A More Perfect Union: Emily's Vow Part 18

Confused, she shook her head. "I am unarmed. I swear."

His hand reached to her bun and removed one elegant ivory comb, then another, allowing her hair to cascade around her shoulders. He laid the shafts with their engraved tops on his palm in front of her face. The tapered points gleamed accusingly, mirroring the look on his face. "These could definitely hurt someone."

"Hair decorations, nothing more."

The need in his eyes changed to malice as he gazed at the gleaming ivory.

Emily's father had presented the lovely combs to her for her sixteenth birthday. He had ordered them from a friendly merchant he met while on a hunting trip in Africa. The t-shaped combs were hand carved with the silhouette of elephants walking single file, and the long pin tapered from the elephants' feet down to a narrow point. Her heart sank. They could be lethal if used appropriately. Why hadn't she thought of that?

"You're a beautiful deceiver, aren't you?"

"No, I-"

"You lied to me, but we can still make an agreement, if you're willing to bend that stiff spine of yours." He yanked her to him, kissing her full on the mouth, his tongue sliding into the surprised opening. When she bit down on his tongue, he growled in pain and released her. "You wench! You'll pay for that! I believe you're just as guilty of privateering as your treasonous father."

"I've done nothing wrong." She stared at him as she realized the severity of the trouble in which she found herself.

"I don't think the colonel will agree." He snapped the combs in half. "I'll leave you here to contemplate your willingness to a.s.sist the crown in stopping your father's treasonous activities."

"But I'm innocent!" She blinked back tears, fear slicing through her when John strode away. Around her the other prisoners, all men in various stages of undress and reeking of sweat and urine, murmured among themselves without making any effort to intervene. "You can't do this."

John laughed as he walked to the door and rapped on it twice. "My dear, I already have."

Emily wrapped her arms about her waist to still the tremors racing through her. Whether they started from the dank cold or from the sheer terror of her situation, she couldn't say. But her very bones feared what might happen next. No privy. No chairs or tables. Only cold filthy brick floor and arched walls and ceiling with men she barely recognized as patriot merchants and traders. Still, she remained the only female among the group. After many minutes staring around the dungeon, she found a corner with a mound of musty straw and cautiously poked at it with one show before easing down onto the pile. Dear Lord, what was to become of her?

Against one wall a man lay with his back to the room, his nut brown coat dirty but of fine weave. A matching hat covered his head so that she couldn't tell anything more about him than that he was male. He didn't move, so still. She studied his back looking for signs he breathed. Nothing. A small gasp escaped before she could contain it. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Dear Lord. The man lay dead and n.o.body cared to remove his body? Tears leaked from her unbelieving eyes and flowed hot down her cold cheeks.

Two hours later, the street door opened and late afternoon sunlight illuminated the motionless form. John Bradley strode back into the room, paused to scan the faces staring at him until he spotted her. He crossed the room to stop in front of her, a grim smile upon his lips.

"My dear, you will come with me and you will say nothing. Is that clear?"

"But John, that man..." She looked at the still form on the straw mound and said a silent prayer for his salvation. "He's... not moving."

John flicked a glance at the body then snared her arm with a punishing hand. He dragged her to her feet with an iron grip. "Not another word."

Biting back a retort, she hurried to keep up with his long stride. They paused at the top of the steps long enough for John to mention the dead prisoner to the guard, then they were off up the street. They marched up Broad for several long blocks then turned right onto King for several more. His hurried pace tired her quickly but he kept a firm hold of her arm to prevent her from slowing him down. Soon she realized where he was taking her. Frank's imposing brick house greeted them silently. Her heart raced. Was Frank inside, waiting? John dragged her up the steps leading to the large white door and drew a key from his pocket. After he'd locked the door behind them, he grinned at her.

"Welcome home, my dear."

They stood in a large foyer with a sweeping staircase curving from the right side of the s.p.a.ce up to the second floor balcony. No furnishings at all, as though the occupants had moved out and abandoned the property. No sound met her straining ears. No Frank strolled into view.

Dare she speak now? "Why did you bring me here? Let me go home."

"Now, now, don't fret. I've prepared a lovely room for you to stay in. Come let me show you."

"No, John." She resisted following him when he grabbed her hand. "Take me home."

He laughed at her demand then sobered. "You're mine, Emily. That lousy printer will not have you. Let's go."

She cried out as he dragged her up the stairs, steadying her when she tripped on her skirts, and pulled her into a back bedroom. The furniture included a single bed with a small night table holding a lone unlit candle. A chair waited beside a small table holding an urn and basin. Other than those few items, the room was stripped bare. No drapes at the two boarded up windows. He let go of her hand and gazed at her.

"What is it you want, John?"

"Your love, my dear." He half bowed then straightened. "We'll be happy together now that you're mine. Will you marry me?"

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I most certainly am. If I can't have you, then no one will." He frowned as his eyes darkened to jade and his lips flattened into a hard line. "I'll ask you again tomorrow, my dear. Think carefully about your answer."

He spun and slammed the door behind him. Cold terror careened through her when the lock clicked home.

Chapter 17.

"Major Bradley did what?" Amy's raised voice filled the elegantly decorated parlor. "He put a woman in that hole?"

"I can't believe it either." Frank paced the ornate carpet in Amy's front parlor an hour after witnessing Emily's arrest. He brushed a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to pull the d.a.m.n bow from his queue. Although her raised voice revealed the extent of her dismay, Amy received the news better than expected. "Dragged her down the main street and into the Provost like some treasonous criminal."

"Poor Em. We have to do something." She rose from the wood chair with embroidered cushion and wandered between the upholstered settee and the cherry buffet, her skirts swirling angrily with each turn. "People die in there."

"That's why I came to you." He tugged off his gloves and slapped them against his hand, the resounding smack loud in the silence following his statement.

"Excuse me?" Amy paused in her circuit of the parlor and stared at him for a long moment. "How is it you think I can help?"

"I cannot approach the commandant. But you have connections with Colonel Balfour." He winked at her. "I think he's smitten with you, like the poor soldier at the town's gate."

"You flatter me." Amy straightened the lacy froth draping from her sleeve and sank back onto the cushioned seat. "I shall think on what you've said. Your news has me rather fl.u.s.tered. Maybe some port to calm ourselves?" She indicated with a graceful hand the decanter of garnet colored wine surrounded by small crystal gla.s.ses resting on the low table before her.

At his nod, she deftly opened the decanter and filled two gla.s.ses.

"I've seen you in action, my dear." Frank crossed the room to sit beside her on the sofa, taking the proffered gla.s.s. "I believe in your distinctive talents."

"Really, Frank, you make it sound as if I lie when all I do is invent entertaining tales." She huffed indignantly, staring into her own gla.s.s before glancing at him. "Thank goodness Uncle Joshua won't return for several days. We have time to resolve this ghastly situation before he returns so he won't risk his own imprisonment to save his daughter."

"You know about his missions, then?" Frank studied her for two beats and then drained his gla.s.s. He stood and began pacing, the tension in his body too much to handle sitting down.

"I've suspected but thanks for confirming he has been privateering. I applaud his efforts."

Frank paused in front of the book case beside the huge fireplace. A merry fire, orange and red and blue flames, snapped and popped. He stared into the dancing firelight. His Emily held for some fict.i.tious crime in the bowels of h.e.l.l. The very idea made him ache for what she must be experiencing, feeling, fearing. He turned to face Amy, one hand gripping the mantel. "Might you talk to the colonel?"

Amy stared at him for a long silent moment, lips parted in thought. Instead of answering, she refilled their gla.s.ses. "I warrant I can try, but I make no a.s.surances that my talents, as you call them, will suffice. After all, I do not know why they arrested my poor cousin."

Frank shook his head. "Every avenue was cut off to me."

He prayed the prison guards, as well as the other prisoners whoever they may be, treated his love with care. He'd vowed to her father to protect her. Now look where she sat. In that damp, dark bas.e.m.e.nt running with illness and vermin.

Amy glanced at the mantel clock and sighed. "There's naught to be done this late on a Sunday afternoon. First thing tomorrow, I will pay a visit to the colonel. We should secure her release as soon as possible before she is harmed one way or another."

"Of course, but between now and then, I'll have no rest. Not with my love in danger." With Bradley overseeing her care, Frank prayed they wouldn't be too late. "If the b.a.s.t.a.r.d lays one finger on her, he'll answer to me and my pistol."

"Follow me." Frank tugged her hand, pulling it from its hiding place in her hand m.u.f.f. The cool air of the church's nave bathed it before the warmth of his hand overcame the chill. Heat coursed up her arm and into her heart. Breathless, she followed him through a side door and into a sun-drenched room. From the other side of the dense wall, the congregation intoned the strains of a somber hymn, the organ leading the mournful sound.

"The good rector will not mind if we borrow his study, my love." Closing the door, Frank turned her to face him. His look seared her; his hungry gaze soared across her face, flicked down to her chest. Her heart fluttered in response, making her catch her breath. What would he taste like? How hot would his mouth be? Or would it be cool and enticing? Shivers of fear comingled with antic.i.p.ation propelled her arms, encouraging her to reach out to him. Draw him closer to her. He answered her summons by closing the short s.p.a.ce separating them.

"Frank." Words failed her. When his lips touched hers, thought melted into sensation.

Curious, she watched him kiss her, his eyes closed as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Thrust and search, thrust and search. Against her will her eyes closed, her body driven by a wave of feeling so intense she floated in his arms. Stars exploded when he deepened the kiss, pressed his lips tighter against hers. Warmth gathered inside her, pooling wetness between her legs. She arched toward him, her body instinctively searching for relief only his body could supply. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s mashed against his chest when his arms gathered her closer to him. Dear G.o.d, all this from a mere kiss. She'd found heaven.

The congregation's singing ended, and the rector's voice droned from behind the wall separating the young couple from where the pious people gathered. The quiet murmur in the distance forced her eyes open.

What was she doing? Forty people sat mere feet away.

Frank paused in his kiss, then resumed with more restraint until he lightly kissed her mouth, once, twice, his eyes open, gazing at her.

She needed him. No matter what else happened, no matter who discovered them.

"I love you," Frank said, desire burning in his eyes. "I need to be with you."

She waited for the fear to come, as it always did at the thought of being with a man. Touching his face with one finger, she traced his nose, his high cheekbones, sank into the dimple that appeared when he smiled. Still the fear did not come. She raised her eyes from his reddened mouth, searched his steel-gray eyes, for what she knew not.

"Love me." Would he? Did he dare follow through on his suggestion? Longing ripped through her.

"Are you certain?" Frank touched his lips to hers, igniting an unfamiliar wantonness.

Despite her vow, made out of a fear she no longer felt, her heart clamored for what Frank offered. His strength, love of learning, desire to travel, and his rock-hard body all spoke to her secret longings. Her fears became petty and meaningless in the bonfire of love and desire shining from his eyes. She chose him.

On a moan she pressed her lips to his, answering his question the only way possible.

Frank's arm braced her back as he bent into the kiss, and she closed her eyes, savoring the onslaught of sensations coursing through her. Liquid fire flowed from her core to her toes, fingertips, cheeks, until his heat engulfed her.

Distantly, she felt him swipe the rector's desk clear of objects and press her onto the hard, cool surface. A deep thump sounded on the edges of her awareness, but she ignored it. As long as Frank was with her, she was safe.

Frank's kisses blazed a path along her throat. Her breathing grew ragged when he explored farther south, fanning the flames of her response. She gasped when his lips warmed the exposed swell of her breast.

"Hush, darling," he whispered, his breath cool against her skin.

She didn't have time to respond before her skirt lifted out of the way, the draft of air creating shivers down her legs. She looked at him when his fingers found her ready core and slid inside. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cry of pleasure with the thrust of his tongue. Suddenly starving for the taste of him, she devoured his mouth as he explored her inner regions with one hand.

She was falling or soaring, or both simultaneously. She couldn't be sure. Thought eluded her. Only his scent and his touch mattered. Her inner blaze fueled her actions, her needs, her wants.

Her fingernails dug into his coat, pulling him closer. He released one hand to unfasten his breeches. Breaking off the kiss, he looked at her with l.u.s.t-blinded eyes, breathing quick.

"Emily?"

She kissed him in answer, unable to speak for the furious sensations whirling through her, obliterating all else.

The wooden desk insinuated itself on Emily's consciousness, pressing painfully into her spine. She shifted, searching for a more comfortable position without disrupting the intensity of their embrace. A cool breeze raised b.u.mps along her heated skin.

"Marry me," Frank whispered, tugging on a stray curl, winding it around his finger.

Yes! Yes! Anything you want. I love you, Frank. She reached for his face with both hands to draw him closer for one last kiss before they faced her father.

A forceful repeated b.u.mping noise forced her awake, and she opened her eyes to peer into the darkness of her virtual cell with only the dim glow of moonlight through the slats covering the windows. When the sound came again, she realized the wind had picked up, b.u.mping a tree branch against the side of the house. She lay on the hard bed, utterly alone, with a threadbare blanket to cover her and a flat pillow beneath her head, listening to the sporadic noise amidst the rush of wind. The abrupt shift from her intense dream to this harsh reality made her emotions swim. The dream itself bordered on blasphemous. She shivered at the harsh loss.

Two days and now two nights and only daily harangues by John to marry him. Her repeated refusals left him bitter and enraged, but she couldn't agree. Her search for a means to escape had proved futile. John had created her jail with care. But still he had only provided the bare essentials, and two meals a day. She pulled her fingers through her knotted hair and longed for the brush lying on her dressing table.

So much she needed to tend to, and here she sat. Little Tommy had finally warmed to her, babbling and playing with her. He was crawling now, getting into mischief at every turn. She also had more food to put up for the winter. Preparations for the annual dinner party needed her guiding hand. Here she sat, locked away like her prize peaches in their jars.

Her heart sank at a sudden thought. Her father out of town left no one at home to tend to the running of the household. So much to be handled and no one there to manage the comings and goings of the servants and the household goods.

Did no one, not even Frank, care that she was John's captive? How long would John keep her hidden away in Frank's very house? Did anyone even know where she was?

She paced the floor, rubbing her hands on her arms to abate the chill seeping into her bones. Her stomach growled, rebelling at being neglected. Her stomach growled again, protesting its abuse. Anger sizzled through her. How dare he? How dare John do this to the woman he professed to love? She did not deserve to be isolated from her family, for she had done nothing wrong.

Criminy! She stood here alone, waiting, for what she knew not. Where was Frank? Her father? Anyone.

She collapsed back down on the hard bed, sleep a distant concept, and thought about her vivid dream. Warmth flooded through her when she recalled how wantonly she made love to Frank, defying her resolve to be her own person. His loving face appeared in her mind, and she longed to reach out and stroke the shadow of stubble lingering on his cheek. Frank had wiggled his way into her heart, and she had deeper feelings for him than she cared to admit.

Now what did she do?

Chapter 18.

"You cannot possibly believe that." Frank carefully placed both palms on the b.l.o.o.d.y turncoat's temporary desk serving as a makeshift office on the main floor of the Exchange. Around them, dozens of other traders and merchants entertained deals for the merchandise arriving on the boats and ships at anchor in the river. He fought to stay calm, in control. Acting too upset would only incite Bradley further. During brief lulls in the tumult of the trading, the muted sounds of the prison sounded from below him, the distant clang of metal chains, the yells and moans of the prisoners. If he heard a female voice in that cacophony, his patience in dealing with this b.a.s.t.a.r.d would come to an abrupt end.

"I have evidence as well as witnesses, all I need to take before the colonel and prove my case," the major replied.

"You have your imagination more likely." Frank searched his memory for any clues as to what type of evidence the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had conjured up. Emily was apprehended in the shop with the account books open. Surely he needed more to convict the girl of treason. Frank swallowed, a painful, dry movement, at the realization that during war anything was possible.

"She's in this with her old man, she admitted as much. She committed treason."

"Treason?" Frank stood upright and glared at the man responsible for this ridiculous farce. Ah, that thought clarified Bradley's intent. "You don't want her, though, do you? She's the bait."

Bradley's expression shifted, hinting at a deadly grin. "Why, what do you mean?"