Note from author: Hi all. I'm in Charleston, South Carolina right now posting this story. It is late and I'm tired from today, so there are probably a few mistakes in this. I hate to make you guys wait, as you always end up doing so for me as I can't post timely (sorry...life...kid...job...etc). And again, thanks for your patience! I edited quickly tonight and will do so again in the morning, so sorry in advance for errors. Hope you are enjoying so far. Take care.

JScorpio

Chapter 27: A Chance Opportunity

"To my room," Betsy answered softly. The sharp aroma of whiskey and the sweetness of wine clung thickly to Captain Bordon. For a fleeting moment, Betsy felt sick. The smell of the alcohol made her recall that night months ago in which she became soused and was so very ill the next morning. Since then, she barely touched the drink except for a sip here and there at some special occasion.

Although Miss Burwell trusted this particular redcoat officer and knew him better than any of the others, she was suddenly uneasy. The girl was now talking with a man who was extremely drunk, instead of the usual diplomatic and kind officer that she conversed and acted easily with every day.

"I was dismissed from my hostess duties," she informed, nervously. "Most of the guests have gone." She drew in a breath as she thought, then rolled her eyes as she added, "Except for the one that Colonel Tavington is entertaining personally."

"In his quarters, of course," Bordon smirked.

"I'm sure," Betsy replied, smiling a bit, easing again at the mutual joking about the affair between the colonel and the widow Selton. "They did it in the garden earlier this evening."

The captain looked down at the girl with a surprised and disdainful look. "And how would you know that?!"

"Hannah and I stumbled upon them."

"The urge must have consumed them," he commented snidely.

The young woman said nothing back, thinking it best to stop the inappropriate subject matter of the conversation. Better yet, she thought, to just stop conversing with someone so absolutely inebriated. So she bobbed a fast curtsy. "Goodnight, Captain."

She turned to go and was stopped when the British officer grabbed hold of her arm again. "Don't go away."

Betsy stared quizzically up at the drunken man, who turned loose of her instantly. "Why?" she asked.

"I'd like to converse with you," he admitted, his words slipping about as if skating on ice.

The comment hit a note of humor with the young lady. She resisted the urge to laugh as she watched him swaying gently back and forth with the effects of the spirits working full speed in his system. How can someone so crocked expect to carry on a coherent conversation, she asked herself. The answer, she grinned silently, was within the question she had just posed in her mind. Of course! Drunken persons can jump over the moon if they so wish.

"In your condition?" she queried, a spiteful smile playing at her mouth.

The redcoat officer hung his head, as if in shame. "Oh. You noticed."

Betsy laughed aloud. "Yes. I noticed." She looked up at the sky as she attempted to rein in her giggles. The young lady reconsidered leaving in favor of the sport of trying to talk some sense into the inebriated captain. "And how do you expect to hold a conversation when you can barely stand?"

The dragoon second in command suddenly looked hurt and offended. "Well, I am holding this building up, aren't I?"

She chuckled and replied, "No. I believe it is holding you up, sir."

"You may be right," he admitted. "And when I come away from it, I shall surely fall."

"We can't have that, can we?" teased the Burwell girl with a twinkle in her eyes. "Would you like me to help you to your room?"

"I was afraid you'd never ask," Bordon responded immediately, relief on his face. "Yes, please."

He held his arm out to her. Miss Burwell put her hand in the crook of his elbow and eased him away from the brick wall. The officer, over a half a foot taller than the girl, put his arm around her shoulders. She slipped her arm about his waist to steady him and gripped the hand laying on her shoulder in hers. They were off, taking small, careful steps up into the house. Once in the house, the two moved slowly in the first floor hallway, past the darkened rooms and to the grand stairway.

Upon the stairs to the second floor, the captain steadied himself with one hand on the banister and the other arm still about Miss Burwell's shoulders. At the second story landing, they made a small turn and headed toward the bedroom wing. She was relieved to have him so close to his quarters, fearing the whole time that he might pass out as they walked and become a dead weight upon her.

As they passed Colonel Tavington's bedroom, they could hear muffled cries filtering through the locked door. "Oh, William," Mrs. Selton moaned to the accompaniment of the legion commander's grunts of effort.

"My, aren't they having a jolly time," Captain Bordon snickered. Betsy said nothing, grinning at his wry and drunken comment.

After a few more careful steps, they found themselves outside of the officer's bedchamber. They entered, and Betsy immediately closed the door quietly behind them lest Bordon make anymore silly comments that may be overheard. She was also mindful of being caught in his room so late at night.

Hugh Bordon stumbled to his bureau where a bottle of whiskey and clean glass stood amongst his hair brush, pomade jar, and other grooming supplies. Betsy watched him curiously as he fumbled about in the dark. The man picked up the bottle, uncorking it with a pop after an uncoordinated effort.

Her mouth fell open and she rushed to him, nearly knocking him over. The officer grabbed the edge of the dresser to help himself stand.

"I don't think you need any more to drink tonight, sir," she advised as she took the bottle away from him. The young lady stepped over to the window, readying to pour the stuff out onto the ground two stories below.

She gasped as the captain pulled her hard away from the window and jerked the spirits from her hands. He glared at her, nearly scaring the poor girl to death. "I refuse to let you pour a perfectly good, whole, innocent bottle of whiskey out the window."

Betsy shivered, knowing she had overstepped her bounds. As she watched the dragoon leader replace the bottle on his nightstand, she quickly decided not to reason with a drunk—especially an inebriated enemy officer who was also her captor. The girl assumed wisely that it was time to go.

"I am sorry, sir," she apologized as she stepped slowly back toward the door. "I was worried. You can barely stand."

There was an awkward silence between them. The girl flashed a quick, nervous smile. "I should go."

Betsy turned and headed to the doorway. She was startled to find Captain Bordon meeting her there. The stocky officer, though impaired by the spirits, found a jut of speed and used it to hurl himself toward the way out.

She stared wide eyed at the man as he blocked her way. She thought it best for herself just to leave and let him sleep it off. Yet he refused to let her do so.

"Miss Burwell," he began, making his best effort not to slur, keeping his words measured and slow, "You look exceptionally beautiful tonight."

Stunned, she hesitated, then felt her cheeks becoming hot and flushed. "Thank you," she answered nervously. She pressed herself back against the door as the tall officer leaned over her.

The girl felt trapped and vulnerable, and though scared, she also felt strangely exhilarated.

"I think you look pretty every day," he confessed, his words a bit askew, but comprehensible.

The young lady nodded her head, still blushing furiously. She was glad he couldn't see the ruby red of her cheeks. "Well...I should-"

"Do you know what I want more than anything?" he asked, putting his hand over the door knob. He was determined that she was going to stay a bit longer to hear out his drunken proclamations and deepest secrets.

"What?" she asked. In a flash, it was a query she instantly regretted making of his question, thinking it better not to know, given the premature fumblings of their recent past.

"To kiss you."

Betsy sighed nervously. "That wouldn't be proper with you in your state."

"I know, but I won't remember it in the morning," he smirked, a lopsided grin curling up one side of his mouth.

"Lack of memory doesn't make it proper either." Miss Burwell commented. She knew that they shouldn't kiss, but her insides started to flutter, making her inexplicably welcome the nerves and fear. Months ago, she rebuffed his impromptu advance, then later wished she hadn't. The girl had confessed to Hannah that she thought he was handsome, and she had grown to trust him and care for him. Indeed, this enemy officer was the closest man to her at this point in her life. Her brother was dead; her father was gone commanding continental troops, her fiance was what seemed like a million miles away wreaking havoc in the backwoods against the British and Indians. Who else was there?

She looked up and suddenly realized how close the handsome, yet drunken officer was, hovering over her, making her feel tiny...and bothered. His eyes sparkled in the darkness with a mischievous glow.

"Miss Burwell, that bed gets terribly lonely sometimes," he divulged, pointing toward it with one arm as the other hand was planted firmly on the door above the girl's head.

"But-" she stammered, aghast and not sure what to say. She shouldn't have been so shocked over how forward the officer was being. After all, he was three sheets to the wind. Betsy never dreamed that she would ever hear those words come out of Captain Hugh Bordon's mouth.

"Perhaps you'd consider warming it tonight?" he asked unabashed and equally unashamed, thanks to the alcohol and thanks to his libido.

"No," she refused flatly. But at that point, she felt a strange warmth coming over her, settling in her gut. As well, she felt a queer twitch between her legs that threatened to spirit her breath away. She longed to tell him yes, but the properness of being a young society lady dictated that she had to demur.

"And what if I won't take 'no' for an answer," he joked, only thinly veiling a threat to take her into his bed.

"Then I will scream," she choked out in barely a whisper, overcome with arousal and conflicted feelings.

"You won't scream if I beg, will you?" With that, Bordon lumbered his stocky, drunken body away from the door a bit and tried to kneel before the girl.

"NO!" Betsy hissed, reaching out with both her arms, grabbing his to prevent him from the action. "Please don't! I'll never be able to get you back up again!"

The officer then lost his balance and fell against the door, only his arms catching him. This trapped Betsy between his sturdy body and the wood of the door. Caged in, she could do nothing but look up at him while he stared down at her.

Before she knew it, his head had dipped and his face was so near hers. The strong aroma of whiskey coupled with the scent of his apple pomade seemed to make him even more manly, and she had no explanation for why she suddenly liked him so close to her; trapping her.

Even though so thoroughly inebriated, he kissed her gently, and she did not shy away. She felt a sort of relief wash over her at this first kiss, which really wasn't their first shared kiss. The girl had no memory of the time months ago when he had first kissed her for she was too drunk.

It was bliss to her to feel a man's lips on hers. He kissed her softly, and her lips followed and mirrored his. She didn't know what to do but only knew that she didn't want it to end.

Her eyes closed, Betsy felt weak, as if her legs would give out. His arms were busy holding himself up against the door, caging her there. Miss Burwell's hung at her side, partly because she wasn't sure what to do with them, even though she has seen her parent kiss and assumed it was natural to put your arms about one's partner. The other part of her was afraid to slip her arms around the captain.

The officer ended the innocent kiss, pulling away from her first. Betsy felt intoxicated now herself, wanting another kiss from the redcoat and more of something she couldn't quite describe.

"You can scream now," joked Bordon.

She opened her eyes which gleamed in amazement as she stared up at him. The young lady couldn't talk, the ability at any speech having left her instantly. All she could do was shake her head 'no' mutely.

At the moment, she wanted whatever he would give her. Her head was swimming and her feelings were warring within herself. She knew she shouldn't be doing this—she had a fiance. And this man was the enemy, helping to keep her imprisoned. Yet, he is drunk, she thought. What harm is there? He will never remember anything in the morning.

Bordon leaned down again and trailed his lips along the girl's neck. It sent sparks shooting through her body, and left her feeling as though she might swoon. She closed her eyes when she felt him softly, sweetly, kiss the shell of her ear. Betsy had no idea how hard she was breathing—panting—as if she had just run a race.

He whispered seductively in her ear. "Perhaps you would consider parting with your innocence tonight?"

Betsy was overcome, feeling panic yet feeling the pull of sweet seduction. The girl brushed a light kiss across his lips instead of answering, still unable to find her voice.

"I see you every day," Bordon murmured, "and I have to be a proper gentleman as an officer and cannot say some things. But I am just drunk enough now to be able to tell you what I really want."

"Perhaps you shouldn't tell me," she whispered. Barely enough of her voice had returned even for those few words.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, a manly sort of innocence crossing his face; a question in his eye.

Emotions still raged and careened within her. As a proper young lady, she should refuse without hesitation. But as a frightened young girl, whom Colonel Tavington had already threatened—no, promised—to steal her virtue himself, by force, she considered the captain's proposal. The age old game of 'the-lesser-of-two-evils' pulled hard on her. George was not there to claim her as his. If a dragoon was going to have her virtue, she now had the chance to choose by who and when, giving her some sort of control. She admitted to herself that the satisfaction of knowing that Colonel Tavington, who was bound and determined to take it by force, would NOT get it. She would give it to someone else of her choice. There. The deed would be done and settled.

"Yes. Of course I do," she said, her voice low with uncertainty bleeding though it.

"Enough to let me make love to you?" he asked, gazing down at her, obliterated by alcohol yet wondrously in control of himself for the moment.

Betsy was overtaken by everything. Captain Bordon's cocksuredness. His masculinity. His scent. His room. The darkness. The nearness of him. Her own ability to give herself up to him. The ease and relief she suddenly felt in letting go of her innocence. Her head was swirling, and she didn't know whether to faint or run.

After a minute of being pummeled by emotion, she held her hand out to him. It was an incredulous move to both of them and it was inexplicable to herself as to what made her do it. Bordon said nothing as he took the small hand proffered him and guided her to the side of his bed. The officer hesitated there a moment, then put his arms around her waist and drew her willing body to him. She made no fight of it, letting her arms snake upwards to rest upon his broad shoulders.

His mouth met hers with commanding ferocity, directing her, possessing her from that point. Yet, his lips were gentle, reminding her of his kindness. Hugh deepened the kiss and moved with a slowed, lazy freedom that teased her and left her with a longing in her heart and an ache between her legs.

After that moment of frenzied kisses mixed with painstakingly slow ones, Captain Bordon pulled the bedspread back and sat on his bed. He reclined backwards and pulled the girl down onto the sheets with him. She complied, finding a place to lay next to him as he moved his body over. Both of them rolled on to their sides to face each other where they entwined their arms, holding each other close. They kissed again, and as they did, his hand slipped down her leg, finding the bottom of her skirt. He pushed the dress slowly up her leg, hearing her breath hitch in her throat as he did.

Instead of giving her any time to think about what was about to happen, he pushed her onto her back as he shifted his body up. He kneed her legs apart then climbed in between them and settled there.

An instant of panic overtook Betsy. "I...I...don't know what to do," she confessed, the uncertainty making her voice quiver.

"You have read Fanny Hill," he reminded in all seriousness.

"Yes, and that book keeps coming back to haunt me," she cried.

"I told you it was rubbish," he said with a light chuckle. He put his lips to her ear and whispered sweetly, "I will guide you."

As he continued to ease her dress up over her thighs, the girl stirred again, fear on her face. "How am I to explain on my wedding night to Colonel Clark why I am not a virgin?"

"I don't know," answered Bordon. After a moment, he put his lips to her neck and began to kiss her softly. He murmured against her skin. "We will come up with something." The drunken officer was more intent on the matter at hand.

As Betsy worried, the Captain pushed himself up to kneeling between her legs. With much effort, he took off his jacket and untied his cravat, which he dropped onto the floor. Still dressed in his shirt, pants, and vest, he unbuttoned his collar then lowered his body back onto the girl.

"I'm sorry that we are both still dressed," he slurred an apology, "but I'm a bit too drunk to attempt undressing you, or me, any further." The man reached over to grab the bottle of whiskey from his nightstand. He took a swig, and Betsy closed her eyes at the stinging smell of it.

"I don't think you need another drink, captain," she whispered.

"Oh, this isn't alcohol, missy, it is liquid courage," he chuckled as he took a swig.

Miss Burwell took the bottle from his hand and corked it. "I don't think you need any more courage tonight, either," she chuckled as she returned the container to the bedside table. "You are quite bold in your words and deeds, I assure you."

"Why don't you feel just how bold I am," he teased low against her ear. "Touch me."

As he kissed her neck, he gently took her hand and put it on his rock hard phallus. With his hand wrapped over hers, he guided her fist up and down the length, and groaned at the feeling of it.

Betsy was entirely stunned at the events unfolding so quickly. First, she was still amazed at her own action in agreeing to go to bed with Captain Bordon. And secondly, here she was, in his quarters in his bed on her back with her skirt up to her hips with a British officer between her spread-eagled legs. Unbelievable! And now, she was touching a man there...THERE! On his manhood, hard and between his legs, and he was enjoying it. The girl was fascinated, keeping his stiffened erection gently in her grasp, alternating running her fingers then her fist up and down it, amazed at how it felt at the initial introduction to the male anatomy.

"All of THAT fits inside a woman?" she asked simply, incredulously.

He looked down at her, pure passion on his face and in his voice. His blue eyes were half shut, not only with drunkenness, but with lust. "I've found the female anatomy to be very accommodating."

"Oh," Betsy answered, half worried, half excited.

Bordon removed her hand, then kissed it as a gentleman would. "Relax. The act will be easier if you do." Miss Burwell nodded as she gulped in fright.

The girl she snapped her eyes shut and drew in an edgy breath as she felt his hand rummaging around between the both of them, between both pairs of legs. She wondered what he was doing, and stiffened when she felt the back of his hand brush against her untouched womanhood-something her own hand had hardly touched in her fifteen and a half years of life.

Hugh Bordon took his hardened shaft in hand and positioned it at the opening of the girl's virginal quim. He felt her warm slickness on the tip of his prick as he rubbed it gently at the hole. Betsy jumped at feeling a man's erection for the very first time against her, ready to go inside her.

The excitement and remorse of the feeling, at the thought of losing her virginity just a heartbeat away, brought tears to her eyes, which she blinked back. She had been anxious to know what it was like to be bedded by a man, but she was sad that this wasn't the "proper" way: that this wasn't her husband, whom she was sure she would love, on her wedding night, and instead was with a drunken enemy officer.

And slowly, gently, cautiously, Captain Hugh Bordon of His Majesty's Green Dragoons of the British Legion, slid his hardened cock inside this willing, but scared rebel prisoner. The wetness helped, as did his cautionary slowness. When he could go no further, he let out a groan of relief and rested in her virgin velvet. It was a place he could have stayed in forever; his prick surrounded and wrapped in her innocence. His head and body may have been numbed by the alcohol, but his cock, hard as stone, was awash in every sensation, feeling it all.

Miss Burwell's eyes rounded as she yelped aloud. "Oh no! We can't! It hurts!" she cried. The girl felt as if her whole body, not just her vagina, was being invaded. The stretching was horrid, taking her breath away. As she struggled to breathe,her mind screamed, wondering just how this act was supposed to be so pleasurable to women. Her walls inside her were throbbing and burning, and all she wanted was for him to remove his stiffness from her.

Clapping his hand over her mouth, he looked sympathetic to her pain. He could see the tears in her eyes as she winced behind his hand. "You must be quiet," he beseeched her in a whisper."You don't want anyone to know you are in my quarters, do you?"

She nodded her head "no". As he took his hand away, she sniffled. He did not pull himself from her, knowing that the longer he left himself inside her, still and not moving an inch, that she would stretch to fit him. But not too much, he hoped, for he did so enjoy her virgin tightness around him.

"It only hurts at first," he murmured, brushing a gentle kiss of consolation across her lips. "Your body will get used to it."

After a moment of lingering still inside her virgin walls, he pulled himself out slowly, then pressed back in equally as slow. Although inebriated, he had enough control to remember to go easy on the innocent lass. He kept on with his cautious and gentle strokes, of which made Betsy feel as if her pelvis was near to exploding with the fullness of him tucked in her small core. She began to squirm beneath him, making a feeble attempt to push him off of her.

"Lie still," he scolded in a low voice.

"This is a mistake," she whispered, near tears. "We should stop."

"It hurts because it is your first time," he tried to reason as he pinned her down to stop her jostling about. "Trust me. It will pass."

She nodded holding her tears back, trying to be brave. She would let him finish and all this business would be done.

After two more gentle slides into her, he could tell that he had not broken her hymen yet. He had seen no blood on his shaft. Bordon also felt that he wasn't penetrating her that deeply, and that her virtuous shield was still intact, preventing the deepness.

"I'm sorry, lass," his apology sounded heartfelt, yet slurred and bobbled, "but I'm going to have to take a couple of hard jabs within you to break your maidenhead. It should be more comfortable to you once that is done."

Again, she said nothing, only nodding her head that she understood. The girl closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for a hard shove from something that felt way too large to be lodged within her anyway.

The captain pulled his cock out to where only the head lay shallow just inside her entrance. He snapped his hips forward sharply, his pelvis meeting hers. Quickly he pulled out and did the same thing again.

This time, Betsy winced aloud as she felt a stinging within her, and then a burning that spread through her virgin walls and beyond, into her pelvis. When she breathed again, after holding a long breath, she noticed that his manhood felt deeper within her. After an instant, the discomfort wasn't as great as it was before. The young lady closed her eyes and sighed in relief. She smiled in the darkness, relieved for the moment to have this over with.

"My God, you are so tight," he murmured as he lobbed his stiffness into the girl, loving how snug of a fit he was inside her. Soon, he slowed again, stroking long and lazily within her.

Suddenly, the officer's chorus of grunts and groans of pleasure and effort ceased as did his fucking. Then, his stocky and well muscled body collapsed on top of hers, pinning her squarely beneath his dead weight.

"Captain?" she whispered in his ear as she put her hands on his shoulders. "Captain?"

She nudged him again, wanting an answer as to why his actions, which were just starting to feel good to her, had stopped.

"RRrrrrrr. Rrrrrr. Mmmmmm." His body shook ever so slightly against hers.

Then Betsy's eyes widened. He was snoring! The redcoat had passed out stone cold atop the girl after too much alcohol.

She finally pushed his drunken, heavy body off of her and to the side of the bed. She stared at him for a moment. How could he do this to me, she asked herself.

She got out of bed, pushing her skirt back down as she did. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, Betsy looked down and glimpsed the man's breeches still open, clearly noticing the outline of the captain's now flaccid penis lying limply on his thigh.

Embarrassed, she quickly looked away, knowing it was immoral of her to stare at it! Sure that she was flushing crimson in the darkness though no one was around to see her. The girl clamped her eyes shut as she reached down. Her hand caught the edge of a sheet, thankful that she didn't have to touch his manhood again, which would cause her more shame in her own mind. She pulled the cover over the unconscious redcoat officer, giving him some modesty, then tiptoed to the door. Betsy looked back at him, wondering what it would have been like for the act to have finished properly.

Opening the door, she slipped through it and padded quietly down the darkened hallway and slid silently into her own room, where she pressed the door shut delicately so as not to make a sound. Not bothering to light a candle, she took the beautiful satin dress off, the skirt of which was now so hopelessly crumpled and crushed with wrinkles that she hoped she wouldn't have to explain to Mrs. Leyanova how they got there. The girl folded the frock over neatly and laid it on the chair. Her petticoats followed suit. And daring not wake anyone, she reached backward and navigated the lacings of her corset and unloosened them enough to be able to wiggle out of the wretched thing, which she dropped on the floor and left in place where it fell.

Betsy made her way to her dresser, where she poured some hours-old water into the basin. She wet the linen and squeezed out the excess, then pulled her shift up her legs with her other hand. The girl winced as she placed the cold rag against the hot skin between her legs, which was now throbbing and burning. She washed herself thoroughly there, wanting to rid her body of all traces of the guilty act she was just involved in.

On this side of the house, the moonlight seemed to pour into the room. It was enough for her to see the water in the basin. As she swirled the rag in the porcelain bowl, she watched as the remnants of her virtue—her virgin blood—swirled in thin strings about the water then dissolved. She stared at the water, which was a pale pink tinge now, thinking about how that was the last of her innocence. It was gone, and now she was a woman. What she had just done, the realization of it, hit her squarely in the face.

But Betsy didn't feel giddy and happy as a young woman who just lost her virginity should. Instead, she was deeply conflicted, and the emotions at battle within her only served to make things worse. The girl tried to quiet her mind, not wanting to think about it at all. She stepped to the window and pulled the curtains shut, then laid down. Sliding into her own bed now being under the covers, which she pulled up high around her chin, was a relief. The girl longed for the peace that sleep would bring.

But, the cacophony in her mind played on, not allowing her rest.

Miss Burwell felt guilty and shameful, so much so that it twisted her stomach into what she thought for sure was a knot. She had just given her virginity away to a drunken British officer, though a well meaning one. Father has me betrothed to another man, her thoughts raged. How am I supposed to explain this to George? And when? On our wedding night?!

Then she turned on herself, having to admit some secret feelings again that she would rather not have. That she liked and trusted Captain Bordon; that she thought he was handsome. And less than an hour ago, she had given herself to him freely. Though she admitted her own feelings, she consoled herself as well. The captain was so soused that he won't remember it, she comforted herself. So, I won't have all the gossip to worry about and trying to explain myself. But that was the least of her concern at the moment.

With her virginity gone now, she wouldn't have to worry about Colonel Tavington and his threat to "steal her virtue and flaunt it". One cannot take what is already gone, she mused. For now, this fact was still only another small consolation.

And then, the triplets of torture: doubt, regret and remorse took their turn at keeping the girl awake and stirred up to near illness. Maybe I shouldn't have given it to Captain Bordon. Maybe I should I should have let things unfold as deemed by destiny, instead of altering it myself. If Colonel Tavington were to have stolen my virginity by force, I would have a better, more viable excuse to give my fiance. After all, it would be rape, and surely George would understand that. He would probably have pity for me. Instead, I'm left with telling him that I gave it up to a British officer—a trusted and compassionate one even though an adversary— just so that another enemy officer could not claim my virginity as his prize to boast of and hold over Papa and George's head? Dear God, how could I have let this happen?

Betsy continued to castigate herself, now making her head ache and throb. Oh, Lord, I wish it could have happened with a husband, or at least a man I love. I wish it could have been loving and whole and romantic.

A silly stab of anger and blame pushed its way into the girl's mind, as well. Captain Bordon could have at least had the courtesy to stay coherent during the experience and finish the damned thing, she lamented.

Oh woe, what have I done, she asked herself.

Adrift and drowning in a sea of her own confusion, she turned over and buried her face in her pillow, and wept terribly, eventually crying herself to sleep.