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 to get her wits about her again.
“He’s referring to the fact,” Will said, his voice lower than ever and 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
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 to get her wits about her again.
“He’s referring to the fact,” Will said, his voice lower than ever and 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
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