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Chapter One
Jeyne’s eyes went wide with shock as I ripped her white gown completely to the waist. The ripping of the delicate material was violent and instant. Yet, she made no attempt to cover her breasts. She simply stood there in silence, vulnerable and ready to receive me as I stripped off my clothes, my naked body throbbing with desire. She was to be mine, the woman who surrendered herself to me completely. I came to her and took a handful of her thick, dark hair and pulled her head back, exposing a soft, smooth neck. I ran a finger over the delicate skin and watched as her body melted into mine.
I placed soft kisses on her beautiful skin, making my way to her full lips. They were soft and warm, making the kiss between us deep and passionate. She trembled as my hands moved down to her breasts, and it was all I could do to not throw her on the bed in that moment. Her brown, erect nipples were begging to be sucked and I bent down and took them in my mouth, one at a time, my hands never leaving her body. I lost track of time as I made my way to her navel and then down to her beautiful triangle. I was crazy with desire and devoured her like a hungry wolf, my tongue exploring places I had always wanted to know.
And then they came, again and again, the unmistakable sighs and moans from the recesses of her chest. In one hurried swoop, I lifted Jeyne in my arms and laid her gently on the bed. Within seconds, I was inside of her and it was all I could do to remain sane. We cried out as our bodies became one. We were lost in each other, unaware of time and place, our need for release growing stronger by the minute. The intoxicating mix of our erotic sounds filled the room, possessed us, until we could no longer—
Tap, tap, tap. “Massa Thomas?”
Startled by the unexpected knock on the door, I sat up suddenly in bed, aware of the fact that I was in my own room, alone, the space beside me empty and smooth. There was no Jeyne, no trace of the passion I had experienced only seconds before. The prominent swelling between my legs throbbed and my body was damp, although no longer from the fever from days before, but rather, from the raw desire I had just experienced.
The knocking came again and I let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, Patrick?”
I could feel his hesitation through the door. “We...we was jus’ wantin’ to make sho’ dat you was aw’right. ‘Cause if you is, I gotta towel and some hot water here for ya.’”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and held my head in my hands.
“And dey still workin’ dat pump hard and fast,” Patrick said. “Da water comin’, but it slow tho.’ “
Indeed. Over the course of several months, I had been setting all 150 of my father’s slaves free, one by one, which meant fewer hands left to run the vast plantation – including the pumping of the wells. Half of the men and women had taken their children and gone on to build new lives for themselves in the North or Canada based on the routes I had meticulously given them, but others, like Patrick, refused to leave.
Pulling on a pair of pants, I opened the bedroom door. The look on Patrick’s face was nothing short of relief.
“I’m still alive as you can see,” I said.
Patrick’s expression remained resolute. “Dem fever’s is hard to break, Massa,” he said firmly. “And yours was definit’ly nothin’ to play wit. So, if you see me dis mornin’ bangin’ at yo’ door four hundred times dat’s why.”
Patrick’s directness was more than welcoming and I laughed out loud. “Sometimes you care too much.”
“Dis true,” he said. “I’m jus’ glad to see you smilin’ for a change.”
“Yes…joy has been in short supply around here lately.”
Patrick looked at me closely and said, “Yessuh, you done had your share of rough seas. I reckon you don’t need to have been on a big ship like my pappy was to know what a hard journey feel like.”
The statement immediately saddened me. Patrick didn’t talk about it much, but I remember years ago how he recounted the sordid and dramatic story of how his father was brought to Louisiana on a slave ship when he was a young boy.
“Well, let me help ya’ get ready,” Patrick said, setting the towels down. “I’m sure you have things to tend to.”
“I can manage this,” I assured him, reaching for a towel.
He looked hurt. “Now, Massa, how am I s’ppose to do my job if ya’ always doin’ it fo’ me?”
“Patrick, I’mnotyour master,” I said firmly. “I’m not anyone’s master. You’re free now. Remember?”
“Yessuh, dat’s right…I’s free now,” he said thoughtfully. “But I’m old, too. My life here...my whole life been wrapped up in dis here place. And takin’ care of you…the house…it’s all I know.”
It was a poignant comment, one for which I had no immediate answer to.
“Forgive my ramblin’s, suh,” Patrick said. “I’ll leave you be for now.”
I put a hand on his thin shoulder. “Tell Lizzie I’ll be down shortly,” I told him.
After my shave and wash up, I put on a clean white linen shirt, woolen pants, and my knee-length leather riding boots and headed downstairs. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning and the smell of Lizzie’s breakfast greeted me before I entered the dining room.
“My God, Lizzie, are you expecting an army?”
“Mebbe.”
