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III

Tidewater Virginia June 1774

T here had never been a more beautiful summer’s night, Amanda was convinced of it. Oriental lanterns had been lavishly strewn about the estate in all shades of soft colors. The breeze was soft and cool for the season, the flowers were all in full bloom, and the magnolias were casting their delightful scent upon the air. Summer was hot, but not tonight. Tonight everything was peaceful and beautiful and the sea breeze whispered gently.

There was no hint of dissent or trouble to mar the night, she thought, and then she was annoyed with the very thought, just as she was nearly sick to death of the continual talk of separation from the Crown. Had the men of Virginia, of the colonies, forgotten that the dear motherland had come to their defense against the French and Indians in the horrible war? Taxes had paid for that defense. They could not expect the Englishmen at home to cover their expenses here! The people of the colonies had opposed the Stamp Act, and that had been repealed.

Now they were fighting over tea. Ever since that night when the Bostonians had decided to dump endless chests of English tea into Boston Harbor, people talked of nothing but tea. And to punish the citizens for the act, the British had closed the port of Boston. And Virginia—so far away from Boston—was becoming embroiled in the whole matter. Tension was a constant emotion among the people, something almost tangible in the air.

Amanda did not want to be interested in politics, but she had a keen, sharp mind and she knew all the basics of the current problem simply because it seemed that everyone was beginning to speak of it. And of course, she had been in Boston on the very night when the tea had been dumped, and everyone always wanted to know her opinion of what had happened. She could never say that she didn’t give a damn about the tea—Damien’s involvement in the matter worried her. When she thought of her cousin, it was with irritation for the trouble he seemed bent on causing her. And when she became irritated with Damien, she became further irritated because she was forced to remember Lord Cameron. The audacity of the man! He had involved her in something that smelled despicably of treason, and he had never given her a chance to protest. He had set his hands upon her and ordered her about, and despite her outrage, she’d had to go along with him because of Damien. She didn’t know what he was involved in, but she was afraid.

She shivered and looked down at her hands. Cameron could have turned Damien in as well as the young printer. But he hadn’t. And so they all shared a filthy little secret. The thought of it made her grow warm and tremble, but she inhaled quickly and gained control of herself. She hadn’t seen the man in these many months. Pray God, she would never see him again. And when Damien came tonight, she would warn her foolish cousin to keep his nose clean—and out of politics. She would take care to keep silent on the subject tonight. Her father disapproved of her knowledge of it, and tonight she would strive to please him with her silence—except when she spoke discreetly with Damien!

Nigel Sterling had taught her often enough that a woman’s place was to be beautiful and soothing, a wife of virtue would be a notable woman adept at the finer arts who was also able to manage her husband’s estates.

But he was wrong, in a way. For men all about, in all phases of life, were appealing to their wives and sisters and mothers to help boycott tea. Ladies were forming societies where they worked on homespun materials and garments and where they drank home-grown herbal teas. Their opinions and assistance were proving frightfully important.

“No more tea!” she whispered aloud. On this night, this magic night, when the future might well dangle before her in glazed and golden magnificence, she would curb her thoughts. This was her night. Robert had said that he needed to talk to her, that he needed to see her alone when they had met so briefly at tea earlier in the week—with her father present.

It was her night, a beautiful night, and she didn’t want to think about politics, or the frightfully willful Bostonians, or even the foolish things being done by the Virginia House of Burgesses—and she especially did not want to worry about Damien or the dark and fierce Lord Cameron who had been so terribly rude and outrageous.

From the second-floor balcony of Sterling Hall she gazed down on the drive. She felt the kiss of the soft breeze and inhaled the subtle scent of the flowers. She was delighted. It was a perfect night. The musicians would soon be warming up in the gallery above the dance hall, the guests would arrive, and men and women in the height of elegance would swirl to the dances. Beautiful women would arrive in velvets and silks and satins and brocades, their hair powdered, their faces, perhaps, adorned with tiny hearts or moons, drawn in with a kohl pencil or made of velvet or silk patches. Their hair would be high, their bodices would be daringly low, and their conversation would be light and musical. Handsome men would arrive too. And they, too, would be dressed in the height of fashion. They would wear silk or satin knee breeches, fine hose, silver-buckled shoes, and elegant shirts all cuffed and collared in lace. It was her first week home from visiting her aunt in South Carolina, her first party of the summer season, and it was going to be a magical night.

Fine carriages, all marked with prestigious family coats-of-arms, were beginning to arrive. They moved down the oak-shaded drive in the moonlight. Lord Hastings was first, she saw, her father’s old friend. She knew his carriage, even in the shadows, for it was drawn by four white stallions with braided tails and manes.

Everyone would arrive soon.

Lord Robert Tarryton would arrive.

At the thought of his name, Amanda sucked in her breath and fought a wave of dizzying sensation. Yes, Lord Robert Tarryton would arrive. He would find her on the dance floor…

No, no, no. She would let him arrive first, and then she would go down. She would make a grand entrance on the broad curving stairway that led to the entry. She would walk slowly and innocently, but she would pause in the middle of the stairway, and she would look out across the sea of faces, and she would find that he was looking for her, only for her. Perhaps she would allow her hand to flutter to her throat, and, of course, her heart would be pounding mercilessly.

He would be the most elegant man present. Tall, and with his soft blue eyes and near-platinum hair. Lean and nonchalant, he would wear mustard brocade, she was nearly certain, for the color so enhanced his masculine beauty.

His eyes would touch hers…

And she would know that this night was indeed the night, the most beautiful of all summer nights—no, the most beautiful of all nights.

He would thread his way through the crowd to her, and he would capture her hand, and soon she would be on the dance floor with him. But his need to speak would be great, and he would sweep her away, out to the garden, into the maze. And she would run behind him laughing; all the way to the statue of Venus, and there he would set her upon the bench and fall down upon one knee and beg her to be his wife. She would smile, and clasp him to her to breast, and—

“Amanda! Amanda! We’ve guests arriving! Come down here immediately.”

Her dream dissolved in a shimmer of gray ashes as her father called her harshly.

“Yes, Father!”

“I’m going down; the guests are already filing in. Amanda!”

“I’m coming, Father!” she called in return. She swallowed down a touch of pain that he should always be so brusque with her. She was his only child, and though he provided for her in all things, he never displayed the slightest affection. She wondered sometimes if he despised her for not having been born a son, or if he despised her for bringing about her mother’s death with her birth. She didn’t know, and she learned over the years to harden her own heart and not to care. Danielle had been with her always, and Danielle showered affection upon her. Harrington, the butler and head of the staff, was proper in public and affectionate in private. At least she knew what caring was.

And now…

Now there was Robert. Lord Robert Tarryton. And she believed that he intended to ask her to be his wife this very night. She was so in love with him.

There had been other men in her life. In fact, she thought with a rueful smile, there had been many. She was accomplished, she was beautifully clad, and she was her father’s daughter. Dozens of the most influential young men had called themselves her suitors, and she had laughed with them and flirted with them, but she had never given her heart away and, for all of his coldness, her father had never forced her hand. Even when John Murray, Lord Dunmore, the royal governor of the colony, had teasingly suggested that she was of an age, her father had shrugged and said that she had a mind of her own, she was not quite eighteen, and there was plenty of time for marriage.

She did have a mind of her own, and she enjoyed life. Before leaving the Colonies for her schooling in London, she had ridden with Sir Henry Hershall, sipped spiked lemonade on the balcony swing with the Earl of Latimer’s second son, Jon, and played golf with the Scottish commander of Lord Newberry’s Highlanders. And even Robert she had teased mercilessly until she had returned home in November last year and discovered that she was in love with him, wonderfully in love, at last.

“Amanda!”

“I’m coming, Father!”

She rushed from the balcony, and through her room to the hallway, and from there, to the top landing of the winding stairway. Once there she paused, breathing deeply.

The great hallway below was already filling with guests. She hurried down a few steps and then paused again. This was her grand entrance. She was supposed to move slowly and demurely. She inhaled again, resting her fingers delicately on the bannister. She felt her heart beat. Robert should just be arriving. She should glance to the entryway and find him, and his eyes should be upon her.

Perhaps he had already arrived. She quickly gazed out over the room, smiling to friends. The dream was too real, and so she looked on to the entryway.

A man was just entering, handing his gloves and hat to Harrington, smiling and offering the man a word.

Suddenly he looked up, just as if he had sensed that she was there. She discovered his eyes upon hers.

Just as she had imagined…

Except that the man was not Lord Robert Tarryton.

It was her nemesis—Lord Eric Cameron.

God! What right did he have to be there? In her very house? Yet she stared at him, unable to draw her gaze from his.

His hair seemed very dark, almost black that night. He had not worn a wig and he had not bothered to powder it. He seemed exceptionally tall, towering in the doorway. His eyes, she thought, were even darker than before, indigo blue, with just that touch of taunting silver. He was dressed fashionably enough in a frock coat of royal blue, and white laced shirt, and breeches in a light-blue silk. His hose was white, and his shoes were adorned with silver buckles. Somehow he still didn’t look quite civilized. Perhaps it was the way he wore his hair, defying fashion. Perhaps it was the structure of his face. He was tanned, as if he spent much time outdoors, and his features were bold and strong, his cheekbones were high and his chin was quite firm and squared. His mouth was full and wide, and as his eyes met hers, she thought that perhaps his very smile gave him the look of something just a bit savage, for his lip curved with a slow and leisurely ease that caused little shivers to race down her spine.

She realized that her hand had fluttered to her throat, and then she decided angrily that it was his eyes that gave him such an uncivilized appearance, for they danced then with startling silver humor as if he knew that he had somehow affected her, somehow caused her breath to catch. And she couldn’t even seem to look away from him.

And neither did he look away from her.

Eric Cameron stood in the entry and stared up at the girl, his hostess, and he was both amused and entranced.

He saw in her eyes the same little vixen with the dark red hair and emerald eyes who had bit him with such certainty and vengeance all those years ago.

He almost pitied Lord Tarryton, if the man hadn’t made sure to tell her the truth as yet. Eric had heard word from the governor himself that if Tarryton had not jumped with joy at the prospect of the young duchess, he had been quick to covet the title and property that came with her. Yet from the look of Amanda this evening, he surmised that she did not know. She had dressed to entrance a lover, but the excitement in her eyes was a greater attraction than any lace or velvet could create. Eric thought that she might well be aware of her femininity and her assets, she had confidence, but he wondered if she knew just how beautiful she was, standing upon the landing, her fingers trailing delicately over the bannister and brought softly against her throat. She was a woman of medium height, but so slim and delicate that she appeared somewhat taller than she really was. Her neck was long and graceful, and her breasts rose provocatively high and round against the embroidered bodice of her white gown.

Her hair was truly her glory that night. It was flame and it was dark, a deep auburn that framed the ivory of her perfect complexion, in ripples and waves. It was caught high above one ear with a golden comb just to tumble and cascade over the opposite shoulder like a deep burning fire.

Everything about her that night was glorious. Her beauty was startling. Her face was such a fine oval, like something exquisitely carved. Her cheeks just now burned with a touch of pink. Her eyes were deep green, like the land at its most verdant, Eric thought. He smiled slowly. Flame hair, green eyes. And though she stood motionless, he felt her vitality. She would fight, he thought, for what she wanted.

She raised her chin slightly. She was determined to look away. Her will had not lessened a bit, nor, it seemed, had she had occasion to learn much about humility.

She had been looking for a man, Eric thought with amusement. And most obviously he was not that man. Tarryton. She did not know that she been cast aside for riches.

He bowed to her deeply. When she barely acknowledged him, he realized that she was still furious about the night in Boston. He hadn’t had much choice about his actions, but it was unlikely that she would ever understand or forgive him. She arched a delicate brow, caught up her skirts, and hurried on down the stairway. The perfect hostess, she began to greet her guests. She offered her cheek for the most delicate of kisses, she regally offered her hand to those she knew less well, and men and women flocked to her, eager to greet her.

“Why, Mandy, Mandy, dearest! Don’t you look just heavenly!” someone gushed to her. Eric looked through the crowd. It was Lady Geneva Norman, one of the richest heiresses in the area with countless estates in England. She was a beauty in her own right, but Eric had never found her any more than amusing and he was careful to keep his distance from her—she was a cunning witch who delighted in trouble and in dangling her worth before her suitors. She would, Eric thought, acquire a husband, for not many a man could forget that life was a harsh game that must be played well.

He was grateful then for his own position, for he was not dependent upon making a fortunate marriage. His forefathers had acquired some of the finest land in Tidewater Virginia, and he retained estates in England he had seen but once. He could play Geneva’s game. He could delight in her bald humor and her coquetry and laughter, and he did not need to feel the sting of her temper at all, for he had nothing at stake. He could enjoy her beauty and walk away.

His land in the colonies and his estates in England gave him so very much.

Of course, those estates might not remain his for long, he realized solemnly. Not if he continued with his present course of action. Ever since Boston, he had become more and more deeply involved with men whom the Crown would call questionable associates.

Some of his friends were calling it suicide, but he could not turn back. He believed in what he was doing.

“Lord Cameron!” a voice bellowed, and Eric saw that his host, Lord Nigel Sterling, had come up before him, reaching for his hand. He thought briefly of the things that Anne Marie had told him about the man. Still, Amanda did not seem to show any signs of abuse.

“Eric, my man, I’ve been most anxious to talk to you. I’ve been hearing the most fearful rumors.”

Eric took Lord Sterling’s profferred hand and smiled. “Rumors? How intriguing. I shall be interested in hearing them.”

“Come with me, and we’ll take a brandy into my office. I would have a word with you in private,” Sterling said.

Eric shrugged and smiled, looking over his host. He was a squat man with heavy jowls and beady brown eyes. How he could have taken part in the creation of the thing of beauty upon the stairs, Eric did not know. Nor was he particularly fond of the man’s personality. He was forceful, rude, and often abrasive, a great believer in his own nobility. Still, he was Eric’s host this evening, and if they had been prone to great dissent when they had sat together in the Governor’s Council, by every rule of polite behavior, Eric owed him a moment of his time.

“As you wish, Nigel. But I warn you, it will not change anything.”

“Come, I’ll take my chances.”

They moved through the room. Eric nodded to some of his male friends and acquaintances and bowed to the ladies as he followed. He could already hear whispers as he did so. He smiled more deeply. So much for polite society. He had become a black sheep already.

“Ah, my dear! Amanda, there you are. Have you met Lord Cameron? Ah…yes, of course, you have, but that was years ago. Amanda was in a young ladies’ school in England for several years, and since then she has been in South Carolina with relatives. Do you remember my daughter, Lord Cameron?”

“We met recently, Nigel. At Thomas Mabry’s, in Boston.”

“What? Oh, so you were at Mabry’s fête that evening, were you?”

“Yes.” Eric kept his eyes upon Amanda. She was flushed, despite her determination to ignore his knowing smile.

“Yes, Papa, Lord Cameron was there.”

Eric took her hand and bowed over it deeply, just brushing the back of it with his lips. He felt the pulse race at her wrist. As he raised his head, he looked into her eyes, those passionate, telltale eyes, and he moved his thumb slowly over the delicate blue veins that he could just see beneath the surface of her porcelain skin.

“It was a night I shall not forget,” he said pleasantly.

Her eyes widened slightly. She nearly snatched her hand away, but then she spoke softly and with poise. “Lord Cameron. How nice to see you again.”

It was anything but nice for her to see him again, he thought, somewhat amused and somewhat sorry. She was even lovelier up close. So much of her beauty lay in her love for life, something vital and warm that seemed to sweep about her in a golden light. Well, she was passionately against him, he realized.

“Milady.” He bowed to her. These were passionate times. He was determined in his own course of action, and it was natural that tempers and spirits would soar high.

“Save a dance for Lord Cameron, my dear,” her father said. “Come, Eric, please, so that I may have my word with you.”

Eric bowed to Amanda once again, then followed Sterling toward the doorway to his office.

Cameron! Amanda thought, watching his broad back disappear in the wake of her father. Cameron!

He had come to taunt her! On this magical night, he had come here! Well, he had nothing on her! If he ever dared to implicate Damien, she would call him a traitor in no uncertain terms! He laughed at her, she saw it in his smile, he dared her with every glance!

She tightened her jaw, thinking that the man had really changed little. He had always been less than cavalier, supremely confident and assured. So arrogant . She would never forget the day of the hunt. Perhaps she had been too eager to catch the fox, but he’d had no right to spank her. She hadn’t thought that he would dare, but he would dare anything, she had learned. Perhaps it had been as much his fault. He had been about seventeen, and eager to return to one of Lord Hastings’s pretty chambermaids. She’d already heard his name whispered in various households. His appeal was legendary.

Oh! Cameron was a traitor. Just two weeks ago he had stood up in the governor’s chambers, a member of the prestigious council, an honor set upon one for life, and he had suggested that perhaps he should resign because he disagreed with various actions being taken. Everyone had been speaking about it. The governor had refused to accept his resignation, demanding that he think it all through. The colony had been abuzz with it! Last night Robert had talked of it, calling the man a fool and a traitor. It was amazing that he hadn’t been arrested on the spot, hanged, boiled in oil, or drawn and quartered.

Well, perhaps nothing so dramatic. And perhaps it was true that the governor would be hanging men from dawn to dusk if he had to start with the men who had spoken so in the lower house, the House of Burgesses. But Cameron was not a member of that society. He was a lord. His duty was to support his king and his governor.

It was said that he had given a fine speech with a wonderful elocution—learned at Oxford, so she had heard—and agreed to wait, but suggested that time would make little difference. His heart was with the men who had gone to Bruton Parish Church for their day of prayer—just as his heart was with the men who had dumped the tea into the sea. His heart was not with many of the decisions being made, and therefore he did not think that he could serve the governor to the best of his abilities.

He was listening to radicals. Men like Patrick Henry. He was far more interested in the lower House of Burgesses than he was in the goings-on of his own council chambers. He met with radicals at the various taverns in Williamsburg. He was dangerous.

“There goes the most arresting man in the colonies,” a soft voice mused behind her.

Amanda swirled around to see Lady Geneva standing behind her, batting her fan, her dark eyes following Lord Cameron.

“Cameron?” Amanda said incredulously.

Geneva nodded knowingly. “Lord Cameron,” she said, as if she tasted the name as she spoke and found it very pleasing. Her gaze shot to Amanda again. “He’s dashing, don’t you think? Bold, a rebel. He bows down before no man. All heads turn when he enters a room. Don’t you feel it? The tension…why, darling, the very heat! Oh, but I do just feel ignited!”

A sizzle of warm rushing liquid seemed to trail down the length of Amanda’s spine with Geneva’s words and she shivered, remembering how it felt to have her eyes locked with his, to feel his lips against her flesh. She shook her head, though, denying the sensation. She didn’t even want to think about the man, she wanted to find Robert.

“Lord Cameron is a traitor and nothing more. And I can’t even imagine why Father would want him here.”

“He might prove to be an invaluable friend one day,” Geneva said. “He is trusted by the radicals, and, oddly enough, he is even trusted by those very men he spurns. Your father is no fool, my pet. I’m sure he intends to stay very good friends with Lord Cameron.”

“And you, Geneva, do you intend to become very good friends with Lord Cameron?”

“Ah”—Geneva laughed—“the little tigress shows her claws! Me? Ummm. I am good friends with him. I don’t know about a lifetime commitment, for I like balls and pageants, I love royalty, I adore the finer things in life. Our fierce and proud Lord Cameron is casting his path in a different direction. He might well come to hang one of these days, and should he not, he might well find his bed to be one of hay. And still, I have danced with the man. I’ve felt his arms around me, and sometimes I do wonder if lying with him in a bed of hay might not be preferable to lying with any other man upon silk. But don’t worry, pet—the competition is still wide open.”

“You needn’t worry, Geneva,” Amanda said sweetly. “You’ve no competition from me. I’ve no interest whatsoever in a traitor to the Crown.”

Geneva batted her fan prettily, smiling to someone across the room. “Because of Lord Tarryton, I believe?”

“Believe what you wish,” Amanda told her, but Geneva was very smug, obviously ready to tell a secret that she was finding most amusing.

“I know things, Amanda. I’ll tell them to you if you like.”

“All right, Geneva. Tell me what you will.”

“Lord Tarryton is engaged to marry the Duchess of Owenfield back in England. She’s a widow and as her dear departed husband left no heirs, young Robert will gain the title of Duke of Owenfield.”

“I don’t believe you!” Amanda gasped, so stunned at the news that she could not pretend nonchalance.

“Then ask Robert,” Geneva said sweetly. “Excuse me, dear, will you? Men are flocking to your father’s study, and I’m quite certain they’ll have Lord Cameron on the cooking spit, searing him away. I should love to see him defend himself.”

Geneva hurried toward the hallway door. She bypassed it, excusing herself to various people to escape out the open doorways at the back of the hall. She would walk around the terrace to the floor-length windows and find a seat upon one of the swings, out of sight, and therefore able to listen in on the conversation.

Amanda looked around the room. She didn’t see Robert anywhere. She had to find him and speak with him. Geneva was lying. Robert loved her, and though she couldn’t give him a new title, she did come with a rich dowry. There was no reason they should not marry. They were Virginians, both of them. He couldn’t wish to live across the sea.…

And yet Geneva’s words had left her with a set of chills, for the woman had not teased or taunted, she had simply stated what she knew and disappeared, eager to chase Lord Cameron.

Amanda sighed, determined to follow.

It was not so easy, for she was stopped by young men and older women, and as her father’s hostess, she was obliged to be polite to their guests. Finally, though, she managed to escape down the hall while the musicians played a minuet.

Outside, Amanda did not see Geneva, but as she moved near the open windows, she felt her heart suddenly pound, for Robert was inside the study with her father, Lord Cameron, and Lord Hastings.

“You turn your back on us, Cameron, when you do such things!” Lord Hastings was saying.

Seated before her father’s desk, Cameron set down his brandy glass. Then he rose, setting his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches, and faced Hastings.

“Lord Hastings, I beg to differ. The House of Burgesses determined that a day of prayer for our sister city would not be out of order. Tell me, sir, who is it that we offend with prayer!”

“You were not obliged to attend!” Robert said fervently.

Cameron arched a dark brow at him, turning to face him. “No, sir, I was not obliged to attend, I did so because I desired to do so. The British closed the port of Boston—”

“The British! We are the British!” her father proclaimed.

“There is no land I would claim with more ardor as my mother country than Britain, sir, but I am not, I fear, British. I am a Virginian. I am his Majesty’s subject, but I cling to my rights as his subject. I attended a day of prayer—”

“Boston is not our sister city. Not when she behaves as she does!” Hastings exclaimed.

“To feel so, sir, is indisputably your prerogative,” Cameron said, bowing deeply. He turned then toward his host. “Lord Sterling, I cannot apologize for what I feel to the depths of my heart. There was nothing wrong with prayer. Lord Dunmore has now dissolved the House of Burgesses, and yet I fear her members will only meet with more regularity. They have elected representatives to their Continental Congress, and I fear that the way to peace must soon be found or else—”

“Damn it, Cameron! You’re a fine soldier, a wealthy man, and we all admire you. But you’re talking treason again!” Sterling thundered, pounding upon his desk.

“I have spoken no treason, sir. But beyond a doubt, our difficulties with the mother country must be solved. I offered to give up my place on the council, sir, because I know how my opinions distress you all. I shall continue to offer my own absence if you feel that you cannot tolerate my opinions, although I hope that I speak with reason. And now, gentlemen…”

His voice suddenly trailed away. Amanda realized that he saw her staring in at him, listening to the conversation—and searching about the room. She quickly ducked behind one of the pillars but kept her eyes upon the man. He smiled, bowing his head, yet she saw the laughter in his eyes and the rueful curve of his lip and the devil’s own humor at her expense. He knew that she was looking for Robert, she thought.

Damn the traitor. And then she didn’t care, because Robert had seen her too. Lord Cameron quickly recovered his poise and continued speaking. Robert did not do so well. A gentle smile touched his features and he started toward the floor-length windows.

“Robert—” her father began with a frown.

“Ah, sir, I was just feeling the need for a bit of air myself,” Eric Cameron said. “Shall we break, milords?”

He gave the men no opportunity to protest, but bowed sharply to them all and quickly departed the room.

“Well, I never—” her father began, but Robert interrupted him hastily.

“Sir, it is frightfully hot in this room. Excuse me, Lord Sterling, Lord Hastings.”

He bowed his way out. Amanda quickly ducked back around the pillar and hurried to the doors leading out from the hallway. She could hear the musicians clearly there, playing a Virginia tune. Men and women swayed in one another’s arms and parted to a far different tone and beat from the minuet. They laughed and touched and their eyes danced as they participated in the more energetic reel.

Amanda searched for Robert, and yet her eyes rested upon one couple on the floor.

Lord Cameron had found Geneva. Well and good for them both, they deserved one another! Amanda thought, and yet she paused, for they were enchanting together. He so tall and dark as he bent over her blond beauty, pulling her close. She so full of laughter, her eyes those of a cat, feline and feminine. One could almost feel the heat between them.

Hers was a finer love, she assured herself. And Geneva was a liar. Robert was not going to marry another woman.

Geneva whispered something to Lord Cameron. The two of them disappeared together.

Amanda looked again for Robert, and at last she saw him hurrying toward her down the hallway and through the doors. She was so glad to see him, and so glad to be alone, that she threw her arms around him and came upon her toes to kiss his lips. For a moment he was still, then his arms swept around her and he held her tightly. His lips eagerly sought hers, indeed, he hungered for more, smoothing back her hair, passing the barriers of her lips with his tongue.

She drew away from him, not so alarmed by his ardor as she was by their nearness to the party.

“Amanda, for the love of God, let me touch you! Last night we were not alone a second, your father was always there!” he cried, but she silenced him, pressing her fingers against his lip.

“Let’s go into the maze,” she urged him. Catching his hand, she hurried down the back steps, pulling him along. She knew the maze, she had played within it as a child, and now, with fingers entwined with Robert’s, she scampered quickly into the very heart of the foliage. The night was warm with the softest of breezes. The high foliage rustled in the breeze and the flowers, in summer bloom, caught silver light from the moon and lay around them abundantly in a dazzling display of color.

“Amanda!” Robert called to her, but she laughed, winding around a cherry hedge and coming to the statue of Venus with its tinkling waterfall and fountain. The statue was beautiful, draped in marble as if Venus lived, an innocent virgin. Twin cupids played by her head with the long tendrils of her marble hair, and a wrought-iron loveseat awaited those who came to the Venus garden in the maze.

Breathless, Amanda fell into the seat. “Oh, Robert!” she whispered delightedly. “Now! We’re alone at last!”

There was a curious rustling sound, and she frowned, then determined that it was nothing more than the wind in the bushes. She smiled up at her lover, adoring his lean and poetic features, and reached for his hand.

“Come sit by me. I have to speak with you.”

“Amanda, I have to kiss you.”

“Robert! Sit!”

He did so and she curled against him, resting her head upon his shoulder. He bent down slowly to her, very slowly. Then his lips found hers, and the kiss was rich and deep and sweet. She moved her hand against his cheek, and she felt his fingers against her own. Then he gripped her tightly against him. She felt the power of his heart. And she felt his fingers, fervently wandering upon the bodice at her breast, seeking the rise of bare flesh.

Some inner warning sounded and she realized that she was not behaving like a lady. She was in love. She just wanted to touch him, and to be held in turn, and to believe in their future together.

She had to pull away. He was growing reckless with his kisses, and with his hands, and although it was private in the Venus garden in the midst of the maze, she knew that she was tempting the man too far.

“My love, please!” She gasped, capturing his straying fingers and bringing them to her lap. He still didn’t quite seem to hear her. Breathing heavily, he stared at her. He tried to lift his hand to touch her, but she held tight. “Robert—”

“I have to have you!”

“I love you, and our time will come. Robert—”

“But I need you now. I need to feel your lips and I need to touch your flesh, I need to be with you. I am a man, my God, can’t you understand that!”

“Oh, Robert, I long for you too, but we must wait. Surely you understand. My father…” No, it wasn’t her father, not really. It was her upbringing. She was Lord Sterling’s daughter, of Sterling Hall, and even if she was in love, and loved in turn, she had to wait. Until the words were spoken. Until they were joined before God.

“Come to me, love. Feel my lips, my kiss.…”

She was startled when he drew her back into his arms with an alarming force. They had teased and laughed a dozen times together, and it had never been like this. Her frown alone had stopped his ardor before, while now her harried fingers had no power at all against his touch.

“Robert!” Leaping to her feet, she escaped him. He stood quickly, coming behind her, gently holding her shoulders. His voice was harsh when he spoke to her.

“Amanda, come, we’ve played this game again and again. Surely you must feel it, you must ache and crave as I do, you long for consummation of this desire as deeply as I! And I would die for your touch, for your kiss, and still you play the tease, and you taunt and torture me. We are not children any longer. I cannot stand it!”

She swung around, heartfully sorry and somewhat alarmed. She didn’t want what he wanted, not desperately at all. Marriage was not the same for men as it was for women. She liked to be close, and she liked to be loved. The rest, she was certain, would have to come with time.

“We cannot, Robert. Not until we are married.”

“Married!”

She knew the moment he repeated the word that Geneva had not lied to her. She need not feel guilty for a single thing she might have done to Robert, Lord Tarryton. Pain spilled through her. She wanted to fall to the ground, and she wanted to scream, and she very nearly wanted to die.

“It’s true!” She gasped, backing away from him. “You’re to marry some duchess for her estates!”

“Amanda—” He reached for her, his misery written clearly upon his face. “Amanda, I love you. I have no choice. It doesn’t have to make any difference between us.”

“You have no choice!” she cried. “Oh, you dreadful, despicable, cowardly bastard! How dare you!” She slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

He gasped, staring at her, his eyes narrowing. “I have no choice!”

“Don’t you ever come near me again. Ever.”

“I am no coward, milady. You wait until your father has chosen for you, lady, and then tell me how to fight what we are honor-bound to do!”

“Honor bound! You say you have no choice,” Amanda retorted. “You say no , milord, and that is that! But you don’t wish to say no, do you? Ah, that’s right. You’ll be a duke. Well, so be it then. Marry the duchess for a title. I hope that it will be well worth the price of your soul and my heart.”

“Damn you, Amanda!” Robert cried, and he reached for her, dragging her hard against him. “You’ve no right! And you wait! You will be promised to a man like Lord Hastings, a man with three chins and four stomachs, and then you shall be sorry that you taunted me so! I love you, and you will not forget me. You will see. And for now, my God, you’ve played the bitch and the tease—”

“How dare you—” she began, her voice low and husky and shaking with emotion and pain.

“You’ve led me on! You’ve taunted and teased with your eyes, you’ve driven me near madness with your touch, and now you tell me that I shouldn’t come near you—”

“Let me go!”

“I’ll not! I’ll have tonight what you’ve offered from the start, and when you’re forced into a wretched marriage, then you’ll understand. It will happen. The day will come, and your father will force you into wedlock with some monster, an old goat perhaps, and then you’ll come to me. You’ll know the world is not perfect, no fairyland, milady.”

“Let me go!”

He did not. His lips came down upon hers, hard and suffocating. She slammed against his chest, to no avail. He was making her dizzy, and she wondered how long she could fight. And she couldn’t believe that she had to fight, that love had turned to nightmare, that her dreams were being shattered one by one, here in the Venus garden, beneath the summer moon.

“No!” she cried out, wrenching from his lips, horrified when his fingers latched hard upon the velvet ties to her bodice. Desperate, she twisted in his arms, certain that she had not lost as yet and determined to kick him into agony. But just as she freed herself enough to strike he leapt forward and she fell hard upon the ground, the breath knocked from her. He jumped down upon her and started to speak.

“Amanda—”

His word was cut cleanly from his lips as he was grasped from behind and lifted high and tossed into the bushes. Stunned, Amanda gazed past her fallen foe to see the tall man standing before her, watching Robert where he had fallen, with immense distaste.

Cameron. Lord Cameron!

“How dare you!” In a rage, Robert was up and on his feet. Bellowing like a wounded bull, he lunged forward.

Cameron sidestepped him neatly, then delivered a hard chop upon his nape, sending Robert down into a heap at his feet. Robert groaned, then staggered up again.

“You! What right have you here! None at all. This is a private affair!”

“Oh?” Cameron said, not even breathing hard. He crossed his arms slowly over his chest and his eyes fell upon Amanda. “I don’t think that there is anything between the two of you anymore, do you?”

“It’s none of your business!” Robert repeated.

“I’m afraid that it is. She asked you to let her go—I heard her.”

“This is none of your affair!”

Amanda’s cheeks blazed despite herself. She could not believe that she had been dragged into this horrible and humiliating position. She longed to skewer both men through.

“You…bastard!” she breathed.

“Amanda—” Robert began.

“Robert, you’re a mewling coward, and I hate you, I swear it.”

Robert glanced at Eric Cameron and took a sudden, wild swing at the man. It was almost pathetic, the ease with which Cameron caught the flailing arm and twisted it.

“Well, Milord Tarryton,” Cameron said softly, “I can well believe that the lass has elicited a fire in your loins, and I do believe that she could tease and tempt a man to hell and back again. But still, she said no. And you, sir, are considered an aristocrat. Hardly the manners one should expect, eh?”

Amanda gasped enraged that he should speak of her so—and witness so much of her humiliation. She couldn’t be grateful to him. She swallowed hard and took a step toward him. “Lord Cameron…” She kept her voice soft and quiet, demure. Ladylike. “You! You again! You are the plague of my life!” she charged him softly.

Then she slapped him.

His features went rigid but he barely blinked. “Once, milady, you may take that liberty. Don’t take it again. As to you…” He shoved Robert forward. “The night, milord, is over.”

Robert’s head bowed. “I still say that it’s none of your affair!”

“But that, sir, is point two. The lady’s behavior is every bit my concern, as is her welfare. Tonight, Lord Tarryton, we have sparred and played. Touch her again, and I might well determine to kill you.”

“What?”

“I am that horrible, wretched, monster man she will be forced to marry, Lord Tarryton. The old goat. I have asked her father for her hand, and he has most graciously agreed.” He bowed to Amanda. “Truly, mam’selle, you are about to find me the plague of your life!”