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| Angelique Amelia Island's Mark of a Man |
Housemaid Angelique is a featured character in my Amelia Island's Mark of a Man, set in 1898, during the Spanish American War in the tiny seaside town of Fernandina in north Florida. Her involvement with one member of the Irish Dunnigans makes for, as I have been told, a compelling tale.
The Rains, The Rage
The Romance...
in Ebook and Paperback, part of
The Goodbye Lie Series
set in north Florida
Read an Excerpt below:
"She's here ta see Dunnigan-again."
Pat heard both his jailers chuckling as they entered the three-celled room. Raising his
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| Pat Dunnigan |
"Hey, you two," teased Boliver Shagnasty, the fat guard with the malformed ear. "This is becomin' a habit—A habit I could get used ta, real easy."
"Yeah?" Pat said, ignoring the keeper's true meaning. "Any time you say, I'll trade places with you, Bolly, and you can be the one inside lookin' out."
"That's kind a ya," responded the big man, his tone sarcastic. "Since it's your sentencin' day, I might take ya up on that offer once you're convicted. Think a the fringe benefits …" He reached out to flick the yellow three-inch trim on the flowery shawl Angelique wore.
His cohort in uniform laughed as he chewed his own tongue and his spittle splashed Boliver in the eye. "Good god almighty, Banjo!" Boliver wiped at his face with a dingy kerchief. "Unlock that door, you fuzzy-headed idiot! Don't keep the lady standin' there. She can sit in the cell with Dunnigan whiles we have a cup a that fresh-made coffee. It puts me in a good mood ta think his spoiled ass is gonna be residin' here with us for a long time, if the judge don’t send him somewheres worse. And there won’t be no fancy extras neither, once ya get what’s comin’ to ya, boy. Here now, missy, let's have a look inta what ya brung." After rifling through her shoulder bag and lifting the lid on the pot, "Ya passed inspection."
Boliver winked at Angelique as Banjo's large key clanked in the lock. She flinched under his gaze while Pat surprised himself for taking such strong offense at the verbal abuse as well as the fingering of the housemaid's wrap.
Pat pushed wide his heavy iron door and took the crock and sack from her. "Don't mind those guys. They're both crazier than pet possums. Here, have a seat," he motioned. "Since Mama and my sisters decorated the cell for me, and Clover toted in that chair, we might as well make good use of it. Once again, my father's prestige in the community affords certain luxuries, bizarre though they seem for a house of punishment. Peeper's braided rug there helps keep the evening's damp away from my feet like those blue curtains keep the sun from my eyes."
Angelique's silence made Pat uncomfortable. He removed the well-worn baby quilt from around the pot, which was keeping it warm, and placed it on the small oak drop-leaf table. Lifting the lid, the escaping steam carried an odiferous scent that twisted his belly tight. Fish stew. Again. Although she was generally a wonderful cook, this glop was beyond awful. As he stared back at the floating fish eye, he was glad the slop jar was big enough to hold most of the last batch she'd brought. It would serve the same purpose this time, too.
The pretty visitor wondered how Pat could stand to get the spoon near his lips, let alone put the disgusting substance in his mouth. She'd followed the recipe exactly, too … "This is the last of it. Shall I make another kettle for you? When I told everyone at Dunnigan Manor how you loved it so much, they all saved their portions for you."
"I'm a lucky man to have such a caring family, that's for sure. Hey, don't you want to share it with me?"
She'd tasted it once and once was enough. Touched by his offering, nevertheless, she declined, not realizing her expression showed her true feelings. "My word, no. I brought it all for you, seeing as it's your final meal before— before—"
He strode from the table, leaving the soup untouched. If he were starving, he'd have lost his appetite. He’d let himself temporarily forget his fate would be set and sealed today. What could he do about it anyway?
"Hey there. Don't feel bad." Another step in the small cell and he put his arm around her shoulders by way of comforting her. In instant order, solace disappeared, replaced by a far different feeling. The reality that the liberty of being this close to a beautiful woman might not be his for a very long time, accosted him.
He looked down at Angelique's feminine features, her high brow, attractive nose and deliberate chin … and began to chuckle.
She stepped from beneath his arm and verbally turned on him. "I'm glad you have the ability to find humor, Pat. I cannot."
"Oh, it's not so much humor that makes me smile. It’s fond memories." Think of anything, he ordered his soul, anything except her. "You know, for as long as I can remember, Peep has always been old and looked old to me."
"Don't ever let Peeper hear you say such a thing, although I’m sure you don’t mean it in a cruel way."
"Of course, I don't. It's just that I will always see her through my eyes from childhood, when we first met her. I was a little boy and she had gray hair, so she looked old. I would never be disrespectful of Peeper. I love that old gal as much as any member of my family. I remember one time, when we were kids, we caught her up on a ladder, yes, I'm talking about Peep—short legs, bad feet and all. Anyway, she was up on this eight-foot ladder with a file, filin' off the sharp tips of the thorns on the purple bougainvillea Mama had trellised against the barn."
"Why in the world was she doing such an odd thing?"
"It wasn't odd to Peep. She'd seen how little Marie's balloon popped on the thorns and it left her crying. So, in order not to have it happen again and still keep Miss Ella's plant in tack—"
"She filed off the points!" Angelique smiled herself.
Laughing, "That Peeper is a gem, pure and simple."
"She is, Pat. She truly is." Her expression this time turned thoughtful. "What is it, about some people, that makes the whole world love them? That makes them special?"
Pat walked
to the barred window, reached up, pushed the curtain back and let the sun sear
his face for a long moment. When he turned around, Angelique was plumping his
bed pillow. "Your mother sent along a crossword puzzle book and—"
When he
stepped up behind her to take hold of her shoulders, again, he could feel the
tension, even a trembling. She didn't struggle when he pulled her against
him. As he savored the way her curves fit to him, his eyes closed and his mind
emptied of all thoughts except those of the woman he held close. Time with her
was what he wanted, time with her like this. To that end, he turned her and she
came into his warmth, her length meeting his. Pat wrapped her in his embrace, and he said aloud what he was thinking. "You feel so soft and wonderful—and
feminine."
His hands
explored her back, seemingly of their own volition. They crept low until they
felt the indentation of her waist and remained there resting on her hips. After
a dozen or so rapid heartbeats, they made their way up to find the coiled bun,
low, at the nape at her neck. His fingers discovered the thin wire of her
hairpins. The anticipation of her hair, the color of sparkling coal, tumbling
down her back, destroyed any sense of nagging propriety imbedded in him from youth.
A physical presence such as hers, her loveliness, her fresh smell, unadorned
with fancy perfumes, had smothered his good sense and he hoped it had done the
same to hers. The seconds passing, passed too quickly. He would not let them be
wasted. He pulled at one pin, and another, letting them fall silently onto the
braided rug. As the third came loose, the tip of the braid showed itself and
the silken rope began to unwind.
A breath
of, "Ohhh …" emitted from her waiting lips just beneath his. Her warm
hand stilled his movements, and she challenged, "Pat," against his
cheek. "You mustn't — We —"
He wanted
this woman. Disregarding the reason he was in this confined place, he blamed
the damned law for trapping him here. He cursed society’s scruples for they
were depriving him of taking his pleasure and he didn't like it. He instantly
determined he could change her mind. His mouth no longer hovered but landed on
hers with a rough insistence that demanded compliance. The message he sent was
clear to him and he hoped he was making it equally clear to her. At any moment,
the will of someone else would separate them. He had to have something to take
with him when they parted. He had to.
Angelique
let him invade then raid her reserved manner. Ripped and ragged, her
inhibitions should have strengthened in this forbidden place of physical
stirring and emotional want. Any warnings trying to rise failed, their
cautioning call muted, as she handed all control to him. She didn't care that
his day-old growth of beard sanded raw her lips and cheeks. No, she didn't care,
for when she'd tasted him, savored him, it was no teasing kiss. In her
experience with this kind of thing, he was different from anything and
everything before … Was she really surprised? Jack Patrick Dunnigan was all man
and all a man should be. He was fun. He was kind. He was caring—to his family,
anyway. And, he was purely appealing.
His kiss
devoured her. Just what should she do? She didn't want to make a mistake. Then again, could she really? Was a mistake even possible in a moment like this,
floating as she was on waves of what surely must be defined as passion? She
didn't need instruction. All she had to do was follow Pat's lead. Her motions,
her actions made their way from her heart to her hands and lips. She recalled
her earlier protest to him. How empty that protest really was. There was little
conviction behind it. Stolen moments, she'd
heard of such things—and now realized the depth of meaning that tiny phrase
conveyed. Maybe, if her wish for continuance of this bliss was strong enough,
maybe they could go on like this. Maybe they —
Pat's hand
was at the third button of her bodice. He was touching the simple lace edging
of her chemise! Some of her hair had come loose from its weave. The remaining
length of the braid over her shoulder was an arrow pointing straight down
toward hades! Yet, she couldn't bring herself to form the word no. She didn't have to.
"Quite a show you two is puttin' on fer us," interjected the nastier of the jailers who had returned. "Me and Banjo surely do appreciate it." The homely sentinel was
practically drooling. Grinning a foul, half-brown stained smile, Boliver took
another jab. "We hate ta have ta disturb y'all, but seems everybody in
town is waitin' ta see ya git yours, Mr. Dunnigan."
With fire in his eyes, Pat stepped in front of
Angelique, trying to shield her from the perverted stares his selfishness had
instigated.
Her expression
sad, she turned her back on the three men while she re-buttoned her blouse.
Tying her shawl securely around her shoulders, she left her long hair
concealed beneath the wrap, not bothering to reclaim the pins on the floor,
which lay witness to her depravity. Gathering her small
satchel, she walked past Pat without daring to speak or chancing a
glance up into his evocative green eyes. She endured the callous guards
tasteless lip smacking as she passed and exited the door to freedom, a thing
Pat might not know for some time.
Click on the link below for E-books and paperback copies of
Amelia Island's Mark of a Man .
***
Ebooks and Paperbacks in The Goodbye Lie series available now:
The Goodbye Lie
Amelia Island's Velvet Undertow
Amelia Island's Mark of a Man
***
Ebooks and Paperbacks in The Goodbye Lie series available now:
The Goodbye Lie
Amelia Island's Velvet Undertow
Amelia Island's Mark of a Man
