He sank back, careful to keep his weight upon his haunches. “You…”
She closed her eyes. He had never imagined such a look of bleak misery. “Milord,” she said hollowly, “only a woman of a different variety should…feel so.”
The last he did not even hear, for the whisper had grown so soft upon her lips. “Who told you that?” he demanded so harshly that her eyes flew open again.
“It’s the way—you must be horrified.”
“No, milady, it is not the way of anything, and I am not horrified but delighted. You are my wife. Warm and fascinating in my bed, and I confess, I am evermore enchanted. If I am horrified, it is because I must leave you so soon.”
Her eyes were so wide, so very vulnerable then. What was it that she had feared so greatly? He wanted then to protect her so fiercely from all the hurts of the world. He swept her into his arms, whispering to her fervently, “Tell me! What has done this to you!”
“I cannot tell you!” she whispered, but she did not press away from him. Rather she curled close, her small hands knotted but against his chest, her head bowed beneath his chin. He inhaled the fragrance of her hair, and he swore then, to himself alone, that he would love her until the day that he died, defend her against all odds.
He stroked back her hair. “Shh…I will not ask you again. When you can trust me, tell me. Until then, believe me when I say that you are more exquisite than I dared dream, that I am well pleased.” He hesitated a moment. “I did promise that it would be enjoyable.”
She shuddered suddenly and he laughed, running his finger around her ear. “Well, madame, is it not enjoyable?”
“That’s a terrible thing to ask me, sir!”
“Then I will show you again!” he swore, and swept her beneath him. Her eyes went very wide, but then a smile curved her lips. He kissed her.
And he loved her again, bringing her once more to an exquisite peak of pleasure and finding that agony and ecstasy again himself. Exhausted and spent, she lay against him, and he held her tight, his hand below the sweet curve of her breast. He thought that she slept when she whispered to him.
“Milord?” Her voice was soft and pale and lazy.
“Aye, love?”
“Indeed…I do suppose that one might call this…enjoyable.”
He smiled, and he allowed his eyes to close. He did not think that he had ever slept so deeply, or so well.
In the days that followed Amanda came to wonder that she had ever thought to refuse Eric. He was demanding, voracious, unexpected, and always exciting, and most of all, he lived up to his promise that life should be lived and that it could be enjoyable. There was an exceptional energy about him in those days when he knew he would leave so soon. Awaking to discover that he was down with the troops, she would take great care with her dress, and start down the stairs only to discover that he had finished with drilling for the day and was running up the stairs even as she began to descend them. No protest stilled him then, and she would be swept into his arms, laughing, and all her careful detail to her appearance would be for naught since it seemed to take him less than seconds to disrobe her.
They rode over his acreage and the land of the original Hundred and she met many of the landowners and planters, artisans and merchants who made their homes near Eric’s. They were always welcomed warmly and, though tea was no longer served and more and more women were dressing in homespun, there seemed to be little talk of politics then, and much more discussion of homes and estates and repair and planting. Many men were eagerly working their prize horses, for racing was a prime diversion of the Tidewater aristocrats, and nothing ceased their talk of good horseflesh.
Despite the seemingly endless troops camped out on the lawns of Cameron Hall, Eric saw to it that he showed Amanda their immediate realm. As they walked down to the cemetery one afternoon, he told her tales of a great-great-aunt who had married a Pamunkee Indian and whose several times great-grandchildren were the half-dozen blue-eyed, blond Clark children they had met on a nearby estate the day before. They left the cemetery and he walked her on toward the river until she found herself in a pine-arbored copse. She could feel the river’s breeze there, and distantly she could hear the fife and bugle of the men who marched and drilled upon the hill. Eric drew her into his arms, and before she could protest the wicked determination in his arms, she found herself lain upon the soft pine-strewn earth, looking up into a dazzle of sunlight that wavered with the motion of the tree branches. He laid his hands upon the laces of her gown and she gasped, protesting with outrage that they could not. She continued to protest, but his arguments were fast, his hands faster still, and before she knew it she was naked upon the raw, sweet-smelling earth, laughing and arguing in one, and then unable to laugh or argue for the passion that blazed there between them was shocking and intense, bursting upon them like the radiance of the dappled sun rays. And when they lay still the river breeze swept sensually over their dampened bodies, adding something of the feel of an intimate Eden to the place. She shivered, and he warmed her with his body. She stroked his cheek and he caught her hand, bringing it down against him, teaching her to hold and stroke the bold arousal the breeze and her nearness had wrought. She did not think to argue then, for his kisses filled her as deeply as the shaft of his body, and the warmth and liquid fire that burned into her mingled from the force of his mouth and that of his loins. Twilight came, and with it the cool of the night, before they roused themselves at last, dressed, and returned to the house.
That night they had their first argument as man and wife, yet there was nothing new in the gist of it.
Damien arrived to serve with Eric, commissioned a captain to command one of the companies he himself had raised. Amanda, delighted to see him, greeted him in the parlor. He was all enthusiasm for the cause, but he was even more enthusiastic about the events taking place in Williamsburg and beyond. Washington had returned to Mount Vernon, so Damien said, and Patrick Henry and Edmund Pendleton had stopped there before all three men headed for the Philadelphia Continental Congress. Rumors were running rampant that no gentle words for the Crown would be spoken.
Eric stood by the mantel as Damien spoke, lighting his pipe from the fire with a wick. He was silent as Damien went on. “Things are about to change. Mark my words, milord, I daresay that the very men who govern our colonies will all be looking over their shoulders to see to the sheriffs with arrest warrants!”
“I daresay that it would be quite difficult for a handful of soldiers to arrest the whole congress,” Eric told him.
“It will depend on which way many hearts lie, won’t it, sir? It will depend on where the power lies. If the militia leaders side with the Crown—or the patriots.”
“Stop it, Damien!” Amanda commanded him. “You are talking about treason.”
“Mandy, Mandy, do stop with this treason nonsense! The will of the people must prevail.” Damien leaned forward on his seat. “Lord Cameron, it will be interesting indeed to travel west once again. When the Shawnee are subdued, treaties might be made that could be of grave importance later. And the French arms to be purchased on the coast are often in abundance—”
“Damien!” she snapped, rising from her chair and staring at Eric. “Make him stop this, Eric.”
Eric’s dark brows shot up. “Amanda, I cannot make him stop his mind from working—”
“You are his commander, Eric! I demand that you stop this talk of arms and war this very second.”
“Amanda, this is my home,” Eric reminded her, “and though I would do my utmost to give you any request, milady, I will not accept a demand.”
