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VI

A manda was very beautiful that night. Eric saw her long before she saw him, for she was seated at a table with Damien and she was speaking earnestly with her cousin. Her eyes betrayed some deep emotion that was soft and spellbinding. Watching her, Eric realized that he envied her cousin. She loved Damien. And in that moment, as she sat in the flickering firelight, he thought that he would gladly sell his soul and be damned if she would just gaze upon him once so warmly.

He knew he was being a fool and reminded himself that he barely knew the little hellion, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t needed to know much once he had seen her, once he had touched her.

He was in lust, so he had said. Perhaps that, too, was true. He had been careful to wait, biding his time. He had not expected her to seek him out, and yet here she was. With Damien. He wondered what she knew of her cousin’s activities. No matter how her heart bled for England, she would never endanger young Roswell.

She had turned down his proposal of marriage, but now she was back. Deviously. What a pity. Her soft smile for him would be a lie. She had come to wage battle, else she never would have stepped foot inside this tavern.

Her beauty was her weapon, and she was not averse to using it, nor did she lack the confidence, he thought, to know the very power of it.

She wore green, a fetchingly casual gown with a heavier brocade bodice that tied with delicate ribbons over her breasts. It was a color that highlighted the evocative depths of her eyes, emphasizing the emerald dazzle of them. The night was warm, but she carried a light shawl, and it draped about her elbows, exposing her upper arms. Her hair had been swept up high in ringlets, and the sleek length of her neck was bare and inviting.

Every eye in the tavern was on her, of course. She looked like a thread of gold in a coat of coarse linen. There weren’t many women in the place, and not one of them could hold a candle to her striking splendor.

He felt himself grown warm, watching her, and it occurred to him that many a man was drooling in his beer. Eric quickly grew annoyed. She shouldn’t be here. Even escorted by her cousin, she should not be out as she was now. She was an innocent, yet there was something about her that was more than evocative. He thought of Helen of Troy and of a face that could launch a thousand ships. Amanda Sterling had that same kind of power; she created tension and emotion. Lust, perhaps, but longing and a haunting yearning too. With a smile she could tempt a man to any act; with a promise she could be deadly trouble.

Be forewarned, my friend, he told himself. And yet still his own confidence was great. He was older. Wiser, he assured himself. He saw the danger and therefore could elude it.

“Lady Sterling, Damien,” he said, moving forward. Damien rose, Amanda remained seated. She offered Eric her hand and one of those smiles for which a man could be led to kill. He kissed her gloved fingers, glanced Damien’s way, and took a seat beside Amanda.

“’Tis good to see you, lad,” he told Damien.

“And you, sir.”

“And your fair cousin, of course,” he said, looking at Amanda. “And yet, milady, I’m very curious. What has brought you here? I had the distinct impression that you did not wish to see me again.”

“Did you?” she said, her voice distant and soft. “You were mistaken.” She seemed to shudder slightly, then her smile returned to her features, and she grew animated and her eyes glowed like jewels. Her cheeks were just touched with the rose of a flush, her lips seemed as red as wine, and at that moment Eric did not think that he had ever seen a woman more alluring. He did not just yearn for her with his loins—though that urge lay very strong within him—but he ached to possess her in all ways, to run his fingers through her hair, to feel those eyes upon him with trust and innocence and their touch of the siren too. He wanted to hold her against him, to watch the rise and fall of her breast, to feel the whisper of her words against his cheek.

“Was I mistaken?” he asked her.

She nodded. “I came to apologize. You caught me at a frightful disadvantage. I am grateful, of course. And I’m so very sorry that I was rude. Please, do forgive me.”

“What else could I do, milady?” he replied.

“Pardon me, milady, milord,” Damien complained softly. “I am here too, you know.”

Eric laughed, looking at Damien. He liked the young man very much. He was bold and brash and witty, and yet, beneath it all, he was determined—and talented. Damien had already cast his glove into the fray. Roswell, he had learned, was dealing very closely with the Bostonians. Most men were still eager to negotiate. Damien ran with a crowd that seemed collectively certain that it would come down to a force of arms. Even though Washington spoke carefully, Eric was certain that he, too, thought it would come to bloodshed.

“A thousand pardons, sir. But I’m afraid my keenest interest is in your cousin, Damien. Curious, isn’t it, that a lady should seek out a man in a tavern for an apology.”

She still had her temper, he saw, even if she was trying to hide it. Her lashes were lowered, but he saw the flash in her eyes. When she lifted her head, she was smiling again. “Is it shocking behavior that I should be here? Why, all manner of good men and women come to this place, so I am told. The rooms, they say, are of a far more pleasant nature at Mrs. Campbell’s Tavern, but the food here is fine, the drink palatable, and the company…most respectable.”

“Perhaps. But for a lady of your affluence?”

“But there is a lord of your affluence here.”

“And there lies the difference, Amanda,” he told her flatly.

She flushed slightly but picked up a pewter tankard of ale, which she sipped and smiled. “Ours is a wonderful new world, isn’t that what they say? I am fascinated by it.” Her lashes rose and fell, her smile was compelling. She was flirting with him. Her fingers fell over his like butterfly wings.

He caught her fingers with his own. “You are a loyalist to the core, Amanda,” he told her flatly.

She tried to maintain a smile while she struggled to free her fingers from his grasp. “Milord! Do you mean to say that you are not? Have you then repudiated the king? I had not heard that the staunchest rebels had yet gone so far!”

Only in whispers. But things were moving so quickly. Throughout the colonies, throngs of people had attacked shopkeepers who had failed to respect the boycotts on British goods. Few men or women had been injured, but the goods had been destroyed. And there had been no reprisals. It was all like a gigantic wind, sweeping around them. Rebellion was close at hand.

And he was going off to fight Indians in the west, at Lord Dunmore’s request.

He did not need to answer Amanda because Damien was already doing so. Leaning forward, her cousin spoke to her heatedly. “Amanda, hush! God alone knows who may listen to our words these days! Lord Cameron said nothing about having repudiated the king. Indeed, he is the king’s good servant, leaving his own hearth and risking his own life, limb, and health and fortune to go forth and meet the Shawnee.”

“You should watch for your own life and limb, cousin,” Amanda warned softly.

Damien sat back, staring at her. “What are you talking about?”

She knew exactly what she was talking about, Eric thought. The night became ever more interesting.

“Nothing,” she replied, and turned from her cousin, a charming smile on her lips. “It is whispered that this is where it all takes place.”

“It…all?” Eric queried her innocently.

“The clandestine meetings. The speeches, the—”

“The rebellion, that’s what she means.”

She pouted sweetly. “Amusing, Damien. But so very exciting,” she told Eric.

What a wonderful liar she was, he thought. But it didn’t matter.

“And are you fascinated, Lady Sterling?”

“Incredibly.”

“Is that a loyalist hobby?”

“No, milord, merely a growing interest in politics,” she said. “Mob rule can be so very intriguing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We hear about the glorious cause of rights for Englishmen, the demand for self-government, how very ill the poor colonist is treated. But those same brave men raided the home of Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson in Boston, and he was a man very much opposed to the Stamp Act!”

“Madness against an innocent man,” Eric murmured.

“I beg pardon, sir?” Damien said.

“Oh, the lieutenant governor’s words,” Eric said. “Yes, it’s true. Mob rule can turn very ugly. I daresay that the man did not understand just how incensed the people were about the Stamp Act.”

“The ‘Sons of Liberty,’” Amanda said sweetly with only a touch of mockery to her tone.

“Ah, the study of those sons fascinates you, remember!”

“Of course.”

She looked around the room. Eric was aware that she was looking for the men rumored to be at the root of the Virginia dissension.

He rose, bowing to her deeply. “Lady Sterling, Damien, I was on my way out. Perhaps, if you are still interested in political discussion, you would be good enough to accompany me to my town house.”

“What!” Amanda exclaimed, startled.

He suppressed a smile at her discomfiture. “I was leaving, milady. But you are most welcome to accompany me. You, milady, and Damien too, of course.”

“I’d love to,” Damien said quickly. “Mandy?”

“I—I—” She hesitated, staring at him. Then she found her smile again. “I’m sure you can’t be so willing to forgive my bad manners that you would want me in your very home.”

“My dear Lady Sterling, you would always be welcome in my home. Indeed, you—and your father, of course—are more than welcome to be my full-time guests at any time.”

“That would not be necessary,” she said, maintaining a sweet smile. “We are guests of Lord Dunmore.”

“Ah, so you are residing at the palace, and I offer my most humble abode. I’m quite sure Lady Dunmore has you in the comfortable guest room on the second floor. It is spacious, and so beautifully appointed. I could offer nothing so grand.”

“Milord, it is a charming room he has given me, yes. You know the palace well.”

“I have been a guest there often myself,” he said softly. “And I regret that you are not my guest for your stay in Williamsburg.” He smiled charmingly himself. It was good to know exactly where the lady was staying—and might be found, if necessary. “And, milady, it is incredibly easy to forgive you. Please, my carriage is outside. Yours can follow.”

Damien was enthusiastic, and Amanda seemed to realize that she had little choice. Eric retrieved his cape and hat and led the two outside. His carriage, with the Cameron coat-of-arms emblazoned on the doors, did await them. The driver started to hop down from his seat, but Eric waved a hand to him. “It’s all right, Pierre. I shall get the steps. We’re going home.”

“ Oui , Lord Cameron,” the man replied.

Eric opened the door and dropped the steps, then ushered Amanda up and into the carriage. He breathed in the scent of her hair as she passed him. Did she always smell so sweet and so good, like tender flowers on a sunny day?

“Damien, after you,” he said. He watched the young man climb into the carriage, then followed behind him.

After Eric climbed up and tapped on the carriage roof, the horses started off. His town house wasn’t far from Raleigh Tavern.

“You’re near to the governor’s palace, aren’t you?” Damien inquired.

Eric nodded. “Near enough.”

“Prime, prime property!” Damien applauded.

Eric laughed. “It belonged to my paternal grandmother.”

Damien leaned forward. “There’s a rumor that your grandfather was a pirate,” he said excitedly.

Eric arched a brow politely. “Is there?”

“Yes. I’ve heard tell that he was a rogue, spying on the very likes of Blackbeard for the governor. Tell me, do you know anything about the treasure?”

Eric laughed. “I’m afraid not, Damien. He did play a pirate, but he pirated only his own ships. Any gold he claimed was his own, and to the best of my knowledge, he knew nothing about any of Blackbeard’s treasure.”

“Blackbeard’s head was severed,” Damien told Amanda excitedly, “and set upon a spike as a warning to all pirates. Then the men of his crew who had been taken were tried here, and all but one was hanged.”

“Perhaps you should look to your own neck, cousin!” she warned again, then paled, seeing Eric’s eyes upon her. She inhaled and exhaled quickly, and Eric smiled, seeing her discomfort. He didn’t know quite what was going on, but she hadn’t planned on going to his town house.

Soon the carriage drew to a halt. Pierre hopped down and opened the door, and Eric quickly climbed down then reached up for Amanda. His hands slipped around her waist, and he set her down slowly, loath to let her go. Her eyes were on his, very wide, and dusky green in the moonlight. He almost felt sorry for her then. Except that he longed for her, more deeply each time he saw her, and he knew that she was using him. It was a good thing that his ego was substantial, he thought. Her disdain was sometimes so apparent in her gaze.

“Do you like the boxwoods?” he asked her, leading her along the walk as Damien followed. “My housekeeper grows them. I’m afraid that I’m not in residence often enough to do the plants here justice.”

“And where are you?” she asked.

“Why, at Cameron Hall, of course,” he said, opening the door. As they entered, a tall lean woman with her hair knotted beneath a mob cap came hurrying into the hallway.

“Lord Cameron, I was not expecting you so early,” she said, taking his hat and cape.

“Mathilda! I promised that I should be home nice and early!” he said quickly. “This is Lady Sterling, Mathilda, and her cousin, Damien Roswell.”

Mathilda bobbed quickly to them both. Amanda murmured a greeting, looking about the hall. The Cameron wealth was evident in the fine wall covering, in the display of weapons, in the polished furniture. There was a maple cabinet in the hallway that had to be worth an apprentice artisan’s entire first year of pay. There were silver candlesticks set about, and, looking up the stairway, she noted that the upper hallway was lined with oil paintings.

“This way, Lady Sterling,” Eric murmured.

She was led into his study, a warm room with claw-footed, brocade upholstered chairs, a massive oak desk, a standing globe of the world, endless bookshelves, and a marble mantel. She felt his hand at the small of her back, and she longed to scream out. His touch could not be forgotten. Although he was perfectly polite, the lordly gentleman to the core, she felt that he was watching her with sizzling curiosity. He knew, she thought, and the very idea made her shiver. He was leading her along, waiting to pounce upon her like a wildcat.

She had no choice. Damien was her cousin, her friend. If he had gone astray, she had to help him. There was nothing that Lord Cameron could know. She was befriending him, and that was all. There was nothing that she could learn from him. They had not joined his friends—they had left the tavern. And now she was in his home.

“Sit, milady!” he said cordially, inviting her into one of the beautifully upholstered chairs. She did so and tried to smile again. The effort was weak.

“It’s a wonderful house,” Damien said admiringly.

“Thank you. Damien, a brandy? Lady Sterling, I would offer you tea, except that I have chosen to boycott its usage.”

“I’d love a brandy,” she said sweetly. “Would you!” Damien laughed.

“Yes,” she said, maintaining her smile but warning him with her eyes. She wanted twenty brandies. She wanted to pretend that she was far, far away and that she hadn’t been blackmailed into this trickery.

Lord Cameron had one dark brow arched as he looked her way. He didn’t say a word though, but poured out three brandies from a snifter on his desk. He brought her a delicate glass, setting it into her fingers. His eyes touched hers, and when their fingers met, she was suddenly beset with shivers again. He was clad darkly this evening. His breeches and his frock were navy, as was his surcoat, and only the white lace of his shirt showed at his throat to lighten the effect. It was somewhat somber garb, and it became him well, with his hair so very dark and his eyes so hauntingly silver-blue. They probed the soul, she thought, and she tried to look away. He seemed to tower over her as he stood by her chair, not releasing the brandy but watching her endlessly, seeking some answer.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass. He smiled and moved away, offering Damien his brandy. Damien thanked him quickly and studied the books that lined the cases. He strode to the globe and spun it around, fascinated.

“You are quite blessed, Lord Cameron,” Damien said. This beautiful town house, and I understand that Cameron Hall is magnificent.”

“Thank you, I think it is.” Eric told him as he watched Amanda steadily. She wanted to look away from him, and she discovered that she could not. He was darkly satyrish this evening, and it was almost as if he had some mysterious power over her.

It was nonsense, she convinced herself.

“Do you play chess, Lady Sterling?”

“Yes.”

“Play me.”

Was it the game he referred to? It was difficult to tell when he stared at her with such probing eyes. She shrugged. “If you wish.”

He rose and went over to a small table with the board built onto it. The fine ivory pieces were kept in little pockets at the side.

Eric set up his men and looked at Amanda. They had drawn their chairs close, and she felt his presence all the more keenly. “Your move,” he told her.

She brought forth a pawn. He followed suit. She moved in silence; he moved again. Her gaze fell upon his hands. His fingers were long, his nails clipped and neat. They were intriguing hands, bronzed from the sun, large, long, and tapered. The palms were not smooth but callused, as if he often engaged in manual labor.

She looked up and found that he was watching her, that it had long been her turn. She paled and foolishly moved a second pawn. He took it with his knight, and she was helpless to fight back.

“In love and war—and chess—milady, it is dangerous to forget the object of the attack for even a moment.”

“You’re giving me advice?” she said. “We have hardly begun the game. Perhaps, milord, you will find yourself on the defensive much sooner than you think.”

“I had not realized that I was on the offensive.”

“Are you playing to win?” she murmured.

He smiled, very slowly, his gaze silver and searing while he rested back in his chair. “I always do win, Lady Sterling.”

“Always?”

“Always,” he assured her nonchalantly.

She tore her eyes from his and concentrated on the game. Damien watched in silence.

They moved quickly for a few minutes. They were both on the offensive, and they both played with skill. Amanda lost a knight and a rook, but in turn she took a knight and bishop and two pawns. Soon the game began to slow down as they both took greater care with each move, trying to weigh what would come after the next immediate turn.

“Long-range planning,” Damien said lightly.

Eric’s eyes met his over Amanda’s head. “Mmm. It can take a long, long time to win a game. Hours. Days, even. Alas, I haven’t many days left.”

“Alas!” Damien sighed. “I was so looking forward to seeing your Cameron Hall.”

“Were you? Well, sir, you’ve a standing invitation. I shall be gone, and I don’t know when I shall return, but my home is your home.”

“Milord, I thank you sincerely!” Damien said.

“My pleasure.” Eric looked over the board and maneuvered his knight in a position to set Amanda into checkmate on the next turn.

She saw his move and countered it, saving her king. The rescue, however, cost her a bishop.

“Ah! Take care, milady. I am stripping away your defenses. One by one.”

“I am not beaten, milord.”

“I should hope not, milady. You would not be a worthy opponent if you did not fight until the very end.”

She was shivering again. They weren’t talking about chess, not at all. And Damien was blithely innocent to it all.

They played for an hour and had reached a stalemate when Damien drew away Eric’s attention. “I am fascinated by your books, Lord Cameron!” Damien said.

“Are you? I noticed you looking at the thesis on animal husbandry. I’ve another matching volume on botany. Would you like to borrow them?”

“Yes, I would, very much,” Damien said.

“Come then, I believe the volume is upstairs. Amanda, will you excuse us, please?”

“Of course,” she murmured quickly. Her heart was beating hard and she could not wait for them to leave the room. When they were gone, she leapt to her feet. On sudden inspiration she raced around the desk and tried the top drawer, impatiently searching through the papers there. There were bills and receipts. He had written a note to buy Mathilda’s daughter a toy for her birthday. He had a list of stores in his wine cellar. There was nothing, nothing, indicative of any treason.

She started to sink into his chair, then she paused and wrenched open a side drawer. There was a letter there, postmarked from Boston.

They were coming back down the stairs. Amanda inhaled and exhaled deeply, then stuffed the letter into one of the pockets in her skirt. Then she closed the door quickly and raced back to her chair.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the volume tremendously,” Cameron was saying. “If you love the land.”

“Very much. Almost as much as I love horses,” Damien said cheerfully.

“You sound like a friend of mine, Colonel Washington. He is enamored of horses and forever experimenting with botany.”

“I am in good company!” Damien replied, and Amanda winced. Good company for a hanging! she thought, but then it didn’t seem to matter too much then for her heart was hammering and she could scarcely breathe. She imagined that any minute Eric would wrench her to her feet and his hands would fall brutally upon her until he managed to find the letter. And then his long fingers would curl around her neck.

“Amanda, I should get you back. Your father will be worried.” And more cruel than usual. Damien did not say it, but Amanda sensed the thought behind his words.

“To the governor’s palace, then,” she said as Eric gazed at her. Why did it always look as if he knew so much more behind those silver eyes?

The governor’s palace—she would stay at such a place, or with friends. A lady of her standing seldom sought lodging in a public place. It was probably scandalous that she had gone as she had tonight to the tavern. She didn’t care much about her reputation, though. It had mattered only when love had mattered, and now she had been betrayed. She would never love again, she still bore the bitter scars of Robert’s betrayal, and so her reputation didn’t mean a thing.

Eric smiled, taking her hand. She wished that she could wrench away from him. He seemed to do so much more than touch her hand. The heat from his fingers coursed through her. “It has been a pleasure, milady. I’m sorry that you are established with Lord Dunmore. As I said, I would have gladly offered you this residence. Or Cameron Hall, had you use for it.”

Amanda smiled, pulling her hand back. She had to get away. She was hot and shaking, and she could feel his letter in her pocket. “Thank you,” she told him.

She turned about and started for the door. Mathilda came to see them out, and Eric walked them down the road to where Damien’s small carriage awaited them with his old Negro driver. Thomas was sleeping, and Amanda was pleased to see the gentle way her cousin awakened him. There was so much good in Damien. How could he be a traitor!

“Let me help you, milady.” While Damien spoke to Cato, Eric Cameron lifted her up and set her into the carriage. She felt his hands upon her waist and then she felt them brush her skirt. Her eyes widened with fear. She quickly tried to hide her eyes, lowering her head and her lashes. Then she raised them again, composed, her heart beating furiously.

Damien still spoke with the driver. Eric looked in at her, a twisted smile upon his lips. “One would think, Lady Sterling, that my touch aroused you.”

“What?”

“Arouse, milady. You do know the meaning of the word.”

“Lord Cameron, how dare—”

“Lady, I have seldom seen such wide eyes. And there—at your throat—a pulse beats with ardent fury.” He came closer to her. “One might think that you longed to be kissed again.”

“You think—wrongly.”

“What?” he demanded. “Your heart does not clamor for a lover’s touch. Then one would think that you were hiding something from me. That you were a thief, with stolen goods within your pockets.”

“Don’t—be ridiculous,” she managed to reply.

His smile deepened. “Then your apology tonight was sincere.”

Her breath came too quickly, causing her breasts to rise in rapid succession, pressing provocatively against the ribbon-laced bodice of her gown. Soft swirls of radiant ringlets framed her face and cast shadows against the emerald of her eyes. She gripped the seat, unaware that her fear gave her added beauty, that she enticed, even as she angered the man.

“My apology was most sincere,” she said, desperate to raise her chin, to defy him.

“I am glad,” he told her. With that he stepped into the carriage and sank down beside her. With the length and breadth of her she felt his form beside her own, heated, tense. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came to her. He reached out and touched her cheek, stroking downward upon it, bringing his fingers around to the nape of her neck. She nearly closed her eyes, for the sensations were so sweet, as if she were suddenly drugged by the nearness of the man. It was the brandy. Burning, swirling throughout her body. She could not protest, she could sit and feel and nothing more.

His lips hovered just above hers. “I am very, very glad,” he murmured, “for I should hate it, milady, were I to discover you false.”

Amanda could not answer for several seconds. She fought for reason, for words. “I offer you friendship,” she whispered. She could not pull away from him. She felt the curious combination of force and tenderness in his hold upon her. She remembered his hands. Strong hands. He could break a man’s neck, if he chose. Or a woman’s.

She was being foolish. He would not harm her. No matter how she betrayed him.

Or would he?

She swallowed, trying to keep her eyes innocently upon his, desperate, for his letter lay within her pocket. There was steel in his eyes. He would not forgive or forget if he was betrayed. Perhaps he would not harm her, and yet, if he discovered the truth about her, she was certain that she would regret her actions for the rest of her life.

Take your hands from me! she wanted to cry. She longed to leap from the carriage and to race all the way to the governor’s palace. She could not do so. His hold remained firm, just as his eyes continued to compel her. His mouth came ever closer to her own. He brushed her cheek with his lips, touched her earlobe, and she felt unable to break away, unable to fight the raw, sensual power. His face rose over hers again, his eyes entering into her naked soul. She moved toward him then, wanting more. Wanting just to taste…Her lips parted as she drew breath. No breath came to her, for his kiss closed down upon her lips.

She tasted brandy and the heat of his mouth. What she had initiated, he finished. His tongue swept with sensual insinuation deeply into her mouth. His fingers stroked first her face and then her breasts.

She could not breathe. She could feel only the flow of the brandy within her, and it was like a liquid fire. It was like the man, entering into all of her, making her burn with a sweet and startling desire to feel more, to know more.

“Mandy—” Damien began, and then he halted, clearing his throat.

Eric Cameron lifted his lips from hers, smiling. He set her gently back upon the seat and leapt down from the carriage facing Damien with no apology. His dark hair was somewhat tousled, slashing over his forehead. She could well see him as the pirate his ancestor had been, she thought, and then she realized that her fingers were at her lips and that she was trembling.

And that the warmth and desire were still with her. She didn’t even understand desire, she thought with pain and fury, and yet it was something there, living deep inside of her. And this dark traitor had awakened it.

A whore. Her father had called her a whore like her mother.

She didn’t believe it. She would never believe it.

He watched her. Damien was still, and she was silent, and it seemed that even long moments passed before Eric spoke to her again. “I have asked for your hand, lady. The offer still stands, should you need me.”

She managed to form words. “I cannot marry you.”

“And still, Amanda, I tell you, if you need me, I will be there. I will suffer your disdain, I will marry you knowing that you love another. Just don’t seek to betray me.”

“Betray you, sir? Pray, tell me what is there that I might betray?”

“Any man can be betrayed.”

“I do not betray you,” she lied smoothly.

“Good,” he told her. But he did not smile, and the look of steel remained about his eyes. He turned to Damien. “I will offer no excuse, Damien, for I would marry her, if she would have me.”

Damien didn’t jump to her defense. He looked from Amanda to Eric. “Why?” he asked politely.

Amanda and Eric both stared at him. “I’m sorry, Mandy,” Damien said. “But you were so very rude to him, from what you say yourself. And you’ve hardly been an angel this evening. Lord Cameron, I know that the world can be yours, so I am simply curious. Why?”

“Damien!” Mandy warned.

Eric laughed. “Aye, lad, she’s cruel and abrasive, but she’s truly the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“But you cannot love me! You’ve admitted as much,” Amanda murmured desperately. No, he did not love her, but she felt the attraction more and more herself this evening. She might despise him for what he was, for what he knew of her, for all he had witnessed of her soul, but he fascinated her! She was drawn to his touch, she wondered more and more about the way his hands might roam, the places his lips might kiss. She reddened with horror. “You can’t just…”

He chuckled softly again, and the tone of it made her burn, as did the husky sound of his voice when he spoke. “Amanda, I can. Ah, lady, perhaps I do not love you. You most certainly do not love me. But as you boldly pointed out at our last meeting, lust can rule a man’s heart and soul and mind, and lady, you have driven me to distraction. I do desire you, with a fever scarce kept under control. Watch your kiss, lady, lest it go too far.”

“My kiss!” she cried.

“You do wound me to the soul. You kissed me tonight, do you recall?”

“Damien, can we please go?”

“Mm…surely,” Damien agreed, but he was grinning.

“Damien, now!”

Damien leapt up into the carriage. Amanda stared straight ahead, determined not to so much as glance Eric Cameron’s way again. She looked down to her lap, feeling a fierce burning inside her. She could not bear these feelings. She had loved Robert, she had been deeply in love. And she had never felt like this with him, so what could it be? Her father’s words returned to haunt her. She was a whore’s daughter.…

Her heart rebelled. She had seen the portraits of her beautiful mother, seen her gentle smile, the intelligence in her eyes. She couldn’t have been a whore. Amanda had never known her, but she could not believe such a thing.

“I remain your faithful servant, milady!” Cameron said.

Grinning, Damien waved to him and tapped on the carriage. Thomas clipped the reins, and they started down the street. They were very close to their destination.

The carriage swayed and she felt she was going to be sick. She stared across in the shadows at Damien, aware that he was watching her.

“He is twice the man Robert Tarryton is,” Damien said softly.

Longing to pull his hair out, Amanda let loose with a startling oath. “Damien, don’t you dare say such a thing to me! After all that he has said and done that you have seen or heard!”

“He has been honest,” Damien said quietly. “Which you are not, cousin,” he added.

She longed to rail at him and barely managed to hold back her words. “Leave me be, Damien.”

“Amanda,” he said softly.

“What?”

“I love you, you know,” he reminded her.

She exhaled. “Oh, Damien! I love you too.”

He reached across the dark carriage and squeezed her hand as Cato drove up around the driveway to the front door of the palace. “I’ll deliver you to your father, and then Cato and I shall retire for the evening.” He lifted her from the carriage and set her upon her feet, grinning. “I shall face my uncle the ogre with you!” he said dramatically.

“I will be all right,” she assured him.

He shrugged. “Come.”

The door was already being opened by a servant in handsome livery. They entered the hall and Amanda saw her father coming down the stairway, hurrying toward them.

“I’ve brought her home, Uncle, well and in good time, I pray,” Damien said.

Nigel Sterling nodded curtly to Damien. “Fine. You may call upon her again, nephew.”

Damien quirked a brow at Amanda, then wished her good night and made a hasty retreat.

When the door closed behind him, the servant discreetly disappeared and Amanda faced her father alone.

“Well?”

She shrugged. “Lord Cameron intends to leave on the governor’s behalf to the west country to fight the Shawnee.”

“He does intend to go?”

“Yes, definitely. Dunmore knew that already.”

“Did Cameron introduce you to his acquaintances?”

“No.”

“Then you failed! He did not—”

“He asked me to marry him again, Father,” she said coldly, “so I did not fail.”

Sterling fell silent, stroking his chins. She returned her father’s stare and felt distinctly uneasy. He hated her and she was quickly learning to hate him.

She felt the letter in her pocket. She had brought it to turn over to her father.

Yet she could not do so. Not until she had read it herself.

“When he comes back, you’ll see him again.”

She smiled. “I understand that the Shawnee are fierce and merciless. Perhaps he will not return.”

“Then there will be no worry on the matter, and we will decide a different future for you.” He smiled pleasantly. “Lord Hastings has been a widower for some time now. He would be delighted to take you in marriage.”

Lord Hastings was well over sixty with a girth the size of an elephant’s and a penchant for whipping his slaves.

She shivered and stood staring at her father, despising him with ever greater ferocity. She had never been afraid to be near him before, and now she realized that she dreaded the days to come. He would sell her to any man, and do so with relish.

“We’ll go home in the morning,” Sterling said. “You may go to bed. And Damien will be safe. For the time being.”

She trembled, fearing the sudden brutality of his smile. Without knowing what she was saying, she started to talk.

“Lord Cameron offered me the hospitality of his home while he is gone fighting, Father. I thought that I should go.”

“You will not—” Sterling began, but then he broke off, smiling again. “Yes. Yes, you shall go. And while he is gone, you can search his belongings for his correspondence. We could capture the whole core of this rebellion and hang them all like the traitors they are if we can bring proof of high treason into court!”

“There is no high treason, Father, don’t you see that! The man is Lord Dunmore’s friend—”

“No. No man has friends right now, girl. Bear that in mind. Friendship will not matter—blood will not matter.”

Amanda felt a chill sweep over her. Her father turned away, heading for the stairs. “Tell him that you will marry him. You won’t have to do so, but the promise alone will open doors for you.”

“Father—”

“And think of it, my dear,” he said, holding the newel post and turning back to her. “Such a move will salvage your pride. Robert Tarryton’s fiancée has arrived from England. They are to be married in the middle of October. It will look so much better to the world if you are betrothed to Lord Cameron.”

He started up the stairs again, murmuring to himself. “Perhaps you should marry him. If he is innocent, he is a man of the greatest prestige. And if he is guilty they will hang him, and his property will fall to you.”

The chill swept around Amanda, settling deeply into her heart. “I cannot marry him!” she cried, racing after her father.

He paused and looked down at her. “You will do as you are told,” he said, and kept walking.

She gritted her teeth, longing to run away, into the night. She didn’t care what happened to her, as long as she could escape him.

But then Damien would hang.

She waited until he had disappeared, then she tore up the stairs herself and slammed into her room. She fell upon the bed, breathing heavily.

Then she remembered the letter in her pocket, and she slipped her fingers into it, anxious to read the correspondence.

Her fingers faltered, and her heart began to slam. She had his life in her hands.

And before God, she didn’t know if she wished the letter to prove him a traitor or no. Pulling it from her pocket at last, she began to shiver. Even as she smoothed out the envelope, she felt again the fever of his kiss, the touch of his hands. Yes! She could condemn him. She had to! She was a loyalist; he was a patriot.

And it might well be Damien’s life against his.

She rolled over and looked at the envelope. There was a name and address in the corner. Frederick something of Boston.

With shaking fingers, she reached inside.

The envelope was empty.

She lay back on the bed, and she began to laugh. She laughed until she cried.

And then she sobered with a gasp. She had spoken in haste.

And now she was condemned to play this torturous game still further. She was to go to his home; she was to make promises that she would never keep.

By God, she could not…

By God, she had to.