Love Me With Fury Page 2

  “As you wish, Papa,” she replied in a frigid tone, her lovely green eyes sparkling with glacial defiance.

  “It won’t be as terrible as you make it sound, child. You have but to use your beauty and wiles to have your new husband entwined around your finger,” he tenderly encouraged her, praying to soothe a few of those fears and doubts. “It isn’t uncommon for a young lady to dread such changes in her life. Your panic and apprehensions are not rare. Face them and subdue them.”

  Alex walked over to the bay area of his library and gazed out the window into the tranquil garden. Poised before the clear panes with the warm sunlight falling upon her silky head and taut body, she appeared an innocent girl who had been magically transformed into an exquisite statuette of priceless value. Her whole world was being torn apart, and there was nothing she could do or say to prevent it. “When is this happy event to take place? With whom, may I be so rude and bold as to inquire?” she pertly asked without turning around, choosing not to view his tender expression and ignoring his softened tone.

  “Please, Alex, don’t make this matter any harder on either of us,” he pleaded, coming to stand beside her. He gently caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. He suddenly looked old and tired. “Don’t spitefully destroy our closeness.”

  Her destroy their special relationship? she pondered. That statement would be absurdly funny if it wasn’t so sad and false. “How can it be difficult for you, Papa? You won’t be the one who is forced to sleep with some foppish knave. You won’t be the one to smile demurely and to bow meekly to a crude stranger. You won’t have to perform any repulsive wifely duties or to bear his whiny children. I’ll become little more than a slave to this nameless beast. I will be the one to live with your decision, not you. I shall surely stick a dagger into his heart the first time he dares to touch me!” she boldly vowed.

  “Cease this foolish prattle, daughter! You will not speak in this vulgar manner. It is a wife’s duty to obey her husband and to bear his heirs. Besides, a husband does not ravish his own wife,” he reasoned, highly vexed by her crude insinuations.

  Tears began to roll down her flushed cheeks. Her pride and strength were taking a terrible beating as she pleaded and reasoned with him, knowing it was futile. “I will surely die if you commit me to such a slavish, humiliating existence,” she stated dramatically.

  “No, Alexandria, you will not. You are a Hampton. Your pride and breeding will not permit you to dishonor either of us. Once the banns are posted, you will see where your duty lies, and you will bravely follow it. You need not fear your husband or the marriage bed, for I would never wed you to a brutish swain. If it stings your vanity to have your father find you a worthy husband, then perform this necessary task yourself.”

  She brushed away her tears and sniffed, trying to control this lucid display of anguish and weakness. “If I knew of any distinguished man among my escorts, I would marry him tomorrow just to please you and to halt this vicious battle between us. I only want a man like you, Papa, one who is strong and smart, one who is also tender and special. I want a man who desires me for myself, as I truly am, not for my name and wealth. I want him to be handsome and virile, a man I can love and desire. He should be honest and valiant, a man to be respected and treasured. I want a man who works with his holdings, not one who wastes his time and money on gambling and lazy living. All I want, Papa, is a real man. I could not endure a man who was weak in body, spirit, or character. When I look at him, I want my heart to flutter and my breath to catch in my throat. I have not met any such man, not one who even comes near to being a real man. Surely there are men out there with traits such as you have,” she reasoned.

  He smiled, then chuckled mirthfully. “Should he have blue, green, or brown eyes; should his hair be black, brown, or the color of yours?” he teased his dreamy-eyed daughter as he caressed her cheek. “I wonder where I can find the man you just described…”

  She frowned at him. “You’re making fun of me, Papa, and that isn’t like you. The color of his eyes and hair makes no difference to me. I simply want a striking, compelling, and stalwart husband. Surely you are not one of a kind, Papa,” she returned his playful jibe. “You contradicted yourself earlier. First you said I would not be allowed any more time to find my own husband, then you said I could perform the task myself. Which is correct?” she questioned, clinging to this one ray of hope.

  His eyes glistened with intrigue and suspense. “There is some other news you should hear before I answer,” he hinted, his tone changing perceptibly.

  “Other news?” she echoed. “What could be as important as discussing my destiny?” she jested saucily.

  “In spite of how you feel at this moment, Alex, I am not heartless. I only want what is best for you. It isn’t wrong to have such high expectations, but I fear you’re blinding yourself to any man who does not fulfill all of them. You see me as perfect, child, but I am far from it. I am weak and foolish, for I let you forget you are a woman. There are countless things which you do not know about me and how I conduct myself away from you. It required many years and numerous experiences for me to become the man you view before your prejudiced eyes. The young men who come to call on you lack these years of training and refining. If we carefully select one with great promise, then he will not disappoint you.

  “Just as you asked and deserve, you will have a little more time to seek out this dream man of yours. In about two weeks, I’m sending you to visit your Uncle Henry in America. You will remain there for a month or so. Who knows, you just might discover a Sir Galahad living there. Men who face such dangers and who bravely conquer new worlds and challenges are surely exciting, fearless, and unique. No such adventurer could be called lazy or weak in spirit and character,” he jested playfully. His eyes twinkled devilishly as he tried to ease the tension between them.

  It was vital that he get her to America as quickly as possible and without any suspicion. Surely the threat of marriage would entice her to readily agree to his cunning plans. He was uncertain as to how much longer he could conceal the reason for his anxiety, restlessness, and moodiness. Worst of all, if discovered, both of their lives would be in grave danger. He could not place his cherished daughter in peril of her life. Lord Hampton had to use any measure needed to get her to Henry’s, no matter the price. In time, she would understand and forgive him.

  She stared at her father in disbelief. “America? But America is a raw, uncivilized, dangerous wilderness! She is a traitor to the Crown. What about the Orders in Council, Papa? It is forbidden to trade or to travel to America. There’s been conflict with the Colonies since before I was born. There hasn’t been peace since the war of 1776. What British ship would dare to sail into an American port against the King’s orders? The Americans despise us; they would probably blast our ship out of the ocean. The Americans are wicked, ungrateful, treacherous bumpkins! What honorable, intelligent man would turn against his own motherland?”

  “Your Uncle Henry and many of our friends have become Americans. Is that how you view them now?” he challenged.

  “That’s different; they’re Englishmen,” she argued.

  “All Americans came from other lands, my naive girl. When you arrive there, you will see just how mistaken you are.”

  “Even so, Papa, how could I possibly find a proper mate in that savage land!” she suspiciously inquired. “You would never consent to Alexandria Hampton’s wedding an oafish clod, some uncouth rogue, not when so many men of noble lineage have asked for my hand. What is the meaning of this new plan?” she softly demanded, eying him for any hint to this perplexing enigma.

  He laughed heartily to dispel his tension and to disarm her. “I do not consider a holiday in America as a threat or punishment, daughter. This might well be your last visit with Henry before you settle down. You wanted excitement and adventure; was it only idle talk? If you happened to meet some lion-hearted man who is well-born or of noble heritage, I see no harm in marrying him. Many sons of the
best families have gone there. I hear talk of strong, proud, courageous men who have carved a new empire from a vast wilderness. Perhaps your. dashing knight resides across the ocean. It seems obvious you cannot find him here.” His eyes glimmered with amusement and mischief. He laughed as he witnessed her look of astonishment.

  “You’re actually saying if I meet some valiant man that I love, I will be permitted to marry him?” she asked incredulously, shocked and bewildered by this implausible news. “Even an American? But what of the troubles between our countries?” she asked. “Our loyalties would be to different lands. We would be enemies! How can I marry an avowed foe, a traitor?”

  “America is no longer a wilderness, Alex. She has her own culture; she has great promise. From what Henry writes, she is little different from Great Britain. You forget one critical fact: America is not the aggressor in the hostilities we now face. As much as I hate saying this, we are responsible for the continual animosities. America is not the one who is crippling world commerce and my own business; France and Great Britain are. We cross the ocean in mighty frigates to attack her; she does not send her ships here to battle us.”

  Astounded by his comments, Alex did not grasp his implications. He softened his tone as he announced, “The arrangements have already been made. I planned it as a surprise. You are to leave within a fortnight. I have spoken with Captain Burns of the Moon Maiden. I’ve dealt with him many times in the past. He is dependable and honest. Feigning to be an American privateer, he can hoist their flag and sail safely into her ports. This has been done many times. He frequently exchanges letters between me and Henry. We had a very profitable business going before King George stirred up this new hornet’s nest. Henry and I are trying to find some way to survive until this new conflict is settled. These are facts best left secret, Alex, considering the strained relations between here and there. It wouldn’t do for anyone to discover that we are trading business secrets which often hurts other firms and merchants. If it wasn’t safe, Alex, I would not send you to America.”

  He smiled tenderly and advised, “Enjoy this brief reprieve, look for your dream man, if one exists. When you return home, you will be affianced within the year, be it a man of your choice or mine. I might as well confess; I am presently considering several young men. While you are away, I will carefully examine each of them. When you come home, I will introduce you to my selections. If you still refuse to accept one of them, then I will take it upon myself to do so. Is that clearly understood, Lady Hampton?” Their eyes met and clashed.

  His unintentional harshness made her prior irritation return. “Yes, Papa, I understand perfectly,” she replied. Mentally she added, no, Dear Heart; I will never be forcefully coupled to a crude rake. Banns… betrothals…consummation of vows…unquestionably and finally, imprisonment and suffocation…

  “Excellent, my child. The affair is settled for now. I must see to some pressing business matters. At dinner tonight, we will discuss your impending trip to America.”

  With that dismissal, Alexandria gracefully swept from the stuffy library. She mindlessly rushed to her room to change clothes. She did not put on one of her costly velvet riding habits; instead, she rashly pulled on a multi-colored cotton skirt and a white peasant blouse. Barefoot, she stealthily made her way from the huge stone mansion to the stables. Without saddling her snow-white stallion, she leaped upon his broad back and quietly walked him from her ancestral home.

  A safe distance from the hedge-enclosed yard, she gently prodded Ivory into a swift pace. They raced across the meadows as if spiritually and physically joined as one wild and carefree being. The wind whipped through her tresses of golden wheat hair and fanned them out behind her. The warm air nearly snatched the breath from her throat; yet, she refused to slow her urgent speed. It was rare moments like this when she truly felt alive, free, and venturesome.

  She instinctively headed for her secret haven, her refuge. She lovingly pulled upon Ivory’s mane and softly spoke to him, bringing him to a gradual halt. She agilely slipped from his back and affectionately nuzzled his nose for a few moments of solace. He would remain where she left him, for he was intensely loyal and well-trained. As she skipped off through the grass and wildflowers, he began to nibble at the luscious covering beneath his hooves.

  Alex approached a thick line of trees and underbrush. She ducked and weaved her way along the well-known, but concealed, path into her own private world. Whenever she was troubled or desired total privacy, it was to this hidden sanctuary she fled. Within moments, she emerged from the dense circle of tangled trees and thickets to enter into a sunny, serene clearing.

  She halted briefly to allow her pleased gaze to scan her utopian surroundings. The small pond snuggled into the land like a clear blue lagoon upon a deserted tropical island. The water was always lucid and warm. The trees and thickets allowed no eye to discover her or this spot of total harmony. She had always felt happy and safe here; a warmth and serenity filled her each time she came.

  She aimlessly paced the small area between the tree line and the water’s edge. The conversation with her father and its dire consequences whirled round and round within her head.

  Admittedly she could grasp her father’s point of view, but what did that understanding profit her? How could she willingly submit herself to a man she did not love or desire, a dreadful stranger? Love and desire…what did she really know of such wild and wonderful emotions? In fact, love was as much a mystery to her as carnal sex was. What she did know was that no man had ever made her feel warm and tingly inside. She had never lost herself in the smoldering depths of any manly eyes or experienced the overwhelming desire to boldly fondle a virile chest or to caress a handsome face. Was that so utterly unthinkable, so unrealistic, so foolishly romantic? Surely real love was something unique and all consuming…

  Irritable and distraught, she yearned to surrender her cares and tensions to the encompassing and soothing arms of the inviting water. She chided herself for not bringing along something in which to swim. Even though this area was completely private, she had never gone swimming in the nude. Her strict, moral upbringing and inbred modesty had never allowed her to think such a wanton idea.

  But today, she was pervaded with restlessness and anger; she was infused with defiance and daring. The mid-day sun warmed her body and silky head, increasing her desire for release. She glanced around, noting her solitude.

  Did she dare to wickedly strip off her clothes and go for a swim? What harm could it do? No one could see her. Impulsively she cast aside all modesty. She yanked off her garments and carelessly tossed them upon the grass, then dove into the pond. The water was cooler than she had imagined; yet, she relished the feel of it against her smooth skin.

  She could do little swimming due to the smallness of the lakelet; yet, she could float and dip with gay abandonment. The water was like a cool and silky caress, vanquishing her tensions and cares. A wonderful sense of reckless adventure flooded her. She laughed to herself, weighing this wanton streak which had just emerged, seductively savoring it.

  Growing weary of floating, Alex climbed upon the grassy bank to lie in the warm sunlight. She fanned out her long hair like a silvery gold halo. She lay upon her back and closed her tired lids, allowing the sun to dry her from head to toe. Her fatigued mind and relaxed body were gradually lost to peaceful slumber.

  Not far away, another young defiant person had just faced a similar stormy confrontation with a loved one who did not comprehend the inner forces which drove him. The younger lord of Farrington Manor had recently returned home for a genial visit with his aging, revered grandfather, only to have his joyful arrival spark a war of wills.

  Spencer Farrington headed his chestnut roan to that one spot of solitude and refuge which he had accidentally discovered as a lad, a secluded area which bordered the next landowner’s property.

  His thoughts were as swift and as urgent as his breakneck pace. His mind raged at the helplessness which he was experiencing,
an annoying emotion which only his grandfather could inspire. A man unaccustomed to failure, uncertainty, and weakness, he fumed at these undesirable emotions and the bitter cause for them.

  How could he tell his cherished grandfather that he had not only come home to visit with him, but to secretly spy for the American government? The patriotic old cuss would never comprehend his many reasons for wanting a hasty and lasting peace between the two countries which he loved and honored. Yet. his own loyalties lay with his adopted homeland across that wide and wonderful expanse of blue which he had so recently conquered. How could he explain the importance of a mission which would appear treasonous to Grandfather Will? How could he possibly convince that old fox that only by outsmarting and outmaneuvering the Crown could real peace be won? America was not the one who had instigated the rapidly growing troubles between them; Great Britain was the aggressor. Great Britain, along with Napoleon, was gradually crippling American commerce with the Orders in Council and the Continental System.

  He couldn’t tell Grandfather Will these things for several other reasons. His furtive missions and his disguise had to be guarded well. He would place the old man in grave danger and great distress by confessing the truth. For at the crux of these covert matters was his deadliest secret of all. How could he possibly confide that he—Spencer Farrington—was the notorious Captain Joshua Steele of the privateer ship Black Mist, scourge of the British navy? A spy… a privateer…

  He shook his full mane of raven black hair which fell loosely over his temple. Devilish lights of rebellion and stubbornness sparkled within his grayish blue eyes, eyes which could take on the brittle coldness and stony hardness of deadly steel. His strong jawline and chin appeared to be of finely chiseled granite which revealed a fearless contempt and total disregard for danger and authority. His towering frame of over six feet rippled with muscles of smooth, firm iron. His slightly weathered, tawny skin spoke of an existence among the raw elements of nature.