Chapter 6
Will released Erva from his arms once inside. Walking slowly beside her, he was so attentive, always holding her hand on his arm. Erva couldn’t help but adore this gesture. It felt old fashioned, sure, but it wasn’t as though the man was guiding her around like she was a show pony. The way he held her felt protective, assuring, and sexy as hell.
It was while Erva struggled with her desire for Will, long dead by the time she was born, that she surmised that her insane hallucination was...well, whatever it was didn’t matter, because here she could do whatever she wanted. She didn’t have to smear on the smile her mother had forced her to wear at her father’s funeral and ever after. She didn’t have to put on her “good girl” mask. She didn’t have to be quiet or hide what she liked, how she thought, or even the fact that she did have a brain. She didn’t need secrets here. She could be whoever she wanted to be. She could be herself.
It wasn’t just the fact that inside this illusion she felt free, but it was who was standing beside her that made her long to let her hair down and give in to her instincts, give in to the long-held craving to feel the dark and wild within her.
In high school she’d been drawn to the Goth kids, although her mother had forbidden it. Not pretty, Judith, Erva’s mother, had told her, those freaks are not pretty. They’ll never land a man.
Ironically enough, Erva had landed Ben Redding almost instantly. He’d sat behind her in trigonometry class, had black streaks in his blond hair and wore black shredded clothes that she wished she’d been brave enough to wear herself. They’d partnered up multiple times for class assignments. Within minutes of working together, they’d started laughing as if they’d known each other all their lives. He was a military brat too. Being two loners for so long, they instantly attached to each other, hanging out every spare moment. Ben had shown her his paintings, where he openly dived into different worlds of color and style. He’d also confessed he was gay. She’d been so honored, she told him all her secrets too, but she could have suspected his secret. The whole school had, in fact, which meant regular bullying for Ben. To protect him, Erva had gone out on a date with one of his bullies. She’d thought if she could talk to Jared Johnston then he’d stop calling her beloved friend names and shoving him against the lockers. Instead, Jared had tried to feel her up. She’d broken his nose for it. When telling her mother of the incident, not of protecting Ben, but of the necessity of protecting herself, her mother had threatened to call the cops on Erva. She’d said that Erva had assaulted an innocent young man, and boys will be boys, and the sooner she realized that the better. Also, Erva would never marry if she didn’t go along with what a boy wanted.
Erva had been beyond startled at her mother’s reaction. She was certain that had her father still been alive, he would have threatened to go to Jared’s house with a hunting knife and cut the boy’s balls off. Then, she wondered how her father and mother had ever fallen in love. They were so different. Her mother wanted compliance, while her father had delighted in her, in who she was becoming. She’d been thirteen when her father had died, so similar to when Will’s father had passed away. Every year after her father’s death her mother had whittled away more and more of the young woman Erva had started to become. As if she were a majestic mountain that the cold, harsh wind had carved into a mound of terrified cravings.
The fact that Erva had become an academic was wrong to her mother, especially becoming a military historian. What Erva wanted to wear was wrong. Erva had to keep her hair natural, otherwise that was wrong. Makeup had to be at a minimum. It was an odd mask of lies. For many others, natural hair and lack of makeup would be considered more authentic. But it wasn’t for Judith. It was a weapon she used, to make others think she was younger, and so much more vulnerable than she really was. She tried to teach Erva the same tricks. Words were to be spoken quietly, wispily. Leave only evidence that she was a delicate female. No tattoos. No black toenails. No. No. Wrong. And no.
It was while Will slowly strode by a window, reflecting her eighteenth-century image, that Erva realized why she’d gone crazy. She looked the part of a lady, like her mother had always wanted her to be. But it had been a beige hell to live in—no colors, no fun, nothing real. Yet, when she looked at her reflection, saw her brown eyes shine out defiantly, and the man holding her looking all the prouder for it, her heart stuttered and fizzled sparkly energy throughout her limbs. She’d always wanted him, wanted a man who would want her just for being herself. She didn’t have to earn his admiration. She didn’t have to work hard to get his attention. She just was. And if felt freaking fantastic.
Something in her finally felt in place, as if a cog decisively fit, and she was operating the way she had been designed. She turned to Will, forcing him to release her, but he only adjusted his grip on her hands, still trying to hold her up. Oh God, he was good for her ego.
She didn’t know how to convey what she wanted. The emotions filling her felt too big for words. The only thing she could say was a breathy, “Thank you.”
He smiled down at her and shrugged. “It is nothing. I don’t mind.”
He probably assumed she was appreciative of the way he walked slowly with her, but it was so much more. She felt at that second...alive. Real. She wondered if she glowed from the realization.
Will had guided her into a library where four red-coated men bickered about the weather. She was distracted by a leather bound volume that looked as if it had something to do with inheritance law. God, it would be heaven to read that. Throw it against a wall when she got to the laws regarding women, but still, it was a wealth of information. All the books were.
As was the man before her.
She shook her head, wanting to express more, but couldn’t think of the words needed. “Thank you,” she repeated.
He silently chuckled. “Of course.”
He wouldn’t understand anyway that he’d broken free something that had been stuck within her for twenty years. So she did the only thing she could think to express her appreciation. Reaching up on her toes, she pecked his cheek.
She really, really didn’t mean to linger. But she did. He smelled so damned good. Yes, men smelled pleasant, but there was something about Will’s scent that drove her nuts. Maybe it was the clean smell mixed with the outdoors. It didn’t matter, because whatever it was, was getting the better of her, getting to her inhibitions. She wanted to kiss him. On the lips.
“I tell you, there are tornadoes that reach up to Nova Scotia on this continent,” a man yelled.
Odd argument to have, but it snapped Erva back to her slippered feet. She glanced up at Will. His eyes orbited into a stratosphere of blue she’d only seen in NASA pictures. His face was tight, but he slowly smiled.
“If that is the reward for walking slowly, then shall we take a turn even more leisurely?”
She giggled.
His smile widened. “How is your knee?”
“Better.”
He frowned. “I’d hoped it would worsen, so we might leave soon.”
She almost giggled again, but the voice that had been shouting about tornadoes, suddenly yelled, “Oh, there, General Hill! I didn’t even notice you there, in the corner with your...friend.”
Will’s nostrils flared, but he plastered a fake smile into place and turned to the young man calling for him. He bowed low as the man advanced.
“Major Brighton, how nice to see you,” Will said as he straightened.
The young man reciprocated a bow, then reached for Will’s hand in an enthusiastic shake. Oh, Erva knew who this was. Well, in two more years, he’d turn into the Duke of Suffolk. For now he was a nineteen year-old that Erva had guessed his superiors put up with because of his high social rank. The gossip about this man was not just rumors. She’d read how he’d seen several doctors regarding catching syphilis while in America. His stint here would be short because of the venereal disease.
Something about knowing that, knowing he was not j
ust a rake, but would later become infamous for his sexually transmitted disease, made Erva take a step back, landing against Will’s chest.
“And who is your friend, General?”
“This is my guest, Lady Ferguson,” Will said stiffly.
The young man bowed, which reminded Erva to curtsy, but it hurt, and she wobbled even more into Will who caught her by the arm.
“Lady Ferguson,” Major Brighton said, “are you well? Has she had a bit of punch to drink?”
“No,” Will growled.
“I’m fine.” Erva tried to right herself, but Will wouldn’t let go. “I—” she laughed, “—I hurt my knee earlier. But I’m fine.”
The Major raised his blond brows a few times. “How did you hurt your knee? Is this a wicked story? Already it sounds delightfully wicked.”
Oh God, Erva thought. Talking about her knee was probably as scandalous to do as talking about crotch shots. Maybe even more so.
“My carriage’s axel broke while at a good cantor.” Will’s voice lowered even more, and his aggravation was palpable. “Lady Ferguson fell on the floor. Nothing wicked about that.” He pulled on her arm, forcing her closer, even when there was no more room for that.
Major Brighton didn’t seem to notice though. He chuckled. “Of course.”
Erva, wanting to calm Will, because she could tell he was about to snap, tried to reach behind to touch him, sooth him. Instead, she brushed against his thigh. The very top of his thigh.
Will sipped in a sharp breath.
Oh hell, that had been really close to what lay between his thighs. Erva felt her cheeks turn pink-hot. She swallowed, trying to pretend she hadn’t done anything, trying even harder to pretend her body hadn’t suddenly ignited. Her nipples contracted. Hard. The apex of her legs felt like instant liquid. She held her breath.
Again, Major Brighton didn’t take heed of any of it. “Lady Ferguson, has the general convinced you to part with your money or your men?”
Erva tried very hard to pay attention. “Pardon?” she asked, taking a line from Will.
“Oh, you know,” the major said, “to help with the war. For God, king, and country, yes?”
Erva was still confused, but so glad for it. The distraction helped her gain her wits.
“He’s referring to the fact,” Will said, his voice seemed to bounce down her spine, “that we officers attend many of these banquets, because we must ask for more recruits or more money from the loyalists.”
Well, that had been as effective as if Will had doused her with cold water. He considered her a loyalist. Erva glanced around the library where more people spilled through the open doorways, talking, laughing, and drinking. They all probably thought she was a loyalist, and most of the people here doubtless were.
Of course being an American, the history of the revolution had been handed down to her in a neat package, tidy with patriotic forefathers and grand ideas. As an academic the revolution, she had come to learn, was nowhere near as sanitary as what she had been told. There were complications on top of complications. Often, it would make her prouder of the fact that she was an American. But sometimes she would anguish, especially at the use of the patriots calling the revolution a movement against feeling like slaves, when so many owned them. It was a hypocrisy that burned at her heart. Still, after reading Thomas Paine’s essays, she was honored to call herself an American.
So what could she be now? In 1776? Short months after the Declaration of Independence was signed?
Quiet. That’s what she could be.
They didn’t need to know she had no loyalties to a king who would lose his mind in a few years’ time. She batted her lashes, as her mother had taught her to, and forced a smile into place. Maybe something good would come out of all the years of her mother’s pushing Erva to smile when she didn’t want to. Right now, she was charming the socks off Major Brighton, and she hadn’t even said a word.
“Major Brighton, as always it’s been a remarkable time with you,” Will said. “But you’ll have to excuse us, since I promised The General an introduction to Lady Ferguson.”
Will wrapped his arm around Erva’s waist. In one move, she no longer felt the ground under her feet. He was carrying her in his one arm.
“Oh!” the Major bellowed. “Yes, I understand completely why General Howe wants to meet her. She’s quite the beauty.”
Will made a quiet growling noise as he rushed Erva from the library to a wide, luxuriously decorated parlor with burgundy molded walls and white-marble floors, where more people sat or stood, and everyone had a glass of something to drink. Except for Will and herself, Erva observed. Had the accounts been wholly wrong about him being a lush?
He placed her back on solid ground with a slight huff.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She was in awe he’d lifted her with only one arm. “I know I’m heavy.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’m just—I’m just angry he would talk so. If the man weren’t going to be a duke, I’d break his jaw. Then he’d ask me for a duel. And the man has terrible aim. I’d have to kill him, and I just don’t know whether I could live with myself after that, although the world might be a better place for it.”
Noiselessly, Erva chuckled at Will’s sarcasm. “You’re quite funny.”
Will glanced down at her, appearing as though he was holding back from grinning at the compliment. “You’re not heavy,” he repeated. Next he said softly, “I could carry you around all day and night.”
Erva’s breasts felt too heavy, begging for Will to touch them.
Oh my God, the man was getting to her.
“Lady Ferguson, Lady Ferguson, play us a song, play us a song.”
It took a beat for Erva to realize that the small choral of too sweet voices was talking to her. She turned to Miss Winny and her two friends as they approached with their repeating whine. Winny grasped her hand and pulled her away from Will.
“Yes, you must. I’ve heard you’re quite the musician.”
Erva limped after the young, pretty girl, but looked over her shoulder at Will. His black brows furrowed, and he took a step closer.
“Oh, I do love music from a young lady,” an older woman said as she fanned herself. “Who is this lovely creature?”
Winny pulled Erva toward the elderly lady and answered. “This is another lady, Lady Anne. Can you believe the English nobility here in America?”
“Lady Ferguson?” Lady Anne asked. “Oh, yes! I think I know your mother.”
Erva held in a giggle. “You might. You just might.”
Lady Anne smiled widely and pulled Erva closer to inspect. “My, aren’t you the rose of the party?”
At that Winny released her grip on Erva and frowned.
“I was just asking Lady Ferguson to play something for us,” Winny droned.
“Oh, yes! Will you, my lady?” Lady Anne asked. “I’d like to hear something romantic, something utterly not military, since I seem to be surrounded by military men. Not that I mind. I’ve got a touch of red fever myself.” She laughed.
Erva giggled too. She admired how the elderly woman was basically saying she was as enthusiastic about the soldiers around her as teenage girls in her time would be around Justin Bieber.
“Oh, but I want to hear something utterly romantic, please, Lady Ferguson?” Lady Anne asked again.
If it weren’t for Lady Anne, Erva would have slapped Winny. Hey, this was her hallucination, was it not? She could smack the snarky girl for trying to force her to sing a song, right? But Lady Anne was the antidote to Erva’s anger.
She glanced again at Will. He didn’t smile. He looked beyond worried. He hadn’t stepped very close after Winny had pulled her away from him, but he looked...well, he looked terrified. Odd, Erva thought.
She gave him a reassuring smile and tried to walk, not limp, to the pianoforte. This was her illusion. And, yes, her mother had forced Erva to have piano and singing lessons, because no young lady
should grow up without them, she’d been told with a shake of the finger. Erva had learned Italian through the songs she’d had to memorize, which had been beneficial. All the while she’d secretly tried to learn music that she liked, music that resonated within her dark soul. That was what she would play for him, for all of them. Music of her age, yes, but with only piano to accompany it, it would sound far older.
When Winny forced her onto the bench with a ruthless giggle, Erva didn’t feel threatened. She didn’t feel much, other than her heart pinged when she looked at Will again. He swallowed. His face drained of color. Was he scared for her?
He was such a sweet man. While thinking of him, of his death in just a few days, and her stupid body wanting him, and even worse, her heart beginning to care for him, she thought of a song. The perfect song for Will.