The British Are Coming

Part 8: A Warrior's Waltz

"Please be still, would you?  You're worse than Samuel the way you fidget with your clothes," you scolded Thomas, sliding the final thread through the scarlet fabric of his sleeve.  Nobly, he stood therefore, fully dressed in his British regalia, perfectly pressed and not a spot of dirt or blood, thanks to you.  You folded his cuff back down standing back to get the full view. 

Heaven help me, he's even more becoming in uniform, you thought bewildered.

Thomas primly fluffed his collar, admiring himself in the looking glass.  You couldn't help but smile in spite of his pride.  Your brother George was the same way.  There was something about soldiers and their war attire.  It made them more confident, better to play the part perhaps.

"You wouldn't expect a king to attend his coronation in some silly old rags," George would say, studying his visage just as Thomas did now.

"You're hardly a king, George," you retorted with a sarcastic roll of your eyes.

"Of course not, dear sister. There will be no kings here.  Only Americans."

But even George didn't linger as much as Thomas. 

"Excellent work," he murmured to himself, while practically prancing about.  You could tell he was nearly back to form with his leg.  He pivoted about, turned his head to one side.  He stood at attention and then at ease, all the while wearing that smug little smirk that always left you somewhere between annoyance and adoration.

Thomas caught your stare in the reflection.

"Or maybe you'd like better off, hm?" he winked and you and you narrowed your eyes at him with a coy purse of your lips.

"You know I've seen show ponies that don't prance about as much as you," you said dryly, but his smile only widened at your glib.

"Perhaps you'd like to take a ride then," he turned to you, his eyes smoldered with a devilish flare.  You stepped closer, affixing his tricorne hat upon that growing head of his.  Your body teased him with its intimacy, making note of the way his breath caught as you closed the space between you.

"Perhaps you'd stall before the finish line," you replied with a whisper.  His eyebrows raised comically.

"Oh, I don't think you believe that.  The blush of your cheeks deceive you, darling," his hand slowly rose to grip your waist.  He was right; your face felt like fire, even though your mind beckoned otherwise.  His head dipped closer as a tune suddenly sprang from his lips.

"A blush o'erspread her cheek with red...." he sang softly, his other hand grabbed yours in a dancer's pose.

"Which half she turn'd aside..." he continued,  then spun you around in a perfect waltz.  Your hand flew to his shoulder, grabbing the red wool of his jacket to steady yourself.  A timid laugh escaped you, followed by an inescapable flutter in your heart.  His hold on you was so commanding, you allowed yourself to be quite literally carried away. It had been ages since you danced, since you laughed so freely.  Regrettably, the notion seemed so unfamiliar. War has a tendency to erase the simple pleasures.

"With pleasing woes, her bosom rose, and thus the maid replied...," Thomas crooned.  Around the room he waltzed with you, your gaze never faltering, connecting the two of you like a tether.  Your shadows hurried to follow, cast by candlelight and the setting sun.

Thomas carelessly tossed his hat into the air.  His hair had grown sweaty and clung to the corners of his handsome face.  A brief thought passed of that heated face looking up from between your thighs, but instead of chiding yourself as usual, you allowed the thought to linger.  Why shouldn't you find some inkling of joy in this dark time?  Thomas certainly seemed to bring it out of you. Maybe it was time to stop fighting it.

The dance continued and Thomas' voice grew louder as he sang.  His tone resonated deeper as his demeanor became more jolly.

"Have you gotten into the spirits again?" you teased nearly breathless from his lead.  Your bosom rose just like the maid in the song.  A glisten of sweat peppered your breasts, and naturally not a bit of it was lost on him.

Swiftly, Thomas pulled you tightly against him.  His eyes sparkled with a fierce determination, none like you'd seen from him before.  He slowed his steps, still swaying in rhythm with you.  His fingers dug deeper into your hip, sending a sweltering sensation throughout your veins and pumping that blush of skin to a deeper hue.

"Though some there are, from fair to fair, delighting wild to rove..," he sang softer now, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. His posture slowly relaxed in your embrace, transforming him into the gentle figure that matched his tone.

"Such change, thou ne'er, from me canst fear...," his breath hung heavily with a sigh that preceded his next verse.
"Thy charms secure my love."

Silence followed, only rippled with his breathing and the drumming of your heart.  An eternity seemed to pass as you both stood there, each holding the other in some way.

"Cora -" he whispered, but his sentiment was cut short by a rigid knock on the door.

You let go quickly and took a step back, as if woken from a dream, eyes downcast.  Sadie and Samuel shouldn't be back from town for another hour, you thought.  Unless...

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach with realization.  Thomas watched you closely as you  wrung your hands.  You avoided his stare, lest you'd lose yourself in the deep recesses of those enchanting eyes.

"The Colonel, " you said to the floor, quickly smoothing your skirts and primping your hair before answering the door.