Reply to Guest: Thanks for the review! No, you didn't come across as a know it all at all. I probably sounded that way myself, when I mentioned how a few women joined the army. You can never know how little or how much another person knows, and I don't think either of us meant to come across as 'know it all's'. :-) I'm able to update quickly because I've finally finished writing the whole story. All I'm doing now is making revisions and changing things here and there. It's quite cool, knowing that the story is done! But don't worry, there's a good twenty chapters or more for my to review and post here :-)
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William screwed up the letter in his fingers, then tossed it in the camp fire. The stupid ball, which was to be held tomorrow night. The last thing he wanted to think about, was going to a damned ball. It had been days since he'd seen Margaret, and he found himself longing for her more and more with each passing hour. He had not visited Elmwood Hall, having begun to believe he simply would not be welcome there. That damned boy's death would be between them, a blight on their marriage, for the rest of their lives.
He leaned back against the tree and stretched his boots toward the fire so he could still feel its warmth, quietly brooding over the news Binnings had bought him of Margaret's new intentions to return to Elmwood Hall with Eleanor, after the ball; and he was now certain in his belief that Margaret wished to separate from him. If he could avoid going to the damned ball, he would. How could he possibly walk in with Margaret on his arm, knowing she wished to be anywhere else but in his presence? Oh, she would smile and greet everyone with warmth, and she would smile for him also, and she would laugh merrily to keep up the appearance that all was well between them. But he would know it for the pretence it was. Each time her eyes landed on him, they would be cold in a way that none but he would notice.
"So much for the Ghost," Harford muttered, poking a stick into the fire. "This whole trip has been a waste of time, if you ask me. The Ghost was never here."
"I'm just as glad we didn't encounter him," Robertson replied. "Our numbers are too few, with the bulk of the Company already on their way back to Charlestown. Sir," he said carefully to Tavington, "when do you think we might head back?"
Another fool who wanted to attend that damned ball. Tavington had already released three quarters of his detachment, sending Cornet Binnings off to fetch his wife and escort her and the other women from Elmwood back to Charlestown, so that they could begin their preparations in the morning. All he had left in his detail was eight Dragoons, which was far too small a force to be out in the wild, with the rebel's larger forces who knew where? He had been mad, utterly insane, for chasing down the latest rumour of Martin's presence, with so few men. His Dragoons, also lounging around the fire, avoided glancing at him as they waited his reply. They all waited with bated breath, even Robertson and Harford. Would he keep them moving further away from the city? Or would he allow them to attend what was to be the grandest affair of the year?
"Break camp," he said finally, sighing deeply. "If we begin now, we'll be home before midnight."
Grins broke out all around him, but Tavington could not join in their merriment. Margaret would be home also. But only for tonight and tomorrow night, for she would be heading back to Elmwood the following day after the ball. It had been bad enough, staying in the house without her there. With her in residence, sleeping in her own chamber, well, she might as well have been on the moon for all it mattered.
And as for the ball - it held no appeal for him at all, nor would it for Margaret either. He was surprised she would bother, surely Eleanor would have tried to convince her not to go. Eleanor would have to see Bordon there. She'd not seen the Major, her former fiancé, since the day she decided to end their betrothal. Tavington was certain she would wish to avoid the unpleasantness for as long as possible. It would be for the best all around, if none of them went.
It took two hours of hard riding by the silvery light of the moon, to reach the city. After a quick bite in the kitchen, he left Harford and Robertson to their own devices, and climbed the stairs to the second landing. Stopping before the parlour, he stared down the darkened hall to the right, which led to Margaret's chamber. He gazed longingly, wanting to go to her, trying to convince himself he would be welcome. In the end, he slipped down the darkened corridor to the left, to his own chambers. While he was eating downstairs, a servant had lit several candles in his room. His bed covers had been pulled back. There was fresh water in the ewer and a large bowl for him to wash in. He pulled his hair free of its queue to fall about his shoulders. Stripping down to his waist, he saw to that now, giving himself a standing bath over the wash basin, dipping the wet cloth in the water and running it over his tired muscles. Hearing a noise from outside his chamber, he frowned at the door leading toward the sitting room. When the door opened and Margaret slipped into the room, he stared at her, shocked. Closing the door, she leaned against it, staring back at him.
"You didn't come to Elmwood," she said softly by way of greeting. He turned back to his task of wiping the ingrained dirt from his shoulders.
"I was busy," he replied.
"I know you were chasing Ben," she said. He glanced at her sharply but she gazed back with a mild expression, and he realised her tone held not a hint of accusation.
"How do you know this?" He asked, his eyes lingering on the curves beneath her nightgown, which was loosely tied around her body. The tops of her firm breasts were exposed to him and he wanted nothing more than to pull her against him, to suckle one of those peaks into firmness.
"I… I received a letter," she said tentatively. "You said if there was any correspondence from them that I had to tell you. Well, he sent me this," she held it out to William now. He stared at her long fingers with the square of parchment held delicately between.
"I see," he placed the wash cloth down and went to stand before her. Opening the letter, he scanned its contents quickly, his face darkening with every word. "I'm sorry, Margaret. But I'll not allow you permission to go to this Gullah, to attend Lieutenant Martin's wedding." So, he's been promoted, has he? He thought.
"I didn't think you would," she said dryly. "And I wasn't asking for it. You told me to show you any correspondence I receive and this I have done. Not that there was anything of worth in there for you."
"Only that his family is in Gullah," William cocked his head to one side, studying her intently. "And that his son is distinguishing himself enough that he is moving up through the ranks; he's an enemy to to be watched, it seems. Oh, and that Martin has been close to - if not actually at - Elmwood Hall."
"You won't do anything about Charlotte and the children being in Gullah, will you?" She frowned, suspiciously.
"No - I've told you," he sighed heavily. "Mrs. Selton and the children are safe from me. I only took them in the first place to protect them, though it seems I had misjudged how little they needed my protection."
However, it does mean that Martin himself probably visits them, William mused. An ambush could be laid…
"And another thing I now know," he said, holding her eyes. "He has written to you of his other son in this letter. Therefore, I now know that he is desperate to make sure you do not forget that the lad died by my hand."
"As if I could forget," she said softly, stepped past him and walking deeper into the room.
"And yet you're here," he told her, gazing at the back of her head, at her long gleaming hair. He reached out to run his hand through those silken strands, only to withdraw his fingers without her seeing.
"I missed you," her voice was even softer now as she turned back to him.
"And I you," he murmured. Neither said anything for the moment and William stepped past her to pick up a cloth and dry the table where the water had splashed. Her fingers moving slowly, tenderly down his back made him shiver. He stopped dead, not daring to move in case she thought too long on Thomas and changed her mind. Her hand moved up again and her fingers twined through his hair.
"It's a mess," she admonished. "Sit down, I'll comb it."
He sat. Barely drawing breath, he held himself still as she began to run his comb carefully through his hair. She bunched locks in her tight fist to work furiously at stubborn tangles but soon, the comb was working through freely.
"It's oily," she observed. "You need a bath."
"It's too late now. In the morning, I'll bathe," he smiled up at her. Reaching for her waist, he pulled her into his lap. "Care to join me?"
With her arms looped around his neck, she stared at him gravely. Instead of answering his question, she said, "I know you believe you did the right thing," she licked her lips and lowered her eyes, her lower lip trembling. "I know you're not sorry, any more than I am for…" She trailed off and he tensed, knowing exactly what she was referring to. She was no more sorry for helping Benjamin and Gabriel win free of the city than he was of killing a rebel which happened to be her nephew. "Just tell me that… That you learned something from it. That you learned to think first, rather than reacting blindly, just because you've the 'right'. That because of Thomas, you learned that perhaps you should not use such force. That in some circumstances, hesitation and consideration are the better course. Just tell me that. And perhaps, then, just maybe, we'll be able to continue on and be happy."
Not 'perhaps I'll forgive you', only 'perhaps I'll try to accept what happened.' And she had been trying, he knew. She'd embraced his family as her own. She and Eleanor were as close as sisters now and she was every bit as close to Rose, Jane and Maggie. And she'd handed across a letter from her brother in law, just as he'd commanded of her. If she could try, then could he do less?
"If it's any consolation," he began, "I have begun to regret my actions of that day. I was brash. Surrounded by Dragoons as I was, the boy could not have done any true harm. A cuff across the back of his head should have been his fate. Perhaps a beating with the flat of my sword. I'd just… I'd had enough. Of rebels. Of them always lying and protecting each other, making it that much more difficult for me to keep my own men alive, for their treachery could lead to disaster amongst our forces," he sighed heavily, bowing his head. "I have learned, Margie. And my latest forays should stand testimony to this."
"What do you mean?" She asked, her voice breaking slightly.
"I came across three boys - each of them around thirteen to fifteen years old - melting down their mother's cutlery to make bullets," he stared into her eyes with an intentness that spoke volumes. He was desperately hoping that she would understand the importance of his actions. "Six months ago, those boys would have been put to death, each one of them. I would not have suffered them to live, for those bullets were intended for rebel guns, which would be aimed at British heads."
"What did you do with them?" She whispered, captivated.
"I had Binnings and the others rough them up a bit and after ascertaining that the boys were working with their mother's blessing, I commanded their house blazed," he told her, daring her to challenge him. She did not. "They walked - or rather limped - away with their lives intact."
"They lives… Because of Thomas?" She asked, nibbling her bottom lip.
"Because of him." he agreed. "And because of you. Make no mistake, Margie, you will hear of raids and I will be condemned in the broadsheets yet. I will be the one to decide what punishments are necessary in any given circumstance. I will not promise to be so lenient with youths, especially those who have joined the militia and are purposefully killing my men. If he is old enough to point a pistol and fire, then he is old enough to die," he held her eyes until she nodded agreement. He softened his voice, "however, let us just say that I have learned some… moderation. The… hesitation and consideration you spoke of. I can finally admit that under those circumstances concerning your nephew, I should not have pulled the trigger."
Margaret squished her eyes shut, her face crumbling as she began to weep.
"Under the c-circumstances c-concerning B-Ben," she began, wanting to give something back, "I c-can finally admit that I should n-not have used that p-pass to…" She trailed off, finding it more difficult to say than she'd thought. She tried a different tact, "I should not have helped them too…" She trailed off again and after a brief pause, she wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No, I can't lie - I don't regret it."
Shockingly, far from being angered, William threw back his head and laughed. "Damned wench," he picked her lightly and dropped her onto his bed. "I give and give and give, and you give nothing back!"
"I do so. I'll promise you that I'd never do it again. Though it's an easy promise to make, for Ben would never put me in that situation again."
"Small comfort," he scoffed as he laid alongside her. "The only reason you won't commit treason is because the rebels won't come as you for help!"
"No, I'm serious," she said earnestly. "Ben has chosen his side and as much as it'd pain me if he were harmed, I will not assist him again. I am a Loyalist, I want our King to regain full control of the Colonies. I love him, but we've both chosen."
"I'm pleased to hear it," he leaned down to kiss her brow. "I'll write up another pass for you in the morning."
"You'll trust me again?" she asked with an arched eyebrow, surprised. The significance of his offer was not lost on her.
"I do trust you," he murmured, moving his lips down to her cheek. "Sweet Lord, I've missed you. I've missed this. The closeness… I never stopped wanting you, Margie. I love you, so much."
She drew a ragged breath, her cheeks beginning to flush as her eyes blurred again. "And I love you. I never stopped either; even with Thomas. I've been so confused."
"I know," he pulled her to him and cradled her in his strong arms as she wept against his bare chest. "Promise that we can try though Margie. That we can make it like it was before."
"I'm w-willing i-if you are," she stammered out.
"Oh, I'm willing," he assured her as he began to rock her. "You won't go rush back to Elmwood, after the ball?"
"Ellie wants to go back," she began uncertainly, then she shook her head. "But no. I don't need to go back again. Not now."
He held her gaze as he leaned down to her. She sighed into him as his lips brushed across hers again. She bit her lip when she drew away, unbidden tears filling her eyes.
"Shall we?" He asked her gently.
"You will stay with me, after?" She asked, still uncertain despite his promise from earlier.
"Always," he said, wrapping his hand around the back of her head, and pulling her close for a more thorough, breath taking kiss, leaving them both gasping for air.
"Always," he repeated, as he began peeling back her night robe, showing an intimacy she had not felt from him in months. Yes, Thomas would always be between them, a blight on their marriage. It would always be at the back of their minds, a very sad occurrence that was not often discussed. But, William conceded as she whispered words of love against his lips, there was finally hope for them yet.
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"Rose!" Jane whispered, catching her sister's sleeve as she was walking by. "Come here, quickly!"
"What is it?" Rose frowned as Jane dragged her toward the parlour.
"Shh, just look," Jane pointed through a small, square window inset in the door. Rose peered through, then gasped with delight. The voyeurs continued to watch as William and Margaret, sitting on a chase with the morning sun haloing them, with her arms looped over his shoulders and his holding her waist, sat there kissing gently, yet thoroughly. "She slept in his chamber last night," Jane confided softly. "When Miss Sarah went in to wake her, Margie was not in her bed…"
"Oh, wonderful," Rose sighed, closing her eyes as she became a little choked up. "Finally…" she opened her eyes again in time to see William come up for air. He nuzzled his nose against Margie's. With a giggle, Margaret said something that made him smile. It was a scene of such contentment, Rose found she could not pull her eyes away. At least not until Tavington caught sight of them. Meeting his mother's gaze through the window, his expression changed from pure serenity, to the pursed lips of exasperation. Margaret merely laughed and waved, however, before returning to the matter at hand, kissing her husband's neck.
"Let's leave them in peace," Rose said. "I'll have a maid stationed here with instructions that no one be allowed to disturb them."
"Good idea," Jane agreed as they moved away from the parlour. "They better not be at it for long, though. There's only so many hours in a day and we've got a ball to prepare for!"
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While Lieutenant Mason was much improved, he was not well enough to attend a ball and Claire, who opted to remain home with her husband, agreed to take care of Bertie. The boy, who had become a close friend of Amelia's, felt safe and secure enough to be left with Claire.
"I hope the Simms property doesn't have a view of the harbour," William sniffed. He was astride his horse, keeping pace with the carriage so he could chat with the women within.
"No, it doesn't," Margaret turned to Rose and Jane, who wore equally quizzical expressions, and explained. "The last ball ended with the blasting of one of the British ships in the harbour. Quite a massive blast it was too. I was at home at the time, and it shook my windows."
"You did tell me about it," Rose shuddered. "My word, I hope nothing of the like happens tonight."
"Indeed it won't," William said, voice grim. "We've taken many measures to ensure everyone's safety. Have no fear, just enjoy yourselves."
"Then why did you bring it up?" Rose arched a brow at him, causing Margaret to giggle. A short while later, the carriage stopped before the massive Great House of the Simms plantation. Margaret had already described the house - with its extensive gardens (it even sported a large hedge maze which was George Simms pride and joy), but nothing she had told did justice. Rose stared, with her skirts held up from the ground, at the lovely house.
"It's even bigger than Margie's Elmwood," Eleanor whispered to Maisy, who nodded agreement. They were surrounded by very excited, exquisitely gowned aristocracy of Charlestown, all filing toward the manor. The people in the throng gazed at one another as much as at their surroundings, appreciating the beauty of the magnificent gowns and fine tailored suits.
Trailing along behind William and Margaret, were Eleanor, Maisy and Cornet Binnings. Through a break in the crowd ahead, William caught sight of Bordon, standing beside Wilkins and several other Dragoons, all of them talking to some pretty girls. Bordon caught his eye, then quickly averted his. They had barely spoken these past weeks, except for what was absolutely needed to conduct the business of the Legion.
In fact, the Major had not returned to the house for well over two weeks. His belongings were still in his chamber, but the man himself had been residing with Wilkins and the Dragoons billeted there. From what William had heard, they had rip roaring parties every single evening - they dined and drank until they were sick, singing bawdy songs and then retiring with doxies, sometimes two doxies for each Officer. News of their exploits would soon reach Lord Cornwallis' ears, William knew, and his Lordship was not going to be very well pleased. In days gone by, William would have warned Bordon, but now, he could only hope that his Lordship would see sense and remove Bordon from the Dragoons to another unit.
William led Margaret to the dance floor, and he pushed thoughts of Bordon from his mind. Margie had spent the entire night and much of the day in his arms but even now, it was not enough for him. Nor for her, he thought, spying her warm smile. It was a good thing they were married, but even that would not be protection from gossip, which there was bound to be aplenty of. Those dancing to either side of them were beginning to give the 'too intimate' couple strange glances, some of them even tittered in outrage when William, caught by the spur of the moment, leaned in to kiss his wife before the whole assemblage.
Further along the line, Binnings danced with Maisy, and Eleanor with Harford. The girl's friendship had helped both of them through a very trying time, he knew. It had been especially helpful to Eleanor, for Maisy had Binnings to help her, while Ellie had only her family. He wondered how they would fair this evening, for it would be the first time either of them encountered Bordon since William's confrontation. William was surprised to see James Wilkins dancing with Maggie, while Robertson led Sophia through the moves. When the set came to an end, William bowed toward Margaret and led her from the floor.
"I'm not certain how I feel about that," he confided, whispering in her ear. "Wilkins and Maggie…"
"It's only one dance," she replied. "And this is a ball. Don't worry - he's asking Sophia now, and Maggie… Yes, she's going to dance with Robertson. You see? You worry too much."
You wouldn't hold to that opinion if you knew what I knew, he thought, thinking of all the whores James had been bedding, as he allowed himself to be led away.
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"Sweet Lord, Mary, you peeled yourself away from Evans for long enough to spend time with little 'ole us?" Maisy tittered, winking slowly at Eleanor. "We're honoured!"
"If you keep that up," Mary arched an amused brow, "I'll dessert you for him now."
"Any excuse to return to him will do," Eleanor laughed, sharing a sly smile with Maisy.
"Oh, doesn't he look so very fine?" Mary chose to ignore the teasing as she gazed past them at Stephen, who was watching her avidly.
"If I'm half as bad over Paul as she is over Evans, would you punch me please?" Maisy begged and to her astonishment, Eleanor punched her on the arm. "Ouch!"
"You told me to do it," Eleanor giggled. "Trust me, you're every bit as bad!"
"Am not," Maisy made a show of glaring as she ostentatiously rubbed her arm.
"I'm so thirsty, let's get a drink," Mary suggested.
"Excellent idea," Eleanor said brightly. The three girls linked arms and began to make their way slowly around the dance floor, waiting at times for Gentlemen and Ladies to move along out of their way. When a crowd cleared before them, they came face to face with Major Bordon, who was chatting with a pretty young blonde girl. Eleanor and Maisy stopped dead, which forced a confused Mary to do so also. Mary shot the girls questioning glances, but both of them were thoroughly absorbed with Bordon just now, and they wore twin expressions, both as cold and pale as marble. His heart pounding in his chest, Bordon's eyes widened to see them together, his eyes lingered on first Ellie - only because he saw her first - and then on Maisy, and then his gaze lowered to their linked arms. He stared with incredulity, and when he met their eyes again, he saw challenge in both.
"Miss Tavington," he said, because he had to greet them, he could not be rude and simply stride away. He continued, offering them each a short bow, "Miss Thompson," he paused, his eyes lingering on Maisy just a tad longer than he wanted. "Mrs. Binnings." Swallowing hard, he worked his jaw, then said abruptly to all three, "I trust you'll enjoy your evening." It was a dismissal and he made as if to walk away from them now.
"Oh, we intend to," Maisy said firmly, her blue eyes narrowed. Philip froze, staring down at her in shock.
"I can't think of a single thing that would prevent us," Eleanor added in a sing song voice, her eyes locked on Bordon's. His eyes darted, he didn't know which to look at now. "Can you, Mrs. Binnings?"
"No, not a single thing, Miss Tavington, to be sure," Maisy said. "I intend to let nothing stand in my way."
"Nor I. Shall we?" Eleanor began to turn, and as her arm was looped through Maisy's, and Mary's was looped through Maisy's other, the women began to turn with her.
"Yes, I think we shall," Maisy declared, her chin held high. Bordon watched the three women glide away, noting how Mary glanced over her shoulder at him, her dark brown eyes bewildered. He was just as astonished as she, and quite rattled, that the two women - his two women - who should have hated one another because of him, had instead become very fast friends. It astounded him, and he could not take his eyes off of their retreating backs, as they bent their heads together and whispered quickly among themselves. They must have been speaking of him, what the devil were they saying? He stared for so long, that the pretty blonde at his side wilted and walked away.
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"We won't be gone for long," James assured Maggie as he draped his arm across her shoulders and led the way deeper into the night. Maggie shot an uncertain glance over her shoulder and met Sophia's eyes.
"It'll be fine, Maggie," Sophia said, smiling up at the Officer on her arm. The fellow, Lieutenant Barrs, was one of the Dragoons billeted in Wilkins home. Sophia thought he was quite handsome, almost as tall as James! Captain Wilkins had captured her attention first, but he seemed quite taken with Maggie, who seemed to return the interest so Sophia had chosen not to pursue him. At a gesture from Sophia, Maggie sighed and allowed herself to be led toward the large square hedges which, James assured her, made up the most complicated and fun maze she would ever have been in. Laughter came from the maze, they would not be the only ones in there and besides, Maggie and Sophia would be one another's chaperone. There was no danger in going in there with the two Officers, was there?
James grinned down at her and Maggie melted. Lord, but he was handsome and he'd paid her so much attention, she felt dazed by it all. So many times he'd taken her hand and begged a dance, he'd even sat beside her during the dinner, only to dance with her some more afterward. Meekly, Maggie set her first foot into the maze, at James' side, and was suddenly enshrouded by imposing darkness to either side of her. There were lanterns placed another way to break the dark, but it was still rather unsettling. When she was not looking, James shot a glance over his shoulder at Lieutenant Barrs, jutting his chin, indicating he was to go in another direction. Sophia was easily led astray and she did not bat an eyelid when she was guided down a different path to Maggie and James.
James almost crowed with laughter. This seduction was going to be all too easy. And why wouldn't it be? All women were whores - even those of higher birth. Especially those of higher birth. The genteel born women were whores draped in silk. He saw through their facade now, he had seen through it for months. Margaret had opened his eyes. Oh, he believed that she had not screwed Tavington before their wedding - he believed it now, but that realisation did not change his opinion. It only made it worse. It was the distinction between the lower bred women and the higher. The lower class women were far more honest about their whoring ways, while those of genteel birth teased and behaved coyly, offering something far more, but then snatching it away at the last moment.
"Oh, hang it," Wilkins said, pretending to be lost. "Our first dead end. Shall we try again?"
"Yes," Maggie laughed, steering him around and tugging on his arm to retreat. She stopped dead then, realising that they were no longer chaperoned. "Where's Sophia?"
"They have taken a wrong turn too, it seems," James replied. "Never fear, we'll meet with them again. Come, this way," he led the way down a winding corridor of hedges, and took a deliberate left. He knew the maze well, and knew of a quiet place close to the centre, where he could be alone with the young beauty on his arm. That she was Tavington's cousin did not faze him in the slightest, he had a few too many drinks by now and no longer cared about her powerful connections. Besides, she was only his cousin, not his sister. And she'd probably be only to happy not to reveal that she'd lain with a man after the fact. Like as not, the Colonel would never learn of it. "There, see? We're not alone," he said to her, for they could both hear laughing and voices coming from the other side of the hedge. Maggie nodded and gave him a shy smile. Lord, but she was beautiful, he thought as he led her around another corner. A few more turns and they would be deep in the maze, far away from the others traversing its paths. And tall - he thought as he continued to admire her attributes - as tall as Margaret. There weren't many women who could boast such height, and James had always liked nice long legs that could wrap around his waste and link at the ankles. Her eyes were a lovely pale blue, and those full lips… Lord, he longed to kiss them. And he would soon. He'd kiss her and do so much more. Another turn, to the right. He was almost there now.
"Wait here," he said, and darted back around the bend before she could protest. Working quickly, he dragged two large planters across the opening to persuade others to continue on past. He rushed back to Maggie before she had time to grow nervous, and he gallantly offered his arm again. Deeper they went and now, the noises of other guests in the maze were muffled and quite far away. He smiled, he was on the right course - he remembered the destination well. Another right turn, then a left, and - there, the dead end he was looking for.
"Oh, darn!" Maggie laughed when she saw the row of hedges blocking the way. There was a lovers seat placed there with a lantern glowing with yellow light over head.
"Let's sit for a bit, Miss Woodhouse," he offered. "I've been on my feet all evening and I don't know about you, but mine are killing me!"
"You're a soldier," she giggled, sitting beside him. "You should be used to it. All that marching and sentry duty - I thought that was the soldiers lot in life, standing on their feet."
"Ah, that is for the lowly rank and file soldiers, Miss Woodhouse, not for Officers like me," he sidled closer to her and placed his arm across the back of the chair, preparing himself to flirt for all he was worth. All sluts needed some coaxing, they wanted to play the game before lifting their skirts and James enjoyed the game, so he began it now. "I do hope you don't think me too forward, but has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" He stroked his fingers along her cheek, causing her to blush and lower her eyes, a small shy smile forming on her lips. Ah, here it was. The beginning stage of a woman's artfulness - the coyness. James almost scoffed, she was a fool if she thought he didn't see right through her. "The way your eyes light up in the lantern light," he said softly, smoothly. "I feel like I could drown in those limpid pools of blue."
"Sir," Maggie giggled nervously and James smiled.
"It's all true, my sweet. Or do you doubt that you're beautiful?" He was being honest enough now, he longed to kiss her full lips and he would do so, in just another moment. When she was ripe enough.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I think Ellie's beautiful. And my Mamma, and my Aunt. Margaret's beautiful too - and Maisy. Oh, Sophia… With her long white hair like moonbeams - she's an angel! No, I'm not like them," she laughed again, amused by the very idea. "No, not me, Sir."
James sighed tragically, shaking his head at her folly. Maggie was being quite sincere, but the ignorant James believed she was playing the game for all she was worth, and this move of hers was to prompt him for more compliments. He grew bold now, and he took one of her lace gloved hands in both of his. "You're beautiful, the loveliest creature I've ever seen. Miss Rossier is lovely, but an angel? No, my dear, you are the angel. A sweet cherub sent to torment me."
"Torment?" She asked, her smile disappearing, she gazed up at him with a mixture of confusion and awe. How was it that this handsome Officer could see such beauty in her? And Lord, he was so close, his scent surrounding her. His eyes… She could have drowned in his limpid pools! But she dared not say so, she was barely able to speak as it was. As he leaned in to her, she drew a sharp breath, her eyes lingering on his lips as they drew ever closer.
"Maggie," he whispered and hearing her name drip from his lips like honey made her shiver. "Maggie, my darling, I want to give you your first kiss."
She couldn't help it, she chuckled and stuttered, "I-I've b-been kissed b-before - lots of times."
"Indeed?" I knew it! A slut like all the others. "Do tell me. I'm insanely jealous," he toyed with her, moving close enough to almost touch, before drawing back an inch and tilting his head to the side, leaning in again for an 'almost' kiss before drawing back. It was driving Maggie mad, she wanted to feel his lips on hers!
She was so young, only seventeen, and she desperately wanted to look like a young woman, rather than a little girl, in his eyes. Believing she was proving herself to be a woman, not a girl, she told him, "there was a young man on the ship, on the crossing over," she said, trying for a mature voice reminiscent of Eleanor. "We stole away quite a few times to a quiet corner…" Poor Petty Private Orwell, she thought sadly.
"Did you now?" James asked. He finally touching his lips to hers, brushing across her top lip and causing her to shiver. "Did he make you feel wonderful?"
She nodded, eyes closed, leaning into him invitingly.
"I'd like to make you feel wonderful," he said, deepening the kiss. As soon as he began kissing her in earnest, he knew for certain she'd had prior experience. He felt a sharp jab of disappointment, for he'd wanted to claim her virginity. But what sort of stupid hope was that? She was a slut like the others. Eight weeks of fornicating with this young man on the crossing from England to the Colonies. It surprised James that Maggie wasn't pregnant! He'd just have to make do with fucking her young but used quim, it would still be quite enjoyable. Her lips responded, moving across his, and she sighed as light flared behind her eyes, warmth spreading out from her very soul. With little prompting, she parted her lips and when his tongue darted in, she stroked it with her own. James groaned and pulled her close, his breath coming faster. His cock was standing to attention in his breeches, erect to aching point. They did not have much time, they would need to be quiet - and quick. Now that he had pushed the game beyond the first few moves, he decided they needed to rush ahead. His phallus agreed, throbbing hard and fast in answer to James' thought. Acting on that thought, he tightened his hold on Maggie's hand, which was still in her lap, and he pulled it closer to his body, into his lap, where he pressed her fingers against his hard and aching groin. Maggie's eyes flew open and in sudden panic, she jumped up and away from him. He was shocked by the sudden move - she'd been like clay in his arms and moment ago, but now there was only an empty seat beside him. Before he could take it in, she was running away, bolting along the path, trying to retrace her steps back the way she had come. Her hand burned from the feel of his hard bulge, a confusion of feelings flooding through her. Wonder, fear, arousal, all so acute and shocking it was too much for her to bear. Reaching a dead end, she almost cried in despair.
What a stupid fool! He must think I'm an utter dolt! She was in anguish as she whirled and race down another path. When she came to the two planters standing across the path, she barely noticed that they had not been there before. She sidled through them, and kept running this way and that, until she exploded out of the maze, weeping in agony over what James Wilkins must think of her.
Irritated, James rose from the bench and followed more slowly. He could hear weeping ahead of him, then at the side of him on another path - the girl was running nearby but the sobbing soon faded away. Like a stalking panther, he strode through the maze - though he was not hunting the little minx who had left him high and dry. Damned little bitch, she knew the game far better than he would have imagined for one so young. There were two types of sluts - those who gave it up after a short round, and then there were the others who enjoyed a longer, more complicated and well played chase. James believed that Maggie wished to drag it out, and her first move was to arouse him and then flee as though in distress. She would not give herself to him, not on the first night. No, she would lead him on a merry chase - perhaps for a few weeks - before she finally lifted her skirts. Well, she was beautiful enough, and would probably prove well worth it in the end. That did not help his immediate problem, however. He needed release now, and he despised having to take care of himself.
He rounded a corner, and a smile formed on his lips once more. Ahead of him was Sophia, he recognised her immediately, her white hair gleaming like moonbeams indeed. She was still hanging off the arm of Lieutenant Barr's arm.
"Sir!" Sophia searched beyond him for Maggie. "Where is Miss Woodhouse?"
"We got separated," he lied. To the other Officer, he commanded, "Barr, we'll need to begin the search. You go that way, and Miss Rossier and I will take the left." Barr hesitated, glancing at Wilkins in askance. "I'll make it up to you," Wilkins smiled, and Barr understood this to mean that the Captain would pay for him to take a doxy for the evening, if he gave up Sophia to him now. Bowing, he slipped away to the right, leaving the pretty Sophia to the Captain.
Her seduction was laughably easy, which more than made up for the disappointment of being denied Maggie. It shocked even him how, after a few whispered endearments, she allowed him to slip his hand up her skirts to finger her clit, while she panted against his lips, her tongue snaking into his mouth to writhe with his. He sat alongside her on another stone bench, he faced her while she leaned back into the seat with her legs spread wide, right ankle hooked over his legs, left foot planted on the bench. She looked positively debauched, the wanton hussy. One glance downward had James in awe, for she was splayed before him, her pelvis rocking frantically against his fingers while her fingers clutched his cravat, gripping it hard as she whined and moaned into his kisses.
"Oh, oh oh! James!" She gasped, bucking frenzied now while holding her breath, and then she threw her head back and keened - softly. James quickly dipped his finger downward, and with one thrust, he penetrated her in time to feel her spasming silken walls around his finger. The feeling drove him wild - her tightness had him burning for her. She winced, shocked, to have his finger suddenly inside her and she gasped in relief when it was removed. This was short lived, however, for the frenzied James wanted more. He was tearing at his breeches and before she had time to realise what he was doing, he was already kneeling in front of her, his knees on the cold wet grass, his cock jutting out proudly. Her eyes widened and she pulled back instinctively.
"Wait!" She gasped but then his lips were on hers, his tongue in her mouth, silencing any protest. His hands on her thighs hauled her forward to the edge of the seat and with one painful thrust, he buried his phallus to the hilt inside her virgin cave. Sophia shook her head in denial, she had tried - and continued to try - to pull away from him but it was too late in any case - her virtue was gone. She had never done this with Orwell - they had pleasured one another with their hands only and she had thought it would be the same with James. Yet here he was, his pelvis thrashing in a relentless drive, his phallus revelling in Sophia's cream slick tight cavern.
He kissed her with as much passion as before, groaning into her mouth even as fire scoured along his veins. He had barely noticed earlier when she had been pummelling him in protest, and he barely noticed now that she was suddenly so deathly quiet. All he knew was his own pleasure, and he buried his face into her neck, whispering endearments in her ear.
"You're so beautiful. Ah, Sophia, you're so tight! I could never get enough of you. Sweet Lord, you're going to make me come!" With that last, guttural statement, he pushed forward and threw his head back, his eyes squeezed tight as he fire shot along his shaft, heat and pleasure exploding through him. His seed shot out in pulses, mingling with her cream within her. He collapsed against her shoulder, still on his knees, his torso laying atop of her. "God, you are tight," he muttered as sense began to return and his orgasm receded. He drew back from her, straightening his torso to stare down at their linked bodies. He was still buried and he gave a few experiment thrusts, but he was spent, he would not grow hard again for at least a few hours. "Ahhh, that was wonderful my sweet," he pulled out of her, then sat back on his haunches, letting the cool air dry his semi hard cock.
"I did not want to go so far," Sophia sniffled, on the verge of tears.
"You enjoyed it," he frowned at her. What game was this? This was a new one - this crying after coupling. He'd have to ask Celeste about it later. He always told her of his conquests and they always laughed over his seductions. She had given him much needed advice on how to play the game, how to get the high born wenches to lift their skirts. Yes, Celeste would know what Sophia was playing at.
"I enjoyed the before," she whispered. "But I had thought…"
"Thought what?" He asked coolly, some irritation sliding into his tone. "That I would bring you pleasure and that you would deny me mine?"
"No! That I could take care of you… with… with my hand," she stammered.
"Why in the world would I want that?" He laughed. "I have a hand of my own, Sophia. Two in fact. Come now, don't come over the innocent maiden. You knew what I wanted the moment I began fingering you. Christ, you were so wet you were dripping - you were primed and ready to take me. What is this nonsense now? Do you always cry afterward?"
"I've never done that!" She cried. "I've never gone so far!"
"Now you're just being absurd," he scoffed, snorting. He glanced down at his cock in order to tuck it into his breeches and it was then that he saw the blood. He stared, his hands stilling on the flaps of his breeches, his mouth falling wide in shock.
"I tried to stop you," she whispered as she closed her legs and began pushing her skirts down in wooden movements. "I tried. But then you were kissing me and holding me down -"
"I didn't hold you done!" He snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I didn't ravish you, you were willing!" He hadn't raped her!
Had he?
He glared at her, but he was thinking furiously, trying to decide if he had or not.
"I did not rape you," he said firmly, biting off each word pronounced succinctly.
"I… I did not want this… I was going to take care of you with my hand!" She cried, leaning forward, her eyes filled with tears, her voice beseeching.
He scoffed and rose to his feet.
"Please, James, please," she pleaded. "Perhaps we merely misunderstood each other."
"It wasn't rape," he growled down at her, growing more and more infuriated by the moment.
"Whether it was or not, my virtue is gone!" She cried, rising to her feet as he began to turn from her. "Please, you'll marry me now, won't you? You must, or I'll be ruined!"
"You were ruined the moment you spread your legs and let me screw you with my fingers!" He shoved her off of him, pushing her back to the stone bench. "You moaned like a whore, Sophia! You are a whore! Just like every one of your kind. Marry you? Don't be absurd!"
"Please," she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest.
"I will not marry you," James sneered down at her. "I will never marry, Sophia. How can I? I'll not lower my standards to marry a whore, yet there is no other kind of woman in all the world. Cry if you wish. Call it rape if you must, if you need to justify your own actions. But before you go accusing me to your father, remember - you sat on that bench, your legs splayed, panting like the slut you are while I fingered you. Be sure to tell him that, for if he raises a complaint against me, I surely will!"
Sophia gasped back a sob as James turned and strode away. He was right, of course. If she went to her father, all James had to do was speak of her conduct, and she would be ruined forever. There was nothing she could do, she realised as she began to cry in earnest.
James stormed his way through the maze, his long legs carried him quickly across the green. He did not go near the mansion, instead he headed directly toward the driveway. His boots crunched on gravel and he strode past the long line of carriages which awaited their cavorting owners. A little further ahead was the under cover corral which had been built especially for the horses of the Dragoons who were attending the soiree. James demanded his be bought to him, and within a very short time, he was galloping along the carriageway away from the mansion. Half an hour it took to reach the city, and another fifteen minutes of hard riding until he reached his own home. There, he tossed his reigns to a groom, and went in search of Celeste.
"Tell me truthfully," he demanded after telling her of his encounter. He paced back and forth as the petite French girl with the close cropped dark hair reclined in a chair, holding a whiskey and idly running her finger around the rim.
"I'm sorry to tell you, mon cher," she said, meeting his eyes as she continued. The French accent he'd come to adore rolled from her tongue, though her words were not to his liking now. "But oui. You ravished 'er."
"It was not rape!" He yelled, rounding on her.
"You ask an opinion of me, yis?" she shrugged. "Well I say it was."
"She let me finger her," he spat. "She encouraged it! Legs spread wide, her cream pouring from her!"
"And you saved nozing for me?" She smiled as she sucked a drop of whiskey from the tip off her finger. "You did not bring this delectable peach home for me taste? For shame, my 'andsome one. For shame!"
He scoffed softly and knelt in front of her as though paying homage.
"Which finger was it, I will guess!" She pulled his right hand up to her face and sniffed at each digit, before smiling at him over his middle finger. "mmm," she held his eyes as she began to slowly suckle his finger. There was nothing left of Sophia but her scent and a slight trace of her taste, and Celeste closed her eyes as though savouring it all. "Delightful, this one," she breathed, eyes still locked on James'. He stared, she never ceased to amaze him, his French doxy. Never ceased to arouse him. "Mon Diue! I must have her - bring 'er home to me!"
"My little tartling," James said, his voice thick with arousal. He began inching her skirts - silk, as provided by him - along her thighs. She shuffled and spread her legs, exposing her quim to him when the hem of her skirt was bunched around her waist. "My sweet Celeste," he said, staring at her quim as he lowered his face to her. "The silly chit wants me to marry her. And as I have indeed taken her virginity, I'm afraid that is exactly what I will have to do. Now, as much as I love watching you with other women, I can't allow you to lick my future wife's quim," he could barely speak now, and was far too aroused to give much concern to the prospect of an unwanted marriage to come, as he breathed in deeply, drawing in the scent of Celeste. His tongue snaked out and began lapping at her quim. He pointed his tongue like an arrow, and entered her as he would his phallus. She shivered and clutched his head, her fingers smoothing his hair as she gazed down at him in delight. He pulled out of her, dragged the tip of his tongue upward until he was circling her clit.
"Mmmmnnn," she moaned, rocking against him slowly.
"I'll have her live elsewhere," he murmured as he slowly bought her toward orgasm. "She will not displace you."
"Anyzing you wish," she panted, throwing her head back and moaning. "Anyzing for you, mon cher! Ohhh!"
Her cries echoed throughout the room as he continued his excruciating torture, until at last she peaked and slipped over into the abyss.
