Chapter 22: Amelia

"Amelia," the madam said, looking quite displeased, "has become the mistress of a member of Howe's staff, a general somebody-or-other. I tried to discourage her, but she insisted it was the best way to get good information. She claimed to be an expert on the subject."

I waited picturing the luscious young woman who had been through so much in her short life. "She's done that kind of work before," I said. "But someone may recognize her."

"She knows that. But she changed the way she wears her hair, and she has gained a pound or two. She might get away with it." The old lady looked worried.

I waited, almost sure what was coming.

"Go check on her, guard her if you can. Get her out if you must. I'll give you three days and write Foster a note explaining. It will go with the courier."

I tried to remember the young woman, got a few bloody pictures and warm moments from my memory, and set out, expecting trouble. The home I came to was one of those built on the Dutch pattern with high-ceilinged rooms and many fireplaces. The carriage house out back was also well-built with stucco and plaster inside as well as out, and it was obvious that the fire had not touched this part of the city but the nearby houses appeared empty.

I went to the back door, introduced myself to the rotund cook and asked if the mistress of the house was receiving. The cook gave me a wide smile. "Spect she mout be," she said, looking me over carefully. "Come along." She led me down a narrow corridor and slid back a door. "Miz Amelia," she said, as if they were kin, "This here big farmer say he wan' t'see you. Ast was you receivin'." She chuckled and disappeared.

Amelia looked up from the book she was reading at an open window, squinted, licked her lips, put down her book and placed her folded hands in her lap. "This, I assume," she said calmly, "is some of the nosy madam's doing."

I nodded and looked at her. She was a bit more lush than I recalled, somewhat better upholstered you might say, and her dark hair now framed her fine face with two wings, held back by combs, a very pleasant woman to look at. She was dressed in the height of low-cut style with a chocker-type necklace of pearls and a dangling stone of dark blue. She wore golden bracelets and a very fancy ring glittering with stones of various colors.

"You can tell her royal nosiness, that I am doing just fine." Amelia lifted her chin and gave me her haughtiest glare. "But it is good to see you. It's been a while."

"Are you now, doing fine that is," I asked. "May I sit?"

She nodded.

"Tell me about him," I said, crossing my legs.

"A simpleton with a thin ensign as his prime lover, a boy from a very good family, a simpering fool who looks constantly sad. He hauls me about as decoration, kisses my hand, gives me presents, licks my feet once in a while, and has yet to come to my bed or dive between my legs, damn his black heart. I might as well be living with a pianoforte or in a convent."

"Surely you do not want to swive such a, a perverted sodomite," I said putting on my most superior tone and repressing my smile, my root atingle.

Amelia sniffed. "It really is good to see you," she said. "Tell madam that I have heard many interesting things. I'll give you what I have written down and..."

"Whoa," I said, "I hope you haven't, written it out that is."

"Of course," she said with a laugh, "but I keep it with me. My bookmark, never in sight but always where I can touch it, just notes, indecipherable I'm sure."

"Dangerous," I said.

"Your being here is more dangerous. Go away."

"Madam gave me three days," I said with an eager smile. "I hope there is something I can do to help you."

"You mean like hoisting me on that gross petard of yours, eh?" She arched an eyebrow and took such a deep breath that her bosom rose from her violet gown like a pair of moons appearing from the sea.

"It had crossed my mind," I said, feeling more than a tingle.

She glanced out the window. "What time is it?"

"Four surely," I said, "maybe closer to five."

"They'll be at their cups then," she said, standing, picking up her book and taking my elbow. "Come along."

I pulled her to my chest and took a kiss, a good healthy one, kneading her round buttocks in the process.

"You are wasting time," she said crossly as she pulled away. "Hurry up."

I followed her up the stairs and into her fancy bedroom. She doffed her clothes carefully and quickly and then pulled out her combs and let her long hair fall with a shake of her head. "I have to change for this evening anyhow," she said as she peeled off her stockings. When I sat beside her to pry off my boots, she sniffed at me. "Bathe lately?" she asked.

"You smell good, too," I said as she stood to peel her lacy shift from her wonderful body. As soon as I got my britches off, I grabbed her at the hips, lifted her from her feet and plunked her down on my lap facing me, knees wide spread. She smiled, inched forward on my hairy legs and helped me get my rearing ram where we both wanted it.

Her nether lips were wet and swollen, pouting for it, quivering and her jutting nipples hard as stones. Then she rose, groaned, closed her eyes, leaned against my hands which were linked in the small of her back and drove that thick shaft deep into her, her knees by my rump and her belly heaving with the effort while I laved her startled nipples, and she ground herself into me.

"You remember the last time?" she gasped out, fully impaled, teeth clenched, hair hanging to the floor at my feet as she leaned back.

I shook my head, much too busy trying to keep up with her to try to speak. My long gristle surged in her smooth, cloying cunny.

She smashed our bellies together and soon climaxed with a squeal, her body shaking with the pleasure of it, her jutting breasts in my face. "I do," she moaned, her head tucked against my shoulder as I heaved on, oblivious. "It was in the basement, after you had delivered me from that bordello. I believe I had enjoyed a dozen deaths before we stopped."

"Um," I said as I neared my crest and arched my aching back, holding her wide hips, my ballocks churning, her mouth gaping wide, tongue lolling.

"I was Patterson then, when you killed that major," she said calmly as I pumped out my relief, and she shuddered and gritted her teeth, accepting it. Her eyes were still closed. "I'm Tolliver now, sort of, but m'lord," she squealed as I rolled her over, got to my feet and had at her while her legs waved aimlessly toward the ceiling. She beat the mattress with her fists, shook her head from side to side and achieved a shuddering orgasm while I held her at the waist and rammed her steadily as my hands slid up to enfold her upright bubbies and squeeze her nipples out, my feet still rooted to the floor, and my hips beating a steady thrusting pace while her body bounced on the bed.

When we were both spent, she poured me some wine, and we sat in her bed, backs against the wall, and hoped for more, her hand holding my spent member, petting as one might treat a cat. "He does pass me off as a wife," she said, "at routs and such, but then he goes off with his crowd, the boys." She looked disgusted. "They gamble. I'm not sure what else they do, use some sort of drugs I'm sure, drink until they are sotted.

"But he is an insider?"

"Oh yes," she said, patting my swelling prod, "and very proud of his role, garrulous thank goodness." She looked at a small clock on her mantle. "You must go," she said. "You can sleep in the loft out back."

"Once more?" I suggested, looking down at the risen crown of my eager root. She bent quickly, put a hand on my leg and the thing's purple head in her mouth and sucked deeply. Her tongue stroked me rapidly, her teeth raked gently and despite my best intentions, I came quickly and watched her swallow with amazement. She released me, licked her lips, smiled and jumped from the bed. "Go," she nearly shouted. "Quickly!" What a body she had, as well-made an ass as I have ever seen, round and firm and pink.