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VIII

A manda did not take long to inspect her room, though a high excitement had risen in her, just being there. She loved the gracious manor, the view of the river beyond her windows, the exquisite sense of freedom. She didn’t understand it. She was there under false pretenses, playing a dangerous game with a dangerous man. But she was far away from Nigel Sterling, and at the moment that seemed enough.

A pitcher had been filled with clean fresh water and a bowl and towel and sponge had been left for her arrival. She washed quickly, smoothed her hair with the silver-handled brush upon the dressing table, and quickly turned for the door. She hesitated just a moment. There was a door at the far rear of the room. She couldn’t resist it.

A key was set within the lock. She had the ability to lock him out of the room. She smiled and then twisted the key. Then she pushed open the door and entered his room.

Here, too, long windows looked out on the sloping lawn and down to the river and the docks and warehouses. The sun streamed in beautifully, the river breeze lifted the light curtains under their heavier velvet backers. His bed seemed huge; it was four-postered, and hewn of a wood as dark as the man. But the room was not at all dark. It was exceptionally large and, though masculine by nature, it also had a sweeping elegance, as if it would welcome the partnership of a woman. The mantel was large also, with fine molded woodwork. Candles in elegant silver holders awaited the fall of night as did beautiful glass lamps. A small cherrywood table sat before the windows, catching the fall of the sun. A large braided rug added warmth to the polished wood floor, and the armoires and dressing tables that rimmed the walls were even finer than the furnishings she had seen in his Williamsburg town house. There also seemed to be a scent on the air. A scent of fine Virginia tobacco, rich leather, and a touch of men’s cologne. It was a haunting scent, arresting.

Like the man.

Amanda felt color rise to her cheeks and she quickly exited the room, forgetting that she was supposed to be a spy of sorts and that spies do not flush and retreat when they fall upon the very core of their search. Still, she hurried into her own room and closed the connecting door between the rooms, breathing deeply. Irritation rose high within her. Her father was such a fool! Damn his fascination with Cameron. What man these days did not wonder what the next years would bring? But, of course, it was true, she knew. Cameron was in sympathy with the rogues, saving the fellow in Boston, meeting with the burgesses in the Apollo Room at the Raleigh Tavern. But she had heard that Colonel Washington himself had been dismayed at the events in Boston, saying that the destruction of property could not be justified. But even with the House dissolved Washington was still engaged in meetings, and he had been elected to attend the Continental Congress. And Lord Fairfax, loyalist to the core, called Washington a great man, a pride of the Crown. Life was in a whirlwind. Nothing was as simple as black and white anymore.

She pushed away from the door, wondering if she was trying to excuse Eric Cameron within her own mind. She told herself that it could not be true, yet she was suddenly running away from herself and toward her next meeting with the man.

She did literally run, past the pictures in the wide gallery and to the sweeping stairway. Once she reached the upper bannister she paused, for a man was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. He was as tall as Cameron and so black as to be ebony. He stood as straight as an arrow, and he was dressed in a handsome uniform that enhanced his startling color. He was regal, she thought, and wondered that such a word could come to her in reference to a slave.

She struggled for breath as he bowed deeply. “Lady Sterling, I am Cassidy, Lord Cameron’s valet. I shall take you to him now, and if ever I can be of assistance, you must let me know.”

Amanda nodded, startled by the man’s exquisite speech. She held herself with dignity as she descended the stairs. He said no more but walked along the large main hall until he came to a set of double doors. He opened them and moved discreetly to the side. “Lady Sterling, Lord Cameron.”

Amanda entered the handsome parlor. Eric was waiting for her by the mantel, this one made of fine smoke-gray marble. Persian rugs lay scattered over the floorboards, the walls were covered in a fine silk cloth, and there were deep window seats toward the rear of the room. A tea cart with a silver server and delicate porcelain cups was parked before a richly upholstered French sofa.

“Do sit down, Amanda,” he welcomed her, nodding to the black man. “I see you’ve met Cassidy.”

“Yes,” Amanda said, nervously taking a seat near the edge of the sofa. She smiled at Cassidy. He reminded her of his master. He appeared to be exceptionally strong, a man who could be of great value in the fields. Her father would never have had him as a house servant.

Cassidy bowed deeply and left them.

Amanda turned back to Eric to find that he was studying her intently, his silver-blue eyes brooding. She wondered if she hadn’t been a fool to come. She loved the house, she loved the excitement, she loved the freedom. But she didn’t know at all what she felt for the man anymore. He tempted her like the original sin of Eden, and that temptation burned into her, for her father’s words were never far away. She could not believe that her beautiful mother had been a whore, but when Eric Cameron came near her, she was forced to wonder at the blood that simmered within her.

“So that is Cassidy,” she murmured. “He looks more like a prince than a house slave.”

“I believe he would have stood in line to be a Nubian prince. And he is not a slave. He earned his freedom. He remains with me by choice, and earns wages.”

“How…interesting,” she murmured. She had difficulty meeting his gaze so she lowered her eyes quickly, wondering what he read within them. “So this is berry tea, milord? How intriguing.”

“No. It is horrible. But one gets used to it.”

“Shall I pour?”

“Please do.”

Her hands were shaking. She gritted her teeth and willed her fingers to cease their trembling. She lowered her head to her task, but when the curious berry tea was within a cup, she almost cried out, for when she raised her lashes he was before her, hunched down upon the balls of his feet and looking at her. He wasn’t a foot away. She hadn’t heard him move, hadn’t realized he was so near.

His teacup clattered within its saucer. She swallowed, noting his remarkable eyes and the pulse that beat a wicked rhythm against his throat.

“You startled me.” She gasped.

He rescued his cup, setting it down, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Marry me,” he told her.

“I cannot!” she whispered desperately.

He caught her hands and came up beside her on the sofa. A rueful smile curled his lip even as the tension remained in his eyes. “There is no reason that you cannot. There is every reason that you should.”

“I do not love you!”

“Ah, so you are still in love with that fop.”

“Fop! Robert Tarryton—”

“Is a fop, by God’s body, I swear it. Still, no man but Robert Tarryton will ever convince you of that. He is due to wed within the week. And your father is a dangerous man.”

“My father!” She flushed, fully aware that he was telling the truth and fully aware of him as he sat beside her. She had never felt more alive, she thought, more attuned to every fiber of feeling within herself. Her flesh burned with greater sensitivity, her heart beat as if it were touched. She was drawn…she frightened. His very passion on her behalf could well stand against her. He excited her beyond reason, he scared her to the depths of her soul. A pact with him would be like a pact with the very devil.

She shook her head, losing both breath and reason. She didn’t want tea or sustenance of any kind. She discovered that she was fascinated only with the long dark fingers that curled over hers. His thumb brushed again and again over her flesh, stirring strange fires and causing truth and wisdom to sweep away.

“Your father will not let you play this game long, though I am not certain of what game he plays himself. If you do not set a date to wed me, he will seek another for you. There was talk, you are aware, of betrothing you to Lord Hastings, a man almost thrice your age and—I’ve got it from very reputable sources—a man who snores with the vehemence of the west wind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at Eric’s bold description of the man. He moved closer to her, drawing a finger provocatively over her cheek, then defining the breadth of her lower lip with the same sensual touch, his eyes following his movement. “I am not as young as Tarryton, and I admit to a scar or two upon my back and at my side, but I swear that my teeth are all mine and quite good, I’ve kept to one chin, and I do bathe with frequency. I am wealthy, landed, and I come with this house, a stable full of horses, and fields full of tobacco and grain. Marry me. And—I have it from very reputable sources—I do not snore.” She laughed again, but his eyes grew darker as they seemed to possess her own. “I promise to be an excellent lover.”

“Oh!” She gasped, but laughter still mingled with her indignity. He had broken into her very bedroom and forced her down upon her bed. What brazen words he offered now could not cause her more outrage. “You, sir, are the most egotistical man I have ever met! Tell me, sir, does that piece of information come from reputable sources too?”

“I’m sure I can arrange for references, milady, should you require them.”

“Lady Geneva?” she inquired sharply.

“I do believe you’re jealous. Marry me,” he insisted. “And do so quickly. Before I leave. Then, if the Shawnee split my head, you shall have safety and peace.”

“I cannot marry you so fast—”

“Ah! You will consider it then.”

She couldn’t help smiling again. The world faded away when he was before her so vehemently, so adamantly. And she did feel safe. As if no man—not even her father—would dare to come against her. “You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“I am a loyalist. That is not my father’s voice, nor Lord Dunmore’s, but my own. I fear the radicals and what is to come. And you, sir, are a patriot.”

“You are welcome to be a loyalist.”

“And your wife?”

“Yes. You may follow your convictions, just so long as you take no steps to betray me.”

Amanda inhaled sharply. How could she make such a promise when she had been cast into his arms for that very purpose? She looked down to where his hands lay over hers. His palms were rough from work he must have chosen to take on himself. Perhaps they were a soldier’s hands, roughened by his hold upon his horse’s reins. She didn’t know. She only knew that the roughness against the soft flesh of her hand was somehow good. She drew her eyes back to his, and she was suddenly very frightened, and not so much of the man as by the depths of the feelings that stirred within her. If he kissed her now, she would want to explore that touch.

Like a whore…like the whore her father claimed her to be. Her mother’s daughter.

Some darkness must have fallen over her eyes for Eric frowned, watching her. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing!” she cried. She leapt to her feet, shaking her head. “I can’t marry you. I can’t. We—we’re on different sides. It’s impossible. If you want me to leave—”

“Leave!” He stood, watching the sudden torment that constricted her features. “Leave?” He smiled slowly. “Why, of course not. I should not want to cast you to Lord Hastings with his four-score chins. My God, what a travesty that would be!”

Amanda almost smiled; she could not. She turned around and fled the room, to race up the stairs. She entered her room. Her trunks had arrived, and a servant would come to hang her clothing on the hooks in the armoire and to set her hose and undergarments into the drawers of the dresser. But no one was there now. Night had come. A fire had been lit in the hearth to burn away the dampness. The windows were open to the river. She walked toward them and looked out on the night. Slowly her heart ceased to beat its rampant rhythm. As she stared at the James, a sense of peace settled over her. She was safe here. Eric Cameron might taunt and tease her and discard propriety, break into the governor’s palace and perhaps even manhandle her. But he would never force her to do anything against her own will. He would not strike her in anger, and he would not use her for his own cause. It was almost like being loved. She smiled to the night, then changed into a cool cotton nightgown. So mellow had she become that she dropped her stockings, garters, shoes, corset, shift, and gown upon the floor with no thought and curled into the comfortable bed to sleep. She did not dream, and she did not hear the knocking upon her door later when Danielle came to see if she would have supper.

Nor did she hear the connecting door open when the clocks about the house were striking midnight.

Eric stood and looked down on her as she slept. The dying firelight lay gently upon her face, and she looked very young. Fragile and vulnerable. Anger rose within him as he thought of Nigel Sterling, and he wondered how any man could so mistreat a daughter, especially one so beautiful and proud as this. He wanted to touch her, but he did not allow himself to do so. He did not want to wake her, and so he just watched her, the ache to possess her tempered by the very innocence of her appearance. She evoked so many things within him. From the moment he had seen her dancing at Thomas Mabry’s in Boston, he had wanted her with an urgent fever. From the night he had touched her in the garden, he had wanted her forever with something that burned and sizzled inside of him. But from the time he had seen her with her father, he had wanted to protect her with all of his heart. Her loyalty to the Crown was so very fierce! If she could but love a man so fiercely, then he would gladly lay down his life for her and smile in the dying.

He reached out but did not allow his hand to fall. He smiled and felt the cool breeze ripple over him, and then he turned to go back to his own room. The game had changed, if subtly so.

In the morning when Amanda walked into the dining room, Eric was nowhere about. The girl he had mentioned, Margaret, a fresh-faced farm lass with bright dark eyes and bouncing black curls, came to inform her that his lordship was about seeing to the mustering of his Tidewater troops. Margaret left then, and Thom served her—coffee that morning, rather than the berry tea—delicately seasoned fish and fresh-baked bread. When she was finished with the meal she decided to explore beyond the house. After exiting by the rear, she started down a path that led by the outbuildings, the smokehouse, laundry, bakehouse, kitchen, the cooper’s and the blacksmith’s, and the barns and stables. Men and women stopped in their work to look her way curiously, then quickly bowed or curtsied to her. She smiled to all she met in turn, wondering how many of the blacks were slaves and how many were freemen. Nor were the servants all black, and not just within the house. A white woman who spoke with a soft French accent was directing the smoking of a butchered hog. There were numerous Acadians here, she thought, and she was happy, for Danielle would be pleased to meet so many of her own people.

Just as she thought of Danielle she came upon the stables. To her surprise she saw Danielle there, deeply engrossed in conversation with a tall white man. Amanda hurried forward, then paused. The two were speaking French very quickly. And furtively. They whispered, they gesticulated.

Amanda instinctively slipped behind the wall of the barn and looked at the man. He was very handsome, perhaps forty years old, with dark hair and sensitive light eyes, eyes that haunted his face and gave it much of its appeal. His features were fine. He almost had the look of a scholar about him, except that he was tall and well muscled, and wore the plain breeches and hardy hose and shoes of an outdoors worker. He did not seem to be the blacksmith, which made Amanda wonder at his work.

“Lady Sterling.”

Startled—and caught in the act of spying upon the servants—Amanda swung around. Cassidy was there, towering over her. He seemed to glisten beneath the sun.

“Aye, Cassidy!” she said, annoyed and embarrassed.

He betrayed no emotion at all. “Lord Dunmore has come to look over Lord Cameron’s troops. Your father has accompanied him, along with Lord Hastings.”

“I shall come right away, Cassidy.” She fell into step beside him but he quickly let her precede him. She fell back, determined to be on her guard. “Then Lord Cameron has returned?”

“He has. They await you in the parlor.”

“Thank you.”

She walked ahead again. When she came around the trail, she could see that the rear yard was filling with canvas tents. Men were arriving, camping out on the open lawn. A captain drilled a company of foot soldiers near the river while others sat about on crates or on the ground, cleaning their rifles, drinking from tins, laughing with one another. She could not make out faces or men, but she estimated that at least fifty men had come, and they seemed to be dressed in the buckskin clothing that was associated with the West County men. She paused again and waited pointedly for Cassidy.

“Who are all these men? They are not regular militia.”

“No, Lady Sterling. They are troops raised by Lord Cameron—tenants, farmers, a few artisans. And many cousins.”

“Cousins?”

“Distant, perhaps. Half of the men out there are Camerons. They own property, some estates, near here, all on the old Carlyle Hundred grounds. The first lord and lady had several children, and since that was well over a hundred years ago, you can imagine that their descendants are many.”

“Of course,” Amanda murmured.

“Milady, they’re waiting.”

She had hardly fled her father and he was upon her again like a vulture. She did not answer Cassidy but hurried up the back steps to the hall and went from there straight to the parlor. The men were all there, her father and Lord Hastings with his “four-score chins,” Lord Dunmore and Eric himself. Lord Dunmore was striking as usual with his flashing brown eyes and elegant apparel. Eric wore navy breeches and a white cotton shirt. Her eyes were drawn to his, a habit that seemed more and more customary as time wore on.

“Ah, Amanda, my dear!” Her father drew her close and kissed her cheek. She wanted to scream and refuse his touch. However, she managed to hold her ground and escape him, allowing the governor to take her hand and bow low over it.

“I’ve come to see how Eric is managing to gather men. I did not believe he could summon so many,” Lord Dunmore said.

“Only half have arrived as yet, John. The others will come by the end of the week, I believe. We shall be ready to travel very soon.”

“Good. Lewis has his West County men out on the frontier; we’ll come at the Shawnee in a pincer movement and settle this once and for all,” the governor stated.

Glancing at Eric, Amanda didn’t think he believed that things would be settled once and for all, but he didn’t say so. Instead he announced, “I believe that our meal is ready to be served. Gentlemen, Lady Amanda, shall we?”

Eric would have taken her arm, she thought, except that she stood before Lord Hastings, and the old man hooked his arm into her own, smiling down at her with his little beady dark eyes. “May I, milady?”

“Ah…of course,” she murmured, and so she was escorted into the dining room on his arm. She was very grateful when he released her and they all took their seats about the table.

The dining room took up almost the entire left side of the house. The table was long, able to seat at least twenty, but this afternoon the five of them were gathered at the far end. Upon the walls were several displays of arms, and a large family crest sat high above the fireplace. There were sideboards on all four sides of the rooms, and deep window seats where Amanda imagined guests could relax and socialize before and after the meal. Perhaps the ladies gathered by the fire in the plush seats when the men exited the room for their brandy and pipes.

She drew her eyes from the room to realize that Lord Dunmore was watching her. She flushed and asked after his countess’s health.

“She is quite well, thank you.”

“I had not heard that she was ill,” Eric commented, frowning.

“Not ill, soon to create a new Virginian,” the governor said.

“Ah, then to your fair lady’s health!” Eric murmured, lifting his glass of Madeira. About the table the toast was repeated and they all sipped wine. Thom and Cassidy served the meal of delicious wild fowl and summer squash and pole beans. Amanda was somewhat forgotten as Dunmore heatedly discussed tactics with Eric.

Eric calmly disagreed on many points. “I have fought the Indians before, Governor. They are not cowards, and their practices are not so different from our own at times. The white men on the frontier take scalps as often as the Indians. The Indians themselves are fierce fighters who were never taught to stand in neat lines. They attack from the brush, they attack in darkness, and they must never, never be taken lightly as simple savages. Especially not the Shawnee.”

Amanda shivered, suddenly aware that she did not want Eric Cameron falling beneath a Shawnee’s scalping knife. He was leaning back quite calmly and comfortably in his chair, dauntless, she thought, yet aware. She set down her fork, paling.

“Gentlemen! Our conversation is distressing the lady!” Lord Hastings protested.

“Is it?” Eric, amused, was looking her way. “I do apologize most deeply, Amanda.”

She smiled, standing quickly. “I do believe I could benefit from some fresh air. If you gentlemen will just excuse me.…”

They all stood, but she gave none the chance to protest, sweeping quickly from the dining room and out into the hall. She raced out to the front porch and stared down the endless drive before the house.

“Lady Amanda!”

She turned, truly distressed to discover that Lord Hastings had followed her. She tried to smile as he waddled to her, panting. She backed away from him, but he reached for her hands. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

“No, no, I’m so sorry that you left the meal—”

“I’m so sorry that you were distressed. Yet perhaps, my dear, it is best that you realize that young Cameron may not return.” He clicked his tongue unhappily against his cheeks.

“Oh, I…I’m sure that Eric will return. He’s fought the Indians before. He will take care.”

“Still…my dear, I hope that you do not think of me unkindly.”

“No…of course not, Lord Hastings. I shall never forget all the wonderful hunts at your estate when I was a child.”

“You are a child no more, Amanda. And you must not be worried for the future. I would have you know now that if Eric does not return from the front, I will be there for you. I know that I am an old man, but I am one who is humbly and deeply in love with you. I have spoken with your father and if anything does not go as planned, well, then he has agreed that I should be your husband.” She tried not to gaze at him in horror, but a light in his beady dark eyes made her feel as if she would spew her meal all over his fine silk shirt. She swallowed hard, gaping at him. Then she realized that the other men were coming out on the porch, Eric between her father and the governor.

“How…kind,” she told Lord Hastings. She felt cold, sick, imagining his fleshy hands upon her. She would die first, she thought.

“How very, very kind, but…you see, we, er, we cannot wait. We cannot wait—”

“Cannot wait for what?” her father boomed out.

She moistened her lips. Eric was watching her, amused once again. She ignored his look, smiled regretfully at Hastings, then hurried past him and slipped her arm through Eric’s. “We—we have agreed that we cannot wait for Eric to return. We’re going to be married right away.”

“What? But there are just days before we are due to leave for the frontier—” the governor protested.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Eric murmured, his cobalt eyes falling upon her with a sizzle. “And we should have spoken earlier, Amanda, we should have told them right away.” His eyes remained upon hers, daring her. “Alas, it is the very thought that I could die that has prompted us to this measure. I would leave an heir behind if I could.”

“But you cannot marry so quickly—” Sterling began.

“Your pardon, sir! Lord Dunmore can give us a special license, and the service can be quiet and performed at Bruton Parish within the week.”

“It’s quite inappropriate—” Nigel began.

“I like it,” the governor said. His Scots burr sounded for just a moment and his brown eyes sparkled. “I like it very well. We shall marry our little loyalist to this doubtful fellow and keep him in line, what do you say?”

They all laughed. The tension lay far beneath the comment, and at the moment, it was ignored by them all.

“Perhaps, under these circumstances, Amanda should return with me to Williamsburg,” Sterling said.

“No!” Eric retorted. So quickly that it was almost rude. He softened his speech, smiling. “Gentlemen, we should all spend the night here and go into town tomorrow.”

“Splendid!” the governor agreed.

He clamped his hand on Sterling’s shoulder. “A good match, Nigel. Come, let’s imbibe upon your son-in-law’s spirits and toast to your future grandchildren!”

Lord Dunmore led Sterling back toward the house. Lord Hastings looked from the older men to the young people, then sighed and headed toward the house. When they were alone at last, Amanda struggled to free herself from Eric’s hold. He did not release her. She tossed back her head to stare into his eyes.

“I’m delighted,” he murmured. “What brought on this sudden ardor upon your part? Have you discovered if not love, then lust for me at last?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’ve discovered…I’ve discovered Lord Hastings’s four-score chins,” she retorted.

His smile deepened. A dimple showed against his cheek and his eyes were touched by a silver glitter born of the very devil. “You have cast yourself into this. You will not renege?”

She swallowed, shaking her head. She could not breathe. “No. No, I will not renege.”

“You needn’t say that as if you were going to your execution.”

“That is how I feel.”

He threw back his head and laughed, then he lifted her chin with his finger, searching out her eyes. “You are mistaken. I will prove to you that it will be fun.”

“Fun!” She shivered. “It cannot be fun. Not for a wife.”

“But it will be,” he promised her. His eyes seemed to pour down upon her with fierce and unyielding promise. His fingers stroked over her throat and then his lips touched down on hers. Her eyes closed and she felt as if demons set fire throughout her, causing a cascade of searing liquid to dance against her limbs. Then his lips left hers and touched down upon the arch of her throat, and the sensations increased. She swallowed suddenly, tearing away. Puzzled, he caught her hand and pulled her back. Color blazed in her cheeks.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“It isn’t—right!” She gasped.

Angrily he held her against him, lifting her chin once more to meet the tumult in her eyes. “Not right? Lady, you are not a harlot I have chosen for the night. We are to marry.”

She lowered her lashes. “Let me go, please! We are not married as yet.”

He did not let her go. “Tomorrow we will be. And when the words are said and you are my wife, don’t think that you can turn to me and trust in my honor to leave you be. I am taking a wife because I desire one. You do understand that.”

“Yes!” She wrenched free from him and turned and ran down the steps. He started to follow her and then paused, then turned to reenter the house.

That night Amanda was too nervous to remember the dark-haired man with whom Danielle had been having her curious animated conversation. She paced the room endlessly, having preferred supper on a tray to the gentlemen’s company that evening. She walked back and forth telling Danielle that she was insane, but that she did not know what else to do. Danielle was quiet, but Amanda did not even notice.

She ceased her pacing when a knock came on the door at about eight o’clock. She did not answer it—her father opened the door and stepped into the room. He took one look at Danielle and said curtly, “Go.” The woman glanced toward Amanda but obeyed him quickly enough.

He closed the door behind Danielle. “So you are going to marry him tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I want you to remember that even if you are his wife, you remain my daughter.”

“Meaning?”

“You will do as I say.”

She smiled, glad of her coming marriage for one reason. Eric Cameron could protect her from anything. “He is a forceful man. He might disagree.”

“He cannot save Damien Roswell’s neck from the hangman.”

She paled, her pleasure cleanly erased. Sterling kept talking, ignoring her. “Damien is accompanying Lord Cameron to the front, did you know that? No, I did not suppose so. Perhaps one of them will die. It will be interesting to see.”

He turned to leave her. “Don’t forget how very much of your future I still hold, my dear, dear child.”

The door closed. Amanda sank down on the bed, shaking.

Eric Cameron could not protect her from everything.

In the morning Danielle came to her very early. Amanda dressed numbly. Danielle had chosen a soft blue-gray gown for her with pearls stitched into the lacing. She did not bind or cover Amanda’s hair, but let it stream down upon the gown like a ripple of dark fire. When Amanda was ready, she walked down the stairs. The servants were lined up on the stairs. A glass was raised to her, and she was welcomed among them as Lady Cameron. She thanked them but had gone so pale that she could not manage a smile.

She remained numb for the long drive back to Williamsburg. She and Danielle rode alone, for Eric had gone in with the others even earlier to make the arrangements.

Danielle was pleased about the marriage, if distressed about the rush. “There should have been time for a wedding gown, for the church to properly announce the ceremony. But it is good, mais oui , it is good. You will be out of that monster’s clutches forever!”

“That monster,” Amanda knew, was her father. But Danielle was wrong. She was not out of his clutches.

In Williamsburg she was taken to the governor’s palace. His countess very kindly and enthusiastically helped her freshen up from the journey. She chatted very happily about her wedding day, and apologized for the indisposition that had kept her from entertaining Amanda on her last visit. “I do hope that John was gracious.”

“Very gracious,” Amanda agreed. He had threatened her cousin’s life—graciously.

But then the countess offered her a stiff brandy. “A gentleman’s drink perhaps, but for the prewedding tremors, a lady’s drink as well!”

Amanda drank a lot of it. It seemed to be one way to endure the ceremony.

Despite the haste of the wedding, the Bruton Parish Church was quickly filled. Many of the men who had been in town for the dissolved House—who would soon be attending the Continental Congress—came to see Lord Cameron take his bride. As she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, Amanda noted that it was a curious assembly indeed. The governor laughed and joked with the very men whose meeting he had so recently dissolved. Lady Geneva had come, and squeezed her hand as she passed by. Colonel Washington was there, she saw, nodding to Eric with a pleased grin on his sober countenance. She did not see Damien, and that worried her, as he had been invited. Actually, everything worried her.

She was going to pass out, she thought. But she could not. Nigel Sterling passed her hand over to Eric, and the reverend stepped forward to tie their wrists together with white ribbon.

And then he began to speak.

Amanda did not hear his words. She felt the heat of the small church, and she heard the muffled whisperings of the people in the pews. She felt Eric standing beside her, and she heard the clear, well-modulated tones of his vows. Then she heard a pause, and she forced herself to speak even as she wondered at the words she said. She swore to love, honor, and obey.

Suddenly the reverend was smiling and suggesting that Eric might kiss his bride. Then his lips were upon hers, and fierce as she had never felt them before. The breath was robbed from her body and very nearly her life. It was not so different from any other of his demanding kisses except that it seemed ever more so. It was not a taunt…it was a possession, she thought.

There was a cry, and Lady Geneva surged forward, laughing, kissing her, then kissing her groom with something a little less than propriety. But that didn’t seem to matter, for the peculiar assemblage was in a joyous mood. Dunmore kissed her deeply, then others in the council, and then members of the House of Burgesses.

There were so many people around her. Unable to breathe and feeling terribly trapped, she finally managed to escape through the crowd and exit the church into the cemetery. There she leaned against the cold wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She opened her eyes to discover that Washington had followed her. Tall, with soft blue-gray eyes, he smiled her way ruefully. “Are you all right, Lady Cameron?”

Cameron. It was her name now, she thought. She opened her mouth to answer the man, but no words would come, and she knew that her eyes were wary. She nodded.

Washington smiled at her. “If I can ever help you, please do not hesitate to come to me. I see your husband coming. I wish you long life and happiness, milady, and I hope that you will visit us at Mount Vernon. We shall all pray for peace.”

“Yes, we will pray for peace!” she agreed. The trees rustled over their heads, and for a moment they smiled at one another and shared something. Then the moment was broken, for Damien had discovered her.

He flashed Washington his rogue’s smile, then kissed his cousin warmly. “Felicitations, Lady Cameron!”

“Damien! I did not see you!”

“I was in the church. I would not have missed it!” He swept her off her feet and swirled her around, then he suddenly paused, laughing. “Uh-oh. Lord Cameron! Well, er, here she is! Your bride!”

He thrust Amanda into Eric’s arms. So she wouldn’t be dropped between the two men, she curled her arms around her husband’s neck and met his gaze. He smiled down at her, and the tenderness in his smile warmed her. She offered a tentative smile in turn, and then he was laughing at something someone was saying, and then agreeing that the wine and ale were flowing freely at his town house.

It wasn’t much of a walk to the town house. Eric carried her all the way there with a score of wellwishers behind them. She remembered little more of the afternoon, for despite his smile she was very, very nervous and so she kept her glass of Madeira filled and refilled, perhaps far too often. She thought that they would party into the night, but the wellwishers were still in abundance when Eric came to her, sweeping her into his arms again. Panic seized her as she felt his arms close around her.

“What—”

“We’re going home.”

“Home?”

“Cameron Hall.”

“But—” she said, then fell silent, for she was glad of it. The long drive would delay their time alone together, the time that she was dreading, that now held her in pure terror. She had sold herself today, to a devil or a traitor, she knew not which. She had done so with open eyes, yet now she was afraid.

“Speech!” someone shouted out, and Eric gave one, waxing on eloquently about love—and then Shawnees, ending with an apology that all must be so quick since the darned Shawnees didn’t care a whit about his love. Laughter followed them out to his carriage. He deposited her inside first, then climbed in beside her. Danielle would follow in her own coach.

Amanda closed her eyes as the horses clattered down the street, afraid to acknowledge the man beside her. He shifted suddenly, and her eyes flew open, for she was afraid that he meant to take her into his arms. He did not. He watched her from the shadows of the carriage. “It will be a long drive. You’ve been, er, imbibing quite freely. Perhaps you should try to sleep.”

“Ladies do not imbibe,” she told him.

“Nor do they swear, and Damien tells me that you could put a cattle drover to shame.”

Lowering her lashes, she flushed and informed him that it was very rude of him to say so. He laughed and slipped an arm about her, drawing her upon his lap. She looked up at him in the shadows, ready to protest, then felt his fingers smoothing back her hair. “Rest, Amanda.”

She did so. She fell asleep and did not waken until he had lifted her from the carriage and carried her up the stairs. Then her eyes widened with renewed panic, for this was it, she was home. She wondered where he would carry her. He took her past the portraits and into his room, and lay her down upon the huge bed there. He straightened then. “I will send Danielle to you, her coach has arrived behind us, I am sure.”

He left her and she sprang up. A steaming hip bath awaited her by the fire. She began to pace, ruing the fact that she had slept away many of the effects of the wine.

The door opened. Danielle came in and hugged her quickly. Amanda stepped back, wringing her hands. “I can’t do this!”

“There, there, love, you can!” Danielle protested. She turned her about and unhooked Amanda’s gown, sliding it down from her shoulders. Amanda stepped from it.

“I can’t breathe.”

“It’s your corset.” Danielle pulled away her shift, then untied her corset. It didn’t help. She still couldn’t breathe. Danielle had to lead her to the bed to sit down so that she could remove her shoes and hose and garters. Then she shivered desperately as the breeze hit her naked flesh.

“Come, into the hip tub before you catch your death!” Danielle chided.

Amanda found herself in the bath smelling the sweet scent of rosewater. She sank back as Danielle lifted her hair carefully away from the water. The woman dropped her a round ball of French soap and a cloth, and Amanda automatically picked them up and sudsed the cloth, then her body. Then she started to shiver. Danielle handed her a little glass.

“Brandy.”

“Oh, thank God!”

She nearly inhaled the liquid. “Again!” she begged Danielle, gasping. Danielle refilled her glass, and she swallowed it down quickly again. Then she was furious with herself. She was behaving like such a coward. Just who did he think that he was, terrifying her so? He had wanted the marriage. She just wasn’t ready for this side of it. He would understand. She would make him.

She scrubbed herself to a glow then stood and grabbed for the towel Danielle offered her. Then she stood shivering as Danielle dropped a shear silk and lace gown over her head. The night was cool, despite the fire. She did not shake with fear, she absolutely assured herself.

“Bonsoir, ma petite!” Danielle told her, kissing her cheek tenderly.

“You’re leaving!” Amanda gasped.

“But of course,” Danielle said, shaking her head. But she had not left when the door suddenly opened, and Eric appeared.

His dark hair was damp, as if he had bathed elsewhere. He was clad in a long velvet robe that tied at his waist and fell nearly to his ankles. A smattering of dark hair showed at the neck of the robe where it lay open against his chest. Amanda discovered herself staring at his chest and losing the strength to stand.

“Pardonnez-moi!” Danielle said quickly.

“Bonsoir , Danielle,” he said, his eyes locked on Amanda.

Danielle left them and the door closed behind her. Amanda moistened her lips and cleared her throat. She discovered herself backing toward the windows. “Eric…”

“Yes?” He was walking toward her. He had the grace of a wildcat and the same sure stride of determination.

“I…uh…I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“I can’t go through with this.”

“Oh?” He paused, his smile polite. “What do you mean, can’t?”

“I…” She looked down at her gown. Horror filled her as she realized that the gossamer gown delineated the rouge crests of her nipples and the red-gold triangle at the juncture of her thighs. She drew her eyes quickly back to his, wishing that she could snatch the curtains from the walls to cover herself. He was coming toward her again. She shook her head.

“Eric, I beg of you, be a gentleman and understand…”

He paused again, as if carefully weighing his decision. “No.”

“No!”

He shook his head and kept coming for her. “I told you yesterday what I would expect. You gave me your word that you would not renege.”

“I didn’t intend to renege. I swear it. Eric, please try to understand. I don’t know you—”

“By the end of the night, my love, you will know me very well.”

“Eric, honest to God, I would like to! I can’t—”

He caught her arm and pulled her hard against him. Beneath the robe she felt the pulse and vitality of his body, for her gown lay as nothing but mist between them. She felt his male shaft, rising. She looked into his eyes and saw the darkness within them and the silver glitter of his laughter as he lowered his head to whisper against her lips.

“But you can, my love. Honest to God, you can.” He lifted her into his arms. “Now, if you don’t mind, Amanda, I’d just as soon have no more of the deity on my wedding night.” He tossed her down into the softness of the bed. Even as she struggled to rise she heard his laughter, then his weight was upon her, bearing her ever farther downward into the depths of the bed.