I

She thought the very devil was standing in her doorway. Despite her grandmother's ghost stories that had always portrayed the devil as a bestial creature, horned and inhuman, something to be mocked but not feared, deep down Catherine had always known that the devil would look like a man, this man, danger incarnate. And now here he was standing in her doorway. . .

From where she stood on the stairwell, she could not tell if his eyes were ice-water blue or pale green. The color that most arrested her, stopping her in midstep was the red and green of his uniform jacket. And in the crook of his arms he held a black plumed helmet. She needed no further evidence. The Green Dragoons had come.

After allowing herself one deep, calming breath, Catherine continued down the stairs to her fate waiting below.

You're a lady, Catherine, she firmly reminded herself. And he's just a man. Act like it.

"Sir?" she said as she descended the stairs with as much calm and dignity she could muster. "If you've come to burn the house down I suggest you lay torch to the inside first. The brick exterior is mostly fireproof."

She was gratified to see a small flash of astonishment in the eyes of the Dragoon as he heard her first fearless words.

"Madam, have no fear. We've become experts at burning. When the time comes your home will burn just as easily as the rest of your town," the Dragoon officer replied, his voice oozing arrogance. She thought she might have heard a hint of amusement even. But surely such a man was devoid of humor.

"So you do intend to burn us then? Just curious really," she said with a bravado she did not feel as she came to the bottom of the stairs. Realizing quickly how tall he was, she stayed on the bottom step so she could meet him eye to eye. She would not allow this man to intimidate her even though he held her life in his hands.

"Well, if you insist, we'll be happy to oblige. But actually I was merely inspecting this home as possible quarters for my officers this week."

She saw a tight smile appear on his lips as a wave of unmasked relief crossed her face. She had let her guard down but she was too relieved to care. She and her servants would be safe a few more days.

"Tell me Madam," the Dragoon continued, "is this your property alone? Or do you have a father or husband that I should be addressing?"

"You may address me, Sir. I am Miss Catherine Hamilton. I alone have owned this home since the death of my father."

Unexpectedly, he stepped closer to her and took her hand in his placing a quick kiss upon it. More out of surprise than disgust, she snatched her hand away from him as if she had been burned. She watched as a wicked grin spread across his face, a face that she could only grudgingly admit to herself was the most striking she had ever seen.

"Miss Hamilton, a pleasure," he said with thinly veiled menace. Clearly, her terrified reaction pleased him in some perverse way. "Colonel Tavington, Green Dragoons."

Catherine felt her stomach fall as heard him say his name. This was William Tavington, who some called a butcher. His brutal exploits were legendary in the colonies. Some spoke of him as if he was not even human. Looking at him now, totally fearless, smoldering with ruthless ambition and graced with unnatural eyes that belonged to an angel rather than a demon, she could believe them. And this man was planning to live in her home. This was terror. But it was something else too. Something she could not yet name. Something she did not want to.

For a moment she allowed herself to remember the words her father had spoken to her many times. Kind and utterly devout, he had reminded her on countless occasions to love her enemies and accept whatever evil came upon her. Again and again he had told her, "Whatever you give them is one less thing they can take from you. . ." She never truly understood those enigmatic words until now.

Wanting to honor her late father, she had no choice but to say to Tavington, "You and your men are welcome in my home, of course. Shall I offer you a tour of the property?"

He smirked at her easy assent. Surely he interpreted her lack of resistance to cowardice. There was no help for that. But as she began to lead him through her immense and much beloved home, she could only wonder at what else she would end up giving this man before he could take it.

II

Tavington was only half-listening as Catherine guided him from room to room in her grand home. Her fear of him was manifesting in incessant chatter. She had shown him through the parlors, the kitchen, the library, and the cellar. She took him down the twisting hallways opening each bedroom door to display the interior to him. He was silently amused at how she studiously avoided stepping foot into any of the bedrooms with him. As she was apologizing for the third time for the neglected state of the guest rooms, Tavington finally allowed his impatience to surface.

"Miss Hamilton," he growled softly stopping her in mid-sentence. He reveled for a moment in the fear that his voice alone could spark in her eyes, "do you intend to save your home by talking me to death?"

She was speechless for a moment. Tavington could barely restrain his laughter at the look of fear and embarrassment on her face. He was finding that he enjoyed taunting her more than he cared to admit to himself. She was a lovely little creature, dark-haired and light-eyed. And though he watched her valiantly try to hide her emotions under a mask of stoic dignity, her churning fears were too strong for her to conceal.

"I'm so sorry, Colonel. I only meant to familiarize you with the property."

"Well, now I am thoroughly familiar. I believe this will do nicely for my officers. However, I did not find a room that will properly accommodate me. My needs, as you can imagine, are great." He was rewarded for his entendre with a blush. "Tell me, Miss Hamilton, where do you sleep?"

Catherine was clearly crestfallen. Tavington knew that she had hoped he would not ask. But she was obviously too afraid of him to refuse to answer his request, indecorous as it was.

"This way, Colonel, please," was all she said as she began leading him to another hallway and through a barely concealed doorway opening not to her room as he had anticipated but to another set of steps, surprisingly dark and narrow. Rather than feeling irritated, Tavington enjoyed the closeness this hallway forced upon the two of them. He could smell her in this confined stairwell. She carried the scent of smoke and lavender. But he quickly forced this line of thought out of his mind. There would be time enough for that later.

"Miss Hamilton, I have to ask why you have chosen to live in the attic of your home? This seems hardly appropriate for the lady of the house."

"Oh, this isn't the way to the attic. My father wanted to build this room in the top of the house so that I would be cooler in the summers. Also, the heat from the downstairs fireplaces rises so that it stays warmer in the winters."

"How thoughtful," Tavington retorted sarcastically taking another steep step in the treacherous hallway.

"Yes, Colonel," Miss Hamilton said as she finally reached the door to her room, "my father wanted me to have everything."

She opened the door with her trembling hand. Tavington was stunned by his palatial surroundings. With barely concealed wonder, he walked around the grand room furnished with a richness and splendor he had not seen since he was a dissolute youth working his way through the finest bedrooms in England. He had brutally taken the bored wife of a duke in a bed smaller than the one he was looking at now. Luxurious red bed curtains shrouded a mountain of red and white silk bedclothes. Tearing his eyes away from the bed he saw a massive marble fireplace and even, unbelievably, a pianoforte. He could not begin to imagine how the builders had gotten it up into this strange room that belonged not a colonial mansion but a European castle. The room was magnificent beyond words.

He dropped his helmet in the posh armchair next to him and turned to look at Miss Hamilton. Expecting her to be dwarfed by these imposing surroundings, he was impressed by how natural she appeared amidst the splendor. Suddenly he saw how the simple elegance of her appearance belied her private decadence. Tavington experienced a sudden vision of her small body sinking into the soft bed sheets, her skirts pushed up to her hips, naked expect for her stockings and garters with him on top of her pushing her legs wider, his knees digging into her thighs. . .He willed his arousal away quickly before it could show itself.

Looking at the Miss Hamilton standing there watching him with large, scared eyes, he could only think to himself, It's a dirty business doing one's duty, but just occasionally it's a real pleasure.

"Miss Hamilton," he said wearing that demonic grin that he knew terrified more than even his fiercest scowls, "this will do."

III

She shivered inwardly at this haughty pronouncement of Colonel Tavington's. She had seen the thinly veiled desire in his eyes as he looked at her bedroom. He couldn't possibly imagine the violation she felt simply by having him in her private chamber. No man but her father had ever been in her room, and the last time he had come up was when she was still a child. This room was her sanctuary And now Tavington, like the devil he was, had desecrated it. But she had to let it go. She forced herself to accept that last night had been her last in the bed that she had slept in since she was thirteen. Tavington would sleep in it from this night until the British army decamped. She looked at her bed and saw his long, naked body tangled in her sheets, his tanned flesh wrapped in the white and the red of the silk.

Horrified by this torrid, unwelcome image, she turned away from him quickly. Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked hastily, "Would it be possible, Colonel, for me to remove a few of my personal belongings before you and your men move in?"

She hoped he would not be so ungallant as to throw her out of her own home with only the clothes on her back. But she held little hope that he would allow her even that one small favor.

"Oh Miss Hamilton, I would never presume to take your chamber or your home from you as you are so clearly attached to it. That would be. . ." she watched him as he pretended to search for the right word. "Unchivalrous. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm glad to hear that you are more the gentleman than rumor reports," she replied sagging with relief.

The relief quickly fled as he suddenly stalked toward her until he was within a handbreadth from her body. She stopped breathing when he leaned over until his lips hovered just a fraction from her ear.

"Since my regiment will be here for only a week, it would seem unnecessary to ask you to move out of your room. As you know a gentleman would never take a lady's room from her," he drawled softly, his hot breath snaking across her neck, "and since I am, as you say, a gentleman, we'll simply have to share, won't we?"

IV

Tavington was not at all astonished when she jerked away from him, stunned into silence. He watched her as outrage and horror crossed her face as she backed up to the wall.

"You can't be serious," she breathed.

"Of course I am serious, Miss Hamilton. No gentleman would jest about such things." He could not resist taunting her, toying with her. In time, he would enjoy taking her.

He studied her as she tried to steady herself to reply to him. All pretense of composure was gone. It was at these moments that he felt most sure of himself. He relished her fear. He looked forward to tasting it.

"You intend to rape me, Colonel? Despite the rules of war?" she said when she could finally speak again.

Tavington turned on his heel and walked leisurely toward the fireplace. He turned and rested his elbow on the mantelpiece.

"I make the rules of war, Miss Hamilton. And I intend to have you. Whether or not it require rape? Well, that is your decision."

"There is no honor in rape, Sir," she protested weakly

"There is no honor in war either. But that has not stopped me yet."

"You take pleasure in rape, then?"

"I've no doubt I would take a great deal of pleasure in raping you, Miss Hamilton," said Tavington smirking as he raked his eyes down her body.

"Then I fear I cannot allow that."

"Fight me and you will regret it. As will your servants. As will your town." All amusement had left him now. Now he was only menace and power.

"I don't intend to fight you, Colonel." Catherine replied. She hadn't wanted to consider this possibility. She did not want to imagine it could come to this. But her father's words were still echoing in her ears. Whatever you give them. . .

"Oh really, Miss Hamilton?" Tavington asked curious despite himself.

"Yes, you see it won't be rape if I consent." These were the last words her had expected from her. In the past people had attempted to plead and bribe him for mercy. Never had anyone simply consented to his will.

"Tell me, Miss Hamilton, why have you decided to consent to this arrangement? Do you plan to lull me into a false sense of safety and dispatch me in the night?" he said smiling at the vision of her tiny form trying to harm him.

"No, of course not." From the look in her eyes he could tell that the idea had not even crossed her mind.

She thought briefly of her servants who had been with her all her life. And then of the townspeople. Their lives were in this vicious Colonel's hands as well. She might not prevent him from brutalizing her but if she could keep him occupied, placated. . .She could only hope. One week. . .But this she could not tell him.

"Rape is a far graver sin than fornication, Colonel." she replied hoping this answer did not sound as feeble to him as it did to her.

"So you consent for the sake of my soul?" He laughed and began to stroll back toward her. "That is original."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, not really. I've met many pious people before. I have seen innocent men stand in front of the condemned willing to take a bullet that wasn't rightfully theirs. Yet, once the pistol is cocked, they get out the way. Piety quickly disappears at the end of a gun."

"You mock my faith?" she asked aghast at his irreverence.

"No, just your resolve." She watched him warily as he came slowly nearer to her. She gasped as he took a sudden step toward her. With stunning speed and ferocity he grabbed her by her forearm and twisted her until she was pressed hard against the wall with her arm behind her back. Tavington pinned her there with the weight of his own body and waited for her to struggle against him. Her body remained tense but she did not fight him.

"Do you still consent, Miss Hamilton?" he asked her his mouth again at her ear.

"Yes," she breathed fighting back tears.

She felt him pull his head back from hers and shivered as he blew softly on the back of her neck.

"Tell me, Miss Hamilton," he said softly pressing his hip into the small of her back, "will you consent when I have stripped you naked and am holding you down by your wrists?"

She swallowed hard and answered in a barely audible whisper, "Yes."

"And will you, Miss Hamilton, consent when I have you bent over that fine English writing desk over there with your skirts around your waist and my hand on the back of your neck?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"And will you consent when I have tied you spread-eagled on your own bed and I let my officers take their turns with you?"

She began weeping openly now. Only the knowledge of what he might do to the people she loved allowed her the strength to answer, "Yes."

Tavington suddenly let her go. She turned around and began massaging her sore wrist as he walked to the armchair to retrieve his helmet.

"Excellent," he said casually. "That will save me a great deal of trouble and you more than a few bruises."

"Are you leaving?" she asked flabbergasted by his sudden change of demeanor. He was now the professional soldier again.

"Terribly sorry to disappoint but I'm afraid this will all have to wait until later. I do need to get back to my men. But we will return this evening to take up residence in your fine home."

She nodded silently at this information impatient for him to leave her before she collapsed entirely.

"By the way," he said standing at her bedroom door and staring at her with his granite eyes, "if I return and find you gone, I will burn your whole world down."

With those words he left her. Catherine crumbled sobbing to the floor feeling that her whole world was already in flames.

V

Catherine was still slumped on her floor when her maidservant Judith crept fearfully into the room. Seeing the disheveled state of her mistress, she ran to Catherine and threw her arms around her.

"Miss? Are you alright? What did he do to you? It took everything Molly had to keep me from running up here to you."

Catherine took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

"I'm alright, Judith, I promise." But Judith began sweeping her hands over Catherine, looking for any injuries.

Not finding any obvious wounds, Judith took Catherine's face in her hands and stared into her eyes. "What did he do to you, Miss?"

"Nothing, Jude, I swear. He hasn't done anything to me. Just scared me a little." Catherine slowly pulled herself off the ground and began straightening her clothes. She tugged her lace cuff over her wrist before Judith could notice the red marks left by the Colonel's hand.

"At least he's gone now."

"No, I'm afraid he isn't." Catherine watched as Judith's face paled as the reality sank in.

"He's coming back?"

"Yes, they're all coming back. Apparently, his regiment is taking some kind of furlough here in the area. The officers of the Green Dragoons are taking the house for their quarters."

Judith clapped her hand over her mouth in shock. "God save us all," she prayed softly. She turned her eyes back to Catherine's and asked desperately, "What's to become of us, Miss?"

"Judith, you need to stay calm. It is only for one week. I've spoken with the Colonel. I think you and the others should be fine."

"We'll be fine? What about you, Miss?" Catherine had hoped she wouldn't ask.

"The Colonel and I have an understanding. But if anything should happen you and all the others are free to go. Just run and don't look back."

"You can't trust him, Miss. And none of your late father's sweet ways will be able to protect you or us. That man is the devil."

"Yes Judith, and I'll just have to deal with him."

Judith watched as resolve filled her mistress's eyes. She could only imagine what she had promised the Colonel to keep them all safe. She didn't want to imagine.

"Come on Judith," Catherine said finally mistress of herself again, "we have a lot of work to do."

VI

Catherine and her servants occupied themselves the rest of the afternoon with opening up all the guest rooms. Since her father's death, Catherine had closed up most of the house. For the sake of her servants she tried acting as she if she was preparing for one of the many house parties her father had often thrown. They removed the covers from the furniture and replaced the bed linens as they had dozens of times before for welcome friends. Unfortunately, these guests were not welcome ones. And the Colonel was not her friend.

But he's going to be my lover, she thought to herself. She had been trying to put him out of her mind ever since he had left so abruptly earlier that day. Judith had watched her all day following her with fearful brown eyes. But Catherine had said nothing of what she was thinking. Her skin crawled as she remembered his breath on her neck. And she kept looking again and again at the marks the Colonel had left on her wrist.

"Miss?" Judith quietly broke into Catherine's silent thoughts. "Now what should we do?"

They had finished with the guest rooms. Nothing was left to be done to the house.

"We'll need to prepare dinner for a full house, of course. And have a bath drawn for me up in my room. I'll need your help to dress, of course."

"Miss?" Judith was shocked at how casually her mistress was handling the invasion of her home by the most notorious legion in the British army.

"I know this isn't a house party, Judith. But I agreed to shelter them in our home and I plan to give them every courtesy. It is better just to pretend that they are guests like any others."

"And this Colonel Tavington, Miss? Is he a guest like any other too?"

Catherine stopped short at Judith's cold words. But she knew she beloved maid was only trying to protect her.

"Yes, Judith he is. And we will show him every courtesy. Or, at least, I will."

The meaning behind Catherine's words was obvious. But Judith said nothing. There was nothing to say.

VII

Later that evening, Catherine waited alone in her bedroom dressed in her best evening gown. It was nearing the time that she expected the Colonel and his men to arrive, and her resolve to act as if this situation was in her control was dissolving. She paced the room like a caged animal. She had to stop herself from scratching at her own skin in nervous, terrified energy.

She paused in her relentless pacing at her bed. Pulling back the plush red hangings she stared down at it and tried to comprehend that tonight she would not sleep alone in it. She recalled the image that had come to her unbidden earlier that day. The image of Colonel Tavington naked, stretched out in her sheets. It was an unwelcome but persistent thought. She couldn't get him out of her head.

Catherine's casual relationship with her servants had given her some hint about what happened between men and women in bed. But her father had guarded her so closely that she had so far experienced nothing but chaste kisses on her hand. The Colonel's mouth at her ear, his breath on the back of her neck was more intimate than anything she had ever experienced. She almost wanted to feel it again.

"Eager, are we, Miss Hamilton?"

Catherine spun around to see the object of her thoughts leaning against her doorframe. She blushed furiously at his suggestive tone but she could not find the words to reply.

Grinning coldly he strode over to her and Catherine found herself backed up against her bedpost.

"Don't worry, Miss Hamilton," the Colonel said softly as he cupped her chin, "we have all night for that."

Before she could respond he turned and shouted, "Privates! Jones! Thomas! Bring it up."

Catherine heard the sound of boots stomping up the narrow staircase. Two young soldiers appeared in her room carrying a trunk. They left again quickly without looking her in the eye.

"Just a few personal belongings, Miss Hamilton. Shall we go down to dinner?" He offered her his arm in mock chivalry. She tentatively took it afraid any refusal would antagonize him. As they descended to the dining room she said nothing and tried not to notice the taut muscles beneath the red coat of his uniform.

VIII

Dinner was proving to be an amusing spectacle for Colonel Tavington. His officers were reveling in the sumptuous food and surroundings. Yet they were shy and deferential toward Catherine. He chuckled to himself at how quickly rumor spread among his men. It had taken only a few minutes for his men to learn from Thomas and Jones that their Colonel had a proprietary interest in their lovely host.

At the moment that lovely host was making polite small talk with Captain Bourdon. Tavington grudgingly admired how she was able to act reasonably calm knowing what awaited her. Yet he could see that her smile was forced and her placid, polite demeanor was a shallow mask. When she lifted her wine glass, he had seen her hand quiver.

He was also amused at the enormous amount of alcohol she had provided for him and his officers. Clearly, she was trying to deaden him with drink. Instead, he slowly, deliberately sipped at his wine and took no seconds. Rather he drank in the vision of her blushing and breathless in her elegant, black evening gown. He knew his gaze unsettled her but he watched her relentlessly nonetheless. He wanted her to feel his eyes on her body. He wanted her to imagine it was his hands.

Catherine hoped desperately that the officers would attribute the blush she knew she wore to the wine she was drinking. She had tried to force herself to drink in excess of what she usually consumed, but she found she could barely finish her glass. She could hardly stomach any food either. She could still feel Tavington's eyes burning into her skin from across the room. She thought she might faint, but pride prevented her from allowing herself that escape. Such a display of feminine weakness would only irritate the Colonel. She already knew he was a man not to trifled with.

But now Tavington was content to watch the scene unfold before him. He was entertained by Catherine's feeble attempts to prolong dinner as long as possible. When it became obvious that his officers were more than ready to retire to the parlor, she meekly acquiesced. Bidding them all a strained goodnight she quickly left the soldiers in the hands of her servants to adjourn, presumably to her room. No, our room, he corrected himself. He hoped that she had been genuine in her consent to his intent to have her. After months of grueling warfare, he was anticipating an uneventful break from battle. Yet, he almost hoped she would put up some sort of struggle. It made the conquest all that much more satisfying.

Tavington forced himself to linger for another hour with his men. He knew the longer he made Catherine wait, the more frantic, the more nervous she would become. He casually discussed the most recent battle with Captain Bourdon and silently minded the clock. Five minutes, he told himself, and you can go up to her.

Tavington watched. The minutes crept by.

IX

When he entered his new quarters, Tavington found Catherine sitting in a plush armchair reading a book. She had changed into a chaste nightgown and robe, white silk and high collared. Her prim appearance he knew was meant to discourage him. She couldn't imagine how enticing he found the scene before him.

"Ah, good evening, Miss Hamilton. Or shall I call you Catherine? Yes," he answered himself, "I do think I prefer Catherine."

"And what shall I call you?" she replied coldly without looking up from her book.

"Oh Colonel' will be fine. Or Sir' will do as well. I am a flexible man." He smiled at her but did not approach.

"Forgive me Catherine. I do have some bit of paperwork to do." Tavington said sitting down at her, now his desk, with a sheaf of documents.

Catherine was stunned by his sudden dismissive attitude. She had anticipated. . .she did not know what she had anticipated but paperwork had not been a part of it. She decided to test this sudden disinterest of his.

"Well, Colonel, I shall just go to bed then. Goodnight." She stood quickly and made her way to her bed hoping to reach it before he stopped her.

"Play for me," Tavington said still perusing his papers.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Somehow your father managed to haul a pianoforte practically to the roof of his home. I assume it is here for more than decoration. Correct?"

"Yes, of course. I play a little." Catherine had tried to prepare herself for the night ahead of her. She had assumed he would take her quickly and coldly before leaving her to cry herself to sleep. This devilish Colonel was turning into more than an enigma than she had imagined.

"Well then, play a little for me," he ordered in a tone that allowed for no argument. She stood, not moving, not knowing how to respond. She felt far too nervous to play anything.

"Catherine," Tavington spoke calmly with but the hint of a threat underneath his voice. He looked up at her finally and met her eyes, "play."

She turned and made her way to her piano. She picked a Scarletti piano sonata that she had played a thousand times hoping her fingers would know the piece well enough to play through her shaking hands.

After a few fumbling false starts she became absorbed in the familiar piece. Since her father's death two months before, she found only her music could return her to herself. She let herself sink into the comfortable notes and tried, unsuccessfully, to disregard her audience of one.

Tavington looked up from the pretense of his paperwork. Catherine was playing, eyes half-closed and utterly absorbed. She was breathing rapidly along with the song, her breasts rising against the fabric of her nightdress. This was the abandon he sought. He could wait no longer.

Catherine had just began the third movement of her sonata when she felt a hand on the back of her neck. Her fingers crashed to a sudden stop and the room that had just been filled with her music was now tomb silent except for her shallow breathing.

"That's enough, Catherine. Come with me." Tavington dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her neck and pulled her roughly off the piano bench. He dragged her to the side of the bed and turned her to face him.

For an endless moment Catherine stood there as he simply studied her face. Despite her fear she was riveted by the cold blue of his eyes and the fierce lines of his jaw.

Tavington released his grip on the back her neck and slid his hand to cup her face. She was stunned by the sudden gentle touch.

"Catherine," he asked her, his voice softening to almost a whisper, "did you know that a gentleman always makes three promises to a young lady before he takes her virginity?"

"No, I didn't." She saw his eyes narrow sternly. "Sir." she added quickly.

"Better." His arrogance was without bounds.

"Yes," he continued. "First, a gentleman promises that he'll go slowly. Then he promises that he'll be gentle. And always he promises that it will not hurt very much."

"Well?" she asked waiting.

A cruel smile spread over his features reaching even into his eyes.

"I promise I'll go slow."

She gasped as his hands immediately came to her throat where her nightgown was tied. He ripped at the fabric, tearing it like paper. Roughly, he pulled her robe over her shoulders yanking it off her arms until lay in a torn pile at her feet.

With a vicious shove he pushed her onto the bed.

"Are you going to fight me?" he demanded.

"No," she answered fighting back angry tears as she tried to sit up.

"Really, Catherine?"

"No," she spat her answer at him. "You would like that too much!"

"I'll show you what I like."

He climbed onto the massive bed and crawled to her. He slid his knee over her stomach until he straddled her at her waist. Taking her wrists into his hands he lowered her flat on her back, pressing them over her head into the thick coverlet. He bent forward to kiss her but she turned her head suddenly away from him. Releasing one wrist he grabbed viciously at her chin forcing her face to meet his.

"I thought we weren't going to fight tonight, Catherine." He spat out her name like a curse.

"I'm sorry. . Sir," she said coldly but did not turn away again when his mouth crashed down on top of hers.

His forced her mouth open with his tongue and pressed the kiss into her lips. She closed her eyes hoping to disappear from the moment. But as she tried to calm herself she felt heat rise in her mouth as his kiss penetrated her wall of fear.

He pulled back a fraction from her mouth and softly flicked his tongue over her top lip. He nearly laughed out loud as her eyes snapped open to stare up at him wide-eyed in shock at this sudden playfulness.

"You know Catherine, I think you might have liked that too."

He released her wrist and slid his arm behind her shoulders and lifted her until they were both upright. She felt his other hand return to the back of her neck. He pressed her mouth onto his and kissed her again, slower this time but with equal fierceness.

Tavington suddenly stopped and slid off the bed until he was standing at the side looking down at her breathless, panting form. She put her arms down quickly to hold herself up.

She looked at him in shock but said nothing. He was just watching her again. He crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the wall behind him.

"Why did you stop?" she finally asked when the silence and his stare became unbearable.

"Well, I can't very take you fully dressed in my uniform, can I? The epaulets and braiding? You might get scratched. Can't have that can we?" he asked condescendingly, a cruel schoolmaster to his errant pupil.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

Catherine realized that Tavington was waiting for her to undress him.

She gathered her courage before sliding unsteadily to her feet. As she crossed the few feet to where he stood waiting, she resolved to do whatever he asked of her. He would have her on his terms no matter what. She had already experienced the incredible strength of his deceptively lean frame. Fighting him would only get her killed.

Willing herself to not blush or cry she looked up at the cruel Colonel.

"Where do you want me to start?" she asked.

He smiled at her quick acquiescence but was not deceived by it. He had felt the strength of her will as she had forced herself not to fight him. He knew this assent was more dangerous than the impotent struggles of any of his previous conquests.

"Jacket."

With slightly trembling fingers, she placed her hand on the top button of the uniform. She quickly unbuttoned it. Unable to look in Tavington's eyes, she silently studied the intricate detail of the gold button as she worked her way down the front of his jacket.

She dropped her hands from the rich red fabric. Tavington pushed himself off the wall.

"Well?" he asked again.

Taking a deep breath, Catherine slid her hands up to the black-green jacket collar and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, over his arms, and down his back. He was so tall she had to stand on her tiptoes and lean into him. She thought she heard him gasp a little as her breasts pressed against him for a moment.

The jacket came off into her hands. She held it for a moment in front of her trying to decide what to do with it.

Tavington watched with amusement as Catherine crisply folded the heavy fabric and placed it in the seat of the armchair by the fireplace. She turned back to face him, awaiting his orders.

"Boots," he said crisply.

He leaned back against the wall for balance as she sunk down to her knees in front of him. The sight of her in that vulnerable position threatened to arouse him dangerously. He focused instead on her fingers as they struggled with the black leather bootstraps.

Frustrated with the complicated riding boots, Catherine tugged Tavington's leg toward her and planted his boot on top of her thigh. Finally she undid the straps and could pull the boot free. She felt the shock of the skin of his taut calf muscle as she quickly removed his sock. The other boot came off more easily. When she stood again she saw he had removed his cravat for her and was now standing only in his breeches and open white shirt.

She was arrested by the sudden vision of the tan skin of his neck, the hollow of his throat.

"Do you see something you like Catherine?" Tavington said amused by her unabashed awe.

"Only something I'd like to slit," she answered quickly, horrified that he'd seen her admiring him.

She tried to reach up to yank his shirt off of him but he caught her hands.

"No, your turn. Take down your hair."

Catherine was motionless for a moment. She couldn't imagine that her hair could be of any interest to him. But she obeyed nonetheless. She walked to her dressing table and sat on the bench in front of her vanity mirror. She gasped a little at the sight of her skin. Red finger marks stood out angrily on her neck and chest. Even the side of her face was red where he had savagely grabbed her. Her red and swollen lips too bore traces of his the assault of his mouth upon hers.

Catherine reached up and began pulling the pins from her hair. After her hair was released she took her hairbrush and began smoothing her curls. She looked in her mirror that Tavington was now standing behind her. He took the hairbrush out of her hand and placed it back on the vanity. He threaded his fingers through her dark curls and began combing out her hair with his own hands. Catherine was overwhelmed by this sudden and sensual touching. She closed her eyes and let the feel of his hands in her hair sink in. His hands grazed the back of her neck and left her body. She opened her eyes again and saw him standing with his back to her, waiting.

She stood behind him and reached up to his hair, still pulled tight in his queue and began unlacing the leather from the red-brown braid. She was surprised by how long his hair was. Most colonial men kept their hair short or shoulder length, but his fell in crimped waves to the middle of his back. She lay the leather strap on her dressing table on top of her abandoned hair pins. She reached up to comb out his hair with her fingers as he had done to her. Without knowing what she was doing she found herself massaging his scalp as well. She felt the tension leave his body as she worked her way to the strong, stiff muscles of his neck.

Catherine jumped as Tavington abruptly turned around and took her by her neck pressing her lips brutally against his. Just as she was beginning to relax into his voluptuous mouth, he suddenly let her go again. She stared at him a moment arrested by the sight of his face and now unbound hair. She had hoped that once his hair was freed from its severe braid, he would be less intimidating. She was wrong. He took her by the hand and led her back to the side of her bed.

She watched him as he closed his eyes and took one deep breathe.

"Shirt."

Catherine had by now realized that Tavington was toying with her, not allowing her to get too comfortable with him, testing the limits of her consent.

She grasped a handful of the white linen of his shirt and began to pull the fabric out of his trousers.

"You know Catherine, it might help if you unbuttoned them first." Tavington was looking down at her again mocking her with his cruel smile.

Her hands dropped to her side as she took a fearful step back.

"Fine," he replied to the look of shock in her eyes, "I'll do it for you. But just this once."

His fingers deftly unfastened each button on his breeches. When finished he dropped his arms to his side and waited for her to resume undressing him.

Seeing the look of contempt in his eyes, she grumbled, "Forgive me, Sir, but you are the first man I've ever undressed before."

"Good," he replied with a dismissive snort.

She tried to ignore his watching eyes as she took the fabric of his shirt into her hands. The white linen was warm from his skin and she found herself breathless again. She pulled his shirt from his breeches and let it hang loose on his body. She was afraid to continue. She did not want to see him without his shirt. She did not want the vision in her mind to become real.

"You're stalling, Catherine." She heard impatience rising in his voice and tried to continue.

The shirt was open-collar and had no buttons. She realized she would never be able to pull it over his head.

"You're too tall," she said hoping she wasn't antagonizing him.

"Oh, I suppose I am," he drawled.

With a deft tug he swiftly removed his shirt and tossed it casually to the floor.

"Much better, Catherine," he said as she adjusted to the sudden sight of his naked chest. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Catherine knew there was no good answer to that question. She just stared wordlessly at his body.

His skin was sun-browned and etched with old scars. Even relaxed, she saw that veins criss-crossed the muscles of his arms. Her eyes traveled up those dangerous arms to his broad, brown shoulders and across the shallow hollow made by his jutting collarbone. She was shameless now, unable to pretend that she was not fascinated by this perfect male body. His tight stomach was dusted with a trail of dark hairs below his navel and leading down.

"You can touch me if you like." Catherine was startled by the sudden softness in his voice. He clearly delighted in her obvious admiration of his body despite her lingering fear.

She reached out and placed a tentative hand flat on his warm stomach and felt the muscles contract under her touch. She allowed her hand to linger there a moment before sliding her fingers up to a savage-looking half-moon scar that stretched nearly five inches across his upper chest.

She looked up at him expectantly.

"Swordfight," he answered her unasked question.

"I'm sorry," she said studying the raised wound with her fingers, "that must have hurt terribly."

"Save your sympathy," he said cruelly to mask the troubling effect of her gentleness, "I deserved it."

She wanted to ask him to explain what he meant but before she could open her mouth he brusquely took her hands and laid her palms flat on his stomach.

"Touch me here," he instructed moving her hands down his abdomen until they were inside his open breeches. She gasped as he wrapped her hands around his erection. She knew almost nothing about male anatomy, but she knew enough to realize that his size was far greater than she had envisioned. With his hands over hers, he slowly ran her fingers up and down his length.

Feeling her hands trembling beneath his, he took her wrists and placed her hands back on his stomach.

"Do I scare you, Catherine?" he asked already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she replied softly.

"Wise girl," he answered. He waited until she looked up at him. He locked his eyes onto hers and stared into her. She was scared of him. That was apparent. But she wanted him too. She just did not know it yet.

"I think I have gone sufficiently slow enough for any gentleman, Catherine." Tavington sighed impatient now to have her. "Let's move things along, shall we?"

Giving her no chance to protest, Tavington's mouth came crashing down on hers again. His hands flew up to the neck of her nightgown and pulled the fabric down over her breasts before she could try to stop him. He slid his hands roughly down her arms pulling them behind her until she was forced to arch her back just to stay standing.

She flinched at the pressure of his lips as they traveled quickly down her throat and across the top of her breasts. Her skin burned down the trail his lips left.

He roughly released her and pulled back the coverlet with a swift, practiced tug. His right arm shot out to her waist and dragged her onto the bed pinning her there once more against the rich, white sheets. When his head came down this time, however, his lips found her breasts. Her nipples hardened in his hot mouth.

She closed her eyes against this violation but found herself instead arching her back to meet his lips. Pleasure spiked through her breasts and pooled between her legs.

A soft groan escaped her throat causing Tavington to abruptly stop. He looked down at her with an enigmatic smile and said, "I do have good taste, don't I?"

Catherine gasped at the dripping contempt in his voice. She moved to slap him across his arrogant cheek but he caught her hand in one lightning quick motion.

"Oh Catherine, you really are asking for it, aren't you?"

With the cold ferocity of an animal, Tavington ripped Catherine's nightgown from her body, his war-roughened hands leaving red weals along her flushed skin.

He slipped for the last time off the bed and removed his breeches in one brisk motion before reaching out to grab Catherine's thighs. She cried out in pain as he grasped her at the soft indention just above her knees and dragged her toward him at the center of the massive bed. He paused just long enough for her to drink in the full and terrifying sight of his naked desire.

Tavington took Catherine's wrists in one hand and pinned them over her head in an iron grasp. With his knees he pressed open her thighs wide beneath him. His free hand slid between her legs and quickly forced a finger into her as she writhed in fear and pleasure beneath him.

Tavington smiled down at her, apparently pleased.

"Tight as a fist, my dear," he drawled. "At least one of us will enjoy this."

He pulled his hand out of her and laid it flat on her stomach. With unexpected slowness he slid his hand gently over her belly, across her breasts, turning his palm to drag his knuckles languorously over her nipples. His hand continued its path over her chest and up her neck until he firmly placed his open palm across her mouth, his middle finger still slick with her wetness.

She watched in impotent fear as he positioned his hips at the entrance of her body. She felt the moist tip of his shaft hovering at her opening. Looking up she saw Tavington staring down at her and smiling.

"Now, Catherine," he said softly, menacingly, "this will hurt a bit."

With one fierce thrust, he pierced Catherine to the core. She bucked wildly in pain and screamed in mute agony against his palm. She felt her interior muscles shiver and stretch around the sudden shock of his length inside her.

He held himself still for a moment, relishing the wet warmth inside Catherine's body. Underneath him, Catherine continued to writhe. He removed his hand to allow her to gasp for breath and slid his fingers into the mass of curls beneath her head.

Catherine's panting subsided slightly as Tavington lowered his mouth to her and kissed her deeply. She gasped as she felt a sudden, sharp contraction inside her as Tavington pressed his hips into her.

He looked at her in amused shock surprised by her ardent response.

But the brief flash of pleasure quickly disappeared when Tavington pulled his full length from her and began thrusting relentlessly into her. He released her hair and ran his large hand down her body to her knee.

Hooking his thumb into the soft flesh behind her knee, Tavington bent her leg pulling it up to her side forcing her body to open to him even more.

Catherine cried out at the sudden change of position. Yet as soon as Tavington resumed his merciless thrusts she realized that the nature of the burning within her was no longer pain.

She pressed her thigh into Tavington's side and arched beneath him in mindless need. Panting, she felt pressure welling up deep within her. She began rocking her hips against Tavington's, attempting to meet his cruel thrusts.

Tavington nearly laughed out loud at Catherine's desperate fervor. He released her wrists to adjust his weight upon her and was unsurprised to feel her arms snake around his neck pulling him closer to her. He gasped as her body clamped down hard on him. For a moment, he forced himself to stop long enough to watch as Catherine's climax bore down on her, her eyes still open and rimmed with tears.

With quick force, Tavington took Catherine's forearms in his hands and pressed them down into the mattress at the side of her head. He reared up until only his hips and his hands touched her. He resumed his driving thrusts, increasing the pace until with one final guttural moan he slammed into her, releasing his hot seed deep inside her.

Tavington collapsed on top of her, and Catherine shivered as she felt his full weight resting on her. For a moment they lay together panting, saying nothing, his body still embedded in hers.

He had released her arms and she found herself winding them around his neck again as she began to weep in earnest. Torn by her shame and anger, she sought comfort in the one who had caused her pain.

She heard Tavington sigh as his breathing returned to normal. She released her hold on him as she felt his body rise until he sat up, crouched on his knees.

He looked down at the tears on her cheeks and knew she longed to be comforted.

"Virgins," he sneered contemptuously as he pulled himself out of her sore opening.

Taking a fistful of the bed sheet in his hand, he brusquely wiped off the blood and semen off his body. Ignoring Catherine's soft whimpering cries, he rose and doused the candles before returning to the bed.

"Catherine," he said softly into the dark.

"Yes, Colonel," she answered turning toward his voice, still hoping for some semblance of comfort from the man who had awakened such torrents of emotion within her.

"If something unpleasant happens to me in the night," he whispered his voice dropping in an intimate warning, "my men are under orders to make something unpleasant happen to you in the morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered still weeping. She was stung by his cruel suspicion but not surprised.

She felt him turn away from her in the bed and settle into the soft linens. She listened as his breathing steadied and softened into sleep.

Catherine wiped her wet face on a corner of the sheet and curled up in the bed as far from Tavington's body as she could. After nearly an hour of miserable tossing, she too succumbed to sleep, still aching inside.

X

When Catherine awoke the next morning, she was relieved to find that Tavington had bathed and dressed while she was still asleep. The room was flooded with sunlight. No doubt he had been gone for hours.

She heard a quiet scratching at her door. She turned to see Judith enter carrying a breakfast tray. Remembering suddenly that she was still naked, Catherine pulled the sheets up around her.

Catherine could not imagine how she looked to her maid, hair tousled and wild, eyes tear-blackened, bruises strewn across her body. But Judith said nothing although her eyes darkened with angry tears.

"Come now, Jude, it can't be that bad, can it?" Catherine said trying to force levity into her voice.

"No Miss, it isn't that bad at all. You just need a bath is all."

Catherine sagged in relief, grateful that Judith had chosen to play along with her charade of nonchalance.

"Is it ready?" Catherine asked as she saw the towels already laid out on the table next to the screen that shielded the bath from the rest of the room.

"Yes, Miss. You were sleeping like the dead when I came up here an hour ago. Slept through breakfast and almost lunch. I went ahead and had the girls prepare your bath."

"That's fine, Jude. Thank you." Catherine looked around for something to cover herself with. She had no stomach for food but she desperately wanted to bathe. Her whole body ached from her night with the Colonel.

Seeing her predicament, Judith casually handed her a robe from her wardrobe and busied herself with the breakfast tray as Catherine slid painfully from her bed.

She walked gingerly to her bath, the pain between her legs acute but not unbearable. Sighing, she eased into the steaming water wincing as the heat seeped into her sore muscles and flesh.

Catherine only half-listened as Judith began nervously chattering about the officers and their plans for the day. Instead Catherine studied the marks Tavington had left on her body. Her wrists and forearms still bore the imprint of his fingers. Her thighs carried light blue bruises from the weight of his knees. Her lips and nipples were still swollen from his kisses.

As she continued to examine the reminders of Tavington on her, she remembered the exquisite experience of his body inside her.

Even last night, after he had fallen asleep, she laid awake strangely relishing the sensation of his seed slowly trickling out of her body onto the sheets. She had slid her own hands over her sore flesh, tracing the memories of his touch on her skin.

"Judith?" she called out to her maid when she heard her begin to straighten the room.

"Yes, Miss?" Judith answered, stunned by the calm resolve in her mistress's voice.

"Don't change the sheets."

End of "The First Night"

Continue to Night Two...