jeffrey tipped up her chin with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“And now, Amanda, pray tell, why were you interrogating my niece about my conversations with Pat? What political information had you hoped to glean?”

“’Twas merely an incident the child deigned to share with me. I had thought she referenced your female companions. Nothing more.”

“Your curiosity about my life seems to stray always to certain topics. Causes me to wonder about your intent. First you express such rapt interest in my bed. Now in my female companions. Would you like a display of what I do with my female companions?”

Amanda headed for the door. “Jeffrey, ’tis growing late. I shall find a servant to drive me home.”

As she reached for the doorknob, he covered her hand with his palm. “Nay, since you are so curious about my activities, I shall show you.”

He slid his arms about her waist and lowered his mouth in a punishing, passionate kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, pressing against them until she gave a little moan and opened her mouth, allowing him entrance.