Over the course of the next several days, Amy made it her duty to steer Kaylee from Ben's path. There were too many rumors of Continental Regiments pulling out of towns and leaving young women unmarried and swollen with child.

After dinner Ben withdrew to the library, thinking everyone in the house were fast asleep. Pleased to find a fire in the hearth warming the room cozy, he sunk into a comfortable chair and opened a book.

"Do you wish me to leave. Sir?"

Ben jerked, startled by the delicate feminine voice. He smiled finding it belonged to Kaylee. She was hidden away in a candle lit corner veiled by book shelves. She wore only a frail knee-length shift, the color of winter snow. "No, no, you are fine. You paint?" he asked drawing to his feet to get a better view of her work. "Kent Falls," he said admiring the girl's talent.

"You've been there?"

"Yes, as a child. My father took me. Where is your image?"

"What image?" she asked confused.

"The image you draw from. How are you painting this?" Ben asked, squatting to her side where she was sitting crossed-legged in the floor, saintly serenity clinging to her like an invisible halo.

"My mind. I visited last year and I miss it, so I decided to paint from memory."

Astonished, "You paint this from memory?"

"Yes. My mother said I was blessed with, um, a photographic memory. I only have to see something once and it embeds its image in my mind as if my eyes still gaze upon its reflection."

He winked at her, impressed. "You are amazing. I have heard of such people. I have just never met one."

She beamed up brightly, suppressing a bubbly giggle, "until now!"

"Until now," Ben agreed, fighting the urge to touch her face. The light from the candle flame-licked her flawless flesh, tempting him to caress its softness. It had been months since he had last caressed a woman, and never one as compelling as the one before him now. He refrained, foretelling she would shriek from his touch. Young ladies like Kaylee needed patience and lots of coaxing.

Clenching his fingers to tame the ache to touch her, he drew to his feet and strolled back to his chair, leaving Kaylee to paint while he read. They worked in silence with only the crackling of the searing oak. Every now and then, Ben cast a peek in her direction, finding her engrossed in her work, eyes squinted and tongue to one corner of her mouth, the tip barely peeking out.

An hour later, Kaylee bid him goodnight in her usual dainty, sweet voice. Ben watched her bounce away, her little rear firm and jiggling, illuminated by the light of the fire against the fragile linen she donned. A more mature woman would have known better to stay in his presence scantily dressed, but Kaylee wasn't a woman yet. She had been shielded from the world and her naiveness haunted her every move.

Ben scolded his thoughts, his manhood now thriving. He was a gentleman, who served a self-vowed noble oath. The last thing he wanted to do was abase his honor and descend upon such a vulnerable soul. Such salacious actions had generated the fault of Tecumwah's daughter's death. He would stick to releasing his vigor into sophisticated doves, reserved only for Continental Officers, until after the war. His lips evolved into a smug smile. For the time being, though, admiring little Kaylee's reckless behavior from afar would warm his winter and keep him amused. It never hurt to just look.

Notes:

In reality a shift was considered an undergarment and at Kaylee's age, she would have known better than to wear such in front of a man, BUT my version is sexier. I am romanticizing :)