Page 9

VII

T here was a soft tap on Amanda’s door. She hastily stuffed the envelope back into her pocket and rose, hurrying to the door. “Yes?” she called softly.

“C’est moi, Danielle.”

Amanda quickly opened the door and Danielle, dressed in sober blue with an immaculate white pinafore, slipped into the room. She had taken her hair down, and it streamed in dark folds down her back.

She touched Amanda’s cheek. “You had a nice evening, ma petite? ”

“It was…fine,” Amanda lied. She forced a smile that probably did not fool the woman in the least. “You know how I love Damien.”

Danielle nodded and crossed the room to a large wardrobe in the corner, opened it, and brought out one of Amanda’s nightgowns. It was soft silk, trimmed with Flemish lace at the throat and bodice and sleeves. “Lord Sterling does buy for you the best,” Danielle murmured. “You have fought with him again?”

Amanda shrugged. “Not really. It is as it always is.”

“No. It is worse now. He sees you growing up.” She was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes luminous. “I should have killed him years ago!”

“Danielle!” Amanda gasped. “No, you cannot even think such a thing! They would hang you for it. And perhaps—perhaps not even God would forgive you.”

Danielle moved the silk against her cheek. “God would forgive me,” she said. She looked at Amanda, troubled. “That they should hang me, perhaps that is better than what he will do to you!”

Amanda was shaking again and she didn’t like it.

“He is my father. He would not really hurt me.” But she couldn’t help it; the shivers remained with her. She couldn’t forget the way that Nigel had called her mother a whore and suggested that she was just like her.

Danielle opened her mouth to say something, but then she closed it and helped Amanda out of her gown. Left in her stockings and corset and petticoats, Amanda hugged her arms about herself. “What was my mother like, Danielle?”

“Beautiful,” Danielle said softly. “Her eyes were the color of the sea, her hair was as radiant as a sunset. Her smile made others smile, and she was both gentle and passionate. And beautiful.” She hesitated, taking a petticoat as Amanda stepped from it. “You are her very image, Amanda. And that is why…”

“Why what?”

Danielle shook her head. “She was so very kind to me, and to Paul.”

“Paul?”

“My brother. He died before you were born.” Danielle untied the ribbons of Amanda’s corset, then slipped the nightgown over her head. Amanda murmured her thanks, then sat on the bed to remove her shoes and stockings and garters from beneath the gown, watching Danielle as she returned her things to the wardrobe and trunks.

“I can never forget,” Danielle continued. “It was so horrible. We Acadians, we were farmers in Nova Scotia. When the British took over the French rule, we vowed to serve the English king. But then war broke out again, and the French feared that we would fight with the British, while the British feared that we would take up arms with the French. And so they simply stole our land and exiled us from the place of our birth. We lived in a little town called Port Henri. It had been named for our great-grandfather. We reclaimed the marshland, we had many cattle, we fished the Bay of Fundy. Then the British gathered us at Port Royal and told us that we must leave. We were huddled into ships like slaves, and the captains made money on the misery they inflicted upon us. They made their coin, whether we lived or died. Mon Dieu! Day after day, the human waste and sickness gathered upon us. They would not let us out of the hold…except for Marie d’Estaing, for the captain raped her again and again. She began to look forward to his violence, for she told me that it was better than smothering in the hold with the smell and the worms. She died before we came to port. I was barely alive when our ship came to Williamsburg. Your mother demanded that your father take some of us in, and he was forced to oblige her. So Paul and I had a home.”

Amanda rolled up one of her stockings, her fingers clenching against the pain and injustice done to Danielle’s people. Many who had lived had not been accepted upon the colonial shores, and they had left again, searching for a homeland with the French, to the west.

Danielle exhaled slowly, then sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry. This is long ago. In 1754. Before you were born.”

“But my mother was there. And she was kind. She was good then, Danielle. She was good and kind and beautiful.”

Danielle nodded. “She was very good. Has someone told you otherwise?”

Amanda shook her head hastily. She knew that the pain her father caused her would hurt Danielle even worse. “I just wanted to hear about her from you, that is all.”

“Then good night, ma belle jeune fille,” Danielle said softly. She kissed Amanda’s head and hurried to the door. Then she swung back suddenly. “How long are we staying?”

“I—I don’t know,” Amanda replied. “Maybe not long. We have been invited to see Lord Cameron’s estate on the James. Perhaps we shall do so.”

Danielle’s eyes widened with pleasure. “We may go there?”

“Yes.”

“Away from your father?”

“Yes.”

Danielle nodded, pleased. “Lord Cameron is a far better man than the other you loved, Amanda.”

Robert. His memory tugged at her heart, even if she had forced it to grow cold. She had dreamed too often of his golden head beside her own upon a pillow. She still had visions of little children, their little children, laughing and running about the house on Christmas day.

“Goodnight, Danielle,” she said, more abruptly than she had intended. The woman stiffened, and Amanda immediately regretted her harsh tone. She raced over and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Dani. It’s just that—I loved him, you see. And Lord Cameron—” She paused, shivering. “He might well be a traitor.”

“Tell me, petite , what is a traitor but a man with a different cause? The British exiled me from my homeland. They took everything. The French were not there for me. I was Acadian, lost. And now I listen to the people on the streets and I know.”

“You are a Virginian.”

“I am an American,” Danielle said with quiet dignity, and she smiled. “Who can ever say? If one wages war and is victorious, he is a hero, c’est vrai? If he wages war and loses, then he is a traitor, it is so simple.”

Danielle pulled away from Amanda for a moment, studying her eyes. “Whatever else Lord Cameron may be, Amanda, he is a man who would be true to his own honor, and if he loved you, he would never betray you, as others have done.” Danielle smiled, and then left.

Amanda watched after her, then she locked the door with the key and went back to the bed. She stared at the candle on the bedside, then snuffed out the flame, swearing. “Damn! He is a traitor, and a rogue, and so help me, I will use him as is necessary!”

She crawled beneath the covers, still shivering. It was not so cold a night, but the fire in the hearth was very low, and there was an autumn snap in the air. It was definitely the cold, she assured herself, that brought about her shivers, and nothing else.

She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep to ease her soul. No matter how she tried, though, she could not drift into slumber. She was haunted by visions of the day, of her father in the governor’s delightful rose garden, calling her mother a whore. Calling her a whore. Threatening her. And then her father’s face faded away, and she saw Eric Cameron before her with his steely eyes, watching her, knowing…something. Chess pieces moved before her. Gravely he leaned toward her. “Checkmate, milady. Checkmate.”

She jerked up suddenly. She must have dozed, because she had now awakened. She didn’t know why; she didn’t know what she had felt.

The fire had gone down to almost nothing, and the window was open—she could see the drapes flowing soft and white into the room. She could have sworn that the window had been closed when she had lain down.

She tossed her covers aside and set her bare feet upon the floor, then hurried to the window. The moon was sending down shafts of light and the breeze was picking up. The drapes swirled, and the soft silk of her gown rose against her legs, rippling around her.

She sensed a shadow in the room. She turned about, but the moonlight had blinded her, and now she could not see. But she wasn’t alone; she could feel someone else there.

“Who—who is it!” She gasped. She wanted to scream, but the words came out in a whisper.

There was a sudden motion. She saw the dark silhouette as it approached her, and she inhaled to scream. A hand fell across her lips. She kicked viciously and contacted human flesh, but then she was swept up high and tossed down hard upon the bed. Dazed, she tried to roll away, and she was wrenched back as the dark shadow fell upon her. She twisted, freeing her knee and her mouth. She gasped, but again no sound managed to escape, for a hand fell back down upon her, firmly clamping down upon her jaw and mouth, and she felt forceful arms lock tight around her. Wildly she clutched at the fingers that held her, raking them with her nails. Her hands were quickly caught and she was pushed down deeply into the bed. The attacker was still behind her, a leg cast over her, his one arm beneath her as his fingers stifled her breath and words, his other arm around her like an iron band, his hand beneath her breast, holding her taut and hard against his body.

“Shush,” he whispered. Warm breath, scented with a pleasant masculine combination of brandy and good pipe tobacco, swirled against her cheek. She tried to bite, but she could not, she was held too tightly. She tried to squirm away, and she realized with horror that her movement brought the hem of her gown high up, baring her legs, and tugged the bodice of her gown even lower. She could feel his fingers upon the fullness of her breasts through the flimsy lace of the gown. “Lady, I mean it, not a whisper. And be still.” She went dead still, not to be obedient, but with shock. It was Lord Cameron!

With the realization she panicked. She tried to kick and thrash again. He swore with no heed for her fair sex, then wrested her beneath him, his thighs taut about hers, his hand now a brutal clamp upon her mouth, and the length of him leaned low and close to her. She had no breath; she feared that she would faint. She could see his eyes flashing in the curious combination of the dying fire’s glow and the moonlight, and there was no love, and no humor, within them now.

“Be still,” he warned her again, staring into her eyes, daring her to defy him. Slowly he moved his hand.

“Get off me! I shall scream to high heaven!” she warned him.

“Yes, that’s quite what I’m afraid of,” he told her. She gasped then, for she realized that he now had a knife in his hand. He had slipped it from a sheath at his calf while he spoke. He lay the blade low between the valley of her breasts. She inhaled raggedly, fought for courage, then stared into his eyes again.

“You wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t take a knife against an innocent woman.”

“But you’re not an innocent woman,” he told her.

He knew. He had seen her take the envelope. Fear rushed through her. “You would not slay me, I know it. And I will scream. I find you despicable! How dare you come in here. I will scream, and my father will see that you hang—”

“Your father very well may wish to see me hang at some point, but I’d wager it would not be now. And what happened to the sweet apology you offered me earlier this very eve?” he demanded. “I warn you again, lady—” He paused, letting her feel the cold blade of the knife. “You shall be greatly distressed.”

“You’ve broken into my room—into the governor’s palace!” She smiled suddenly, lifting her chin. He wouldn’t hurt her, and she knew it. She opened her mouth to scream, heedless of the consequences.

His fingers slapped back over her mouth. The blade of the knife moved swiftly in seconds, and she discovered that although her flesh remained unharmed, her garment was in shreds, and her breasts were spilling free from the silk and lace bodice. “Lady, I will wrest you from this place stark naked if you are not silent, and that is a promise. I will parade you down the streets of Williamsburg, and there are enough people here to enjoy it, for Tories such as yourself are not gaining much popularity these days.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Don’t ever tempt me too far. There are many things that I would like to do.”

“You bas—” she began.

“No, no, milady. You are forewarned. Take care.”

“I’ll not—”

“You will!” His hand clamped hard upon her again, but she gave it no heed. She wasn’t about to take care. She surged against him with all of her strength, seeking to kick him. She thrashed violently against him, flailing and twisting in a fury.

Eric didn’t fight back. He just held her, letting her arch, writhe, and twist. Her efforts were almost amusing to him, she realized. He had only to maintain his grasp upon her wrists, and the power of his body hold did the rest.

While she…

She had managed only to wrest herself closely against him, leaving her legs as naked as her breasts.

“Be still!” he warned again.

Amanda fell silent, a blush scorching all of her flesh, for she was already half naked and he was studying her at his leisure. She tried to twist away from him, but his hold upon her wrists was firm. She went still at last, aware that the ruffles of his shirt hung down upon the bareness of her nipples and breasts, and that her position was precarious indeed. Always with him she was wrested and beaten, so it seemed. She moistened her lips, horrified to realize their position. She thought of his hands, should they move. Should they touch her. She thought of the feel of his lips upon hers, and she wondered what the sensation would be if they moved lower against her, brushing her shoulder blades, closing upon her breasts. She felt the hardness of his thighs against her hips, the pressure of his manhood against the near-naked territory at the apex of her thighs, and suddenly she was truly silent, no longer wishing to defy him, desperate only that he should move away from her.

She shook her head. His fingers eased from her swollen lips. “I shall not scream! I shall not. I swear it.”

He watched her for a long, hard moment. Then he sat back. She was still his prisoner, still captive between his muscular thighs.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“Many things,” he told her casually, “but at the moment, I want my letter returned.”

Amanda stiffened, then forced herself to relax, offering him a wide-eyed smile. “Why ever would you think—”

“I don’t think, I know. And by God’s blood, lady, cease the dramatics with me, for though you do bat your lashes prettily, you are a liar and we both know it. I want my letter now. Or you shall forfeit something else.”

She was seething with fury, hating him for his crude and quick ability to see through her. She gritted her teeth. “Truly, Lord Cameron, your behavior is not civilized!”

“If it was civilized, I would not be here. I am pretending nothing, Amanda. I am no gentleman, and no fool, so do be warned and take heed for the future. I want my letter.”

“I—I don’t have it anymore.”

His fingers closed harshly upon her shoulders, wrenching her up against him with such violence that she cried out in pain. He thrust her back down again, heedless of the pain, his lips very near to hers as he spoke. “I may well lose my own neck over you one day, Lady Sterling, but I’ll not have other men endangered because of your treachery. Where is the envelope?”

“I gave it to my father.”

“You’re lying!” he snapped so quickly that she gasped and trembled and bit her lip in an effort to stay still. She had forgotten his knife. It lay against her cheek now. He stroked her face with it.

“You would not use that,” she challenged him.

“Perhaps not.” His eyes were very dark but glittering still in the night. “Perhaps I would use other means to reach my end.”

She didn’t know what he meant, only that the warning was very real. She didn’t want to discover what lay beneath it. “It’s—it’s in the pocket of my gown.”

If he was dying with desire for her, he certainly betrayed no emotion then. He was off her in a second, dragging her from the bed. His hat had fallen to the floor in their scuffle and now he swept it up atop his head. Stumbling, she tried to draw her gown together. She hurried to the wardrobe with him two steps behind her. She could barely open the door, and when she found the dress, he pushed her aside, reaching into the fashionable pocket hidden within the skirt. He found the envelope and thrust the dress back inside, and closed the door.

“Why did you take it?”

“Because—because you’re a traitor. And you have to get out of here. Now.”

“Oh? And you intend to prove that I’m a traitor?”

“No!” she cried with horror. “I just…I…”

“Pray, do go on.”

“You get out of here! Before I do choose to scream!”

But he didn’t move. He was watching her very closely. She clasped the gown closely about her, backing away. Something about him was exceptionally fierce in the strange shadowland of the bedroom, and yet she no longer felt the explosion of anger about him. He stepped toward her, towering in his tricorn and cape.

“Why didn’t you give this to your father?” he demanded.

“I—I never had a chance.”

“You’re lying.”

“All right. I wanted to read it myself. But as you see, there is no letter. If fact…why are you here, if there is no letter?”

He turned around, striding across the room to her bed. He sat on it, watching her carefully. “There is a name upon it,” he told her. She shivered, feeling the silver touch of his eyes, even in the shadows.

“Frederick’s name. The printer from Boston. The Indian tea-ditcher, right?” She swallowed quickly, not liking his eyes as they fell upon her. “You’ve got the envelope. Now go.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t quite decided what to do about you.”

“About me?” she exclaimed. She tilted her head back, defying him.

“You went through my personal belongings; you stole my property.”

“If you’re not out of here in two seconds, I promise that I will scream until the entire British army is in here.”

He leaned back more comfortably. “Nice lads. Some of them are my friends.” He shrugged, then rose up from the bed and approached her with slow, menacing steps. She was nearly against the door. She had nowhere else to run. And yet she had not managed to scream.

“If you do scream,” he promised her softly, “I shall offer your father my gravest apologies, but I shall tell him that you seduced and coerced me to this room, and then I shall be broken-hearted, of course, wondering just how many men you have led astray.” He set a hand against the wall, his teeth flashing whitely as he smiled.

Amanda stared at him, furious and appalled.

“He knows I—”

“Despise me? Ah, but Lady Sterling! You came after me this evening! With apologies sweeter than wine tripping off your fair tongue.”

“Yet—” She broke off. Both were silent as they heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside.

His knife flashed suddenly before her face. “Behave!” he warned her. “A word, and someone will die!”

He turned and seemed to disappear. Amanda stared into the shadows after him, uncertain as to whether he had slipped out the window or perhaps into the dressing room beyond her own.

There was a sharp pounding on her door. She stood behind it, her mouth dry. “Who is it?”

“Your father. Open the door.”

She hesitated, then threw open the door. She stayed there, blocking his entry to the room. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

He pushed past her and went on in, lighting a candle with a wick from the fire, then looking about. He went over to her, staring at her intently. “I heard voices.”

“Did you?”

He cuffed her on the side of the head, a silent blow that still sent her reeling down to the bed. She jumped back to her feet, loathing him, trying to pull the torn shreds of her bodice together. He walked over to her, staring closely. He lifted a finger to talk to her as his eyes narrowed. “You’ll not play the harlot, not on my time, girl. A whore breeds a whore, but you’ll serve me and do my purpose before playing elsewhere.”

She stood still, her teeth clenched, her shoulders squared, and she prayed that Eric Cameron was gone. She could not bear him witnessing another scandalous scene, yet if he was near, he could not miss hearing the words.

She was a fool, she thought. If she shouted out and screamed and cried, she could tell the truth! But Cameron’s words were true. With her father’s appraisal, it would appear that she had asked him here. She spoke softly. “There is no one here, Father. I am alone. Please leave me, so that I can sleep.”

“There is no one here?”

“No.”

“Don’t play games with me. I have ordered you to bestow your charms on Lord Cameron, and you will obey me.”

She inhaled sharply, looking into the shadows. Please God, she thought, let him be gone, let him be gone.

Her father suddenly came close to her. She felt uneasy as his eyes raked over her. They seemed to have a strange, hungry light about them. He touched her chin, lifting it up, and he stared down at her breasts, so ill concealed in the gown. His finger ran down her throat to the deep valley between the mounds. “What happened?”

“I twisted in my sleep. I have rent the seam, nothing more. I will fix it.”

“It is a beautiful gown on you, daughter. I have kept you well clad.”

“You have,” she acknowledged bitterly.

His hand hovered closer until she thought that she was going to throw up. She cried out, backing away from the door. His eyes narrowed as if he would grab her and wrench her away, and for the first time she was physically afraid of him as a man. He made her feel unclean.

She threw open the door quickly. If he came toward her again, she would scream. The governor was a good Englishman who might stoop to a little bribery or blackmail, but if she screamed hysterically, he would at least see that she was left alone. Her father would not dare abuse her before Lord Dunmore.

“Good night, Father,” she said.

Sterling stared at the door then stared at her, a pulse ticking at the base of his throat. He swallowed hard and walked by her, but paused in the doorway, holding the door open. “It’s not over between us, my daughter. We will return to our own home.”

He closed the door sharply. Amanda fell against it, leaning her forehead upon it, ready to cry.

Then a sudden movement alerted her and she twirled around.

Eric Cameron hadn’t left at all. He had hidden, motionless and silent, beyond the dressing-room door. Now he was standing there before her, watching her, his face somewhat hidden by shadow, and yet she felt both the fury and the pity within it. She didn’t want his pity.

“I wanted to kill him,” he said furiously.

She arched a brow, startled. Even in the darkness she could sense the tension about him. He was more enraged with her father than he was with her.

“He is my father,” she said, shrugging. She could not bear that he should see her pain.

“The more he should be slain for what he does to you.”

As regally as she could manage, she swept her gown about her. “My God, can’t you please get out of here too?”

He strode toward her, taking her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. Some furious war waged in the very cobalt of his eyes. “So, you were ordered to apologize to me!”

“You’ve found your letter, now please go.”

“I warn you now, milady,” he said very softly, “I will not be betrayed again. Why didn’t you tell him that I was here?”

“You promised to kill someone if I did.”

“And you believed me?”

“What difference does it make?” she snapped scathingly. “You would have said that I’d asked you here.”

“And he would have believed me, wouldn’t he?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to see his piercing silver-blue eyes anymore, or feel the strength of his hands upon her. She wanted to be left alone.

“Answer me!”

He could rise so quickly from gentleness to sharp, demanding anger! “Yes! He would have believed you. He—he despises me,” she admitted softly. Then she jerked back away from him. “For the love of God, will you leave me alone?”

“I did not start this thing, lady, but I would finish it,” he said softly. She didn’t understand his meaning, and it worried her. His tension seemed to have increased and he paced the floor, as if he were suddenly loath to leave her.

She trembled. “You know what I have done—”

“I know that he is willing to sell. And I am willing to buy.”

“My father—”

“You must be taken from him.”

Amanda felt the heat and fury of his words, though they were spoken softly. She shook her head, protesting. “You don’t understand! I do find you a traitor! Whatever I did—”

“You are a fool. It is best for me, milady, to have my eyes upon you. I will speak with him, and warn him that I don’t want my bride bruised, battered—or touched in any way.”

“I’ll never marry you.”

“Little idiot. No one can make you marry. I am offering you an escape, and God alone knows why. No woman is that beautiful,” he murmured. “Yet you are,” he said softly. “Beautiful, and cold. And yet I have seen the passion in you. “I’ve even felt it. Why do you pretend so fiercely that it isn’t so?”

“Because I hate you, Lord Cameron!” she cried. She hated that he could make her tremble so easily, to grow hot and flushed, and breathless as if she were what her father accused her of being…

A whore.

“Never mind! If you would just—”

“But I will not ‘just’ anything,” he assured her huskily. Then he came around to her again, and it did not seem that he felt her resistance when she tried to free herself from his hold.

“You will come tomorrow. You cannot wait any longer, do you understand me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I will leave the invitation with Lord Dunmore. If they are eager to hang me, I must give them the rope. Whatever his mind, he is a decent man. I will speak with your father. A betrothal will give you freedom. You will come out to Cameron Hall tomorrow—”

“You are mad!” she cried. “I stole your letter, and you know that I hate you, but you would have me anyway! And what makes you think that I would come?”

“The fact that I will be quickly gone and that you will have the place to yourself.”

She fell silent. She knew that she would go. She longed so desperately to escape her father.

Cameron doffed his hat to her. “You should marry me, and quickly, you know. I could well be skewered through by a Shawnee arrow.”

“I don’t believe that I should have such wonderful good luck,” she retorted.

His teeth flashed in a dangerous smile and he reached out suddenly, pulling her gown back in place. The silk had slipped from her fingers, and she had been standing before him, proud and bare. She swore softly, brushing his hand aside, but not before she felt the stroke of his fingers, warm and taunting. “You may have to marry me soon. For the sake of your good name.”

“I haven’t a good name left at all, Lord Cameron. And I don’t give a fig,” she said regally.

His laughter was soft and husky, but then it faded, and the silver-blue eyes that fell upon her held pity and tension. “You don’t need to fear me.”

“Don’t I?” she inquired sweetly, now holding the remnants of her bodice together very firmly. She smiled, her teeth grating, as she awaited his answer.

“You should fear those around you, lady. Come on your own accord, milady, else I shall find a way to rescue you from yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“And I pray that you need not discover the truth of my words,” he warned her. Then he bowed deeply. “Adieu, milady.”

He twirled around and was gone. The breeze rustled through the open window, and she wondered briefly how he did not break his neck, or a leg at the very least. Then she wondered, too, about the British guard assigned to the governor’s palace. She should hear shouts any second. Eric would be arrested, strung up.

She raced to the window, her heart hammering in her breast. She looked down into the yard below but saw nothing but the shadows of the night and, beyond, the foliage of the governor’s gardens and mazes. Cameron was uncanny. For his great height and the breadth of his shoulders, he could move swiftly, and silently.

Damien once told her that many men who had fought in the French and Indian Wars had come home like that. Still soldiers.

Still savages.

He was no savage, she assured herself. But he was swift to anger, and she had already aroused him.

The letter was gone, in his hands.

Her tongue felt dry; her breath came quickly. Though she was afraid of Lord Cameron, still she knew that if the invitation was true, she would travel to Cameron Hall in the morning.

She dared not remain with her father, and Lord Cameron was right about one thing. A betrothal would buy her freedom.

The next day had turned to a beautiful sun-streaked twilight when Amanda first saw Cameron Hall. She didn’t know when Eric had gone to talk to the men, but she listened in silence when her father told her that she was betrothed and when Lord Dunmore told her that Pierre, with the Cameron carriage, would be waiting for her and Danielle whenever she was ready.

Lord Cameron would be leaving any day, but he wanted her to accustom herself to his home in his absence. The wedding date, in these troubled times, must be set later.

Her father caught hold of her arm just before she entered the carriage. “You will make yourself at home. You will search his desk and his papers, and you will find the truth. Anything, anything you find—letters, names, addresses—we must have. Do you understand?”

“He’d probably kill you, Father, if he knew what you were about,” she said flatly.

“You’re still my daughter, mine to command,” Sterling reminded her roughly. “And I can have you dragged home whenever I choose. Then there is your cousin. You think on it, girl.” He released her arm. Then he smiled and stared at her, and the same unease that had touched her the night before filled her with dread. She didn’t think that she could ever bear to be in a room with him alone again.

“If you touch me, he’ll kill you,” she said bitterly, and then she was startled by the fear she saw in her father’s eyes. For a man who had been badgering his prospective son-in-law about his political views not a month previous, suddenly he seemed very wary and cautious.

Sterling stepped away from her, and she was glad. Danielle was already in the carriage.

Lord Dunmore had already turned his mind to the matters of the day, and it was her father who stood before the gates of the palace to watch the carriage turn along the green. He did not wave, and Amanda was relieved. She leaned her head back against the carriage and was glad of the respite. It would be a three-hour drive down the peninsula to Lord Cameron’s home.

From the moment she first set eyes on the place, she felt a peculiar stirring in her blood. A mist was just rising as the carriage turned down the long winding drive. Great oaks sheltered the drive, and the mist caught within their branches and leaves. Then suddenly the trees parted and the house could be seen, rising high upon a hill on a waving lawn of emerald-green grasses. It was a huge place, made of brick, with a great porch surrounding the whole of it and great white Doric columns adding grace and elegance to the symmetry of the architecture.

“Mon Dieu ,” Danielle murmured, pulling back the carriage draperies to better study the house. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at Amanda. “This is a house, mais oui!”

Amanda tried to smile, but she felt butterflies in her stomach. The whole of the plantation was impressive. As they rounded the drive, she could glimpse the neat rows of outbuildings all on a path and surrounded by vegetable and flower gardens. The gardens seemed to stretch out forever, just as the main house seemed almost to glitter beneath the sun and reach upward to the heavens. It was an illusion of the mist, she thought, and yet she couldn’t deny that it was beautiful. To the far left she could see the fields, and already there were a multitude of men at left. From this distance, slaves and white tenant farmers all seemed to blend together as they bent at their tasks. Far beyond she could see a rise of trees as the land sloped down to the river, and she could just make out some of the dock buildings that lay directly behind the house and far down the slope. Lord Cameron was at a distinct advantage with his property sitting on the river and with his own dock and deep harbor.

Danielle’s eyes were flashing happily. “It will be good here, ma chérie . It will be good. This lord is very wealthy, and he will marry you and keep you far from your papa.”

Amanda shivered suddenly, despite the grace and beauty that surrounded her, and she didn’t know if it had been Danielle’s mention of her father or of Lord Cameron. She was escaping the one to come to the other. He knew that she was a fraud, yet it was his fraud that they were now perpetuating. She had never lied about her own political beliefs. He knew she considered him a traitor. He had been furious to hear that her apology the other night had been forced upon her, but he’d already known that she had been spying on him.

She could never marry him. Even if nothing had ever happened between them, if she had not fallen in love with Robert, if her heart had not been twisted by her father’s dark corruption, she was still, in her heart, and always, a loyalist. They were English; they were English people, with English laws, and she was proud of that heritage. At the school for young ladies, she had learned she loved London. America was still raw and wild, but her people belonged to one of the most cultured and greatest nations on earth. To her, he was a traitor.

“There he is! Lord Cameron awaits us!” Danielle said happily.

Amanda was not so happy. She swallowed sharply as she held open the curtain. He was awaiting them on the steps to his house. He was in white breeches and stockings, boots, and a navy frock. As usual, his shirt was finely laced and impeccable, his hair was unpowdered but neatly queued. As the carriage clattered along the stone drive, Amanda admitted that he well fit the regal house, for his bearing was fine.

The carriage came to a halt. Pierre came scampering down from the driver’s seat. Lord Cameron called out something to him, and Pierre laughed, then helped Danielle from the carriage.

“Welcome, Danielle,” Cameron said. He took the woman’s hand in both of his own. “Welcome to Cameron Hall.”

Flustered, Danielle smiled and Lord Cameron kissed her hand.

“Merci, merci!” Danielle murmured, blushing and flustered. She was so happy, Amanda thought. And perhaps she had the right, for Nigel Sterling had never treated her with anything that resembled kindness.

He had always hurt her, Amanda thought, paling. Then she saw Eric’s eyes on her, and she flushed. He had known that she would come. And she had.

He took her hand. “And, my love, to you my warmest welcome. I hope that you shall be very happy here. And safe.”

Safe? she wondered. Could she be safe from him?

With both of her hands within his own, he pulled her close. He kissed her cheeks and then slowly released her, studying her eyes. “Pierre, find Thom if you would, and see to Lady Sterling’s trunks, please.”

“ Mais oui ,” Pierre agreed, grinning and turning toward the house.

Amanda found herself looking at the carriage with its coat-of-arms and then to Eric Cameron. He was so comfortable here, so affluent, and yet it seemed that he was willing to risk it all.

“Shall we go in?” he asked her.

She nodded, and then she realized that she hadn’t spoken a word yet. “Yes , of course.”

“Come, Danielle, I think that you’ll enjoy a bit of a tour too.”

“ Merci —thank you,” she said quickly. Nigel Sterling hated her to speak French. He hated the fact that Amanda had mastered the language so easily.

But Lord Cameron did not mind at all. He smiled kindly, and in those seconds Amanda felt a curious thrill sweep through her, for his smile had made him arresting indeed, charming and youthful.

It was only when he was crossed that the laughter left him and the tension settled in.

She had already crossed him.

Large double doors painted white were opened behind them and he was no longer gazing her way. “The land, my love, was originally called the Carlyle Hundred. It was granted to my many times great-grandfather by James the First. He was a Jamie himself, and he and his wife Jassy built this place. They were here when the Powhatans massacred the settlers in 1622, but they survived to lay the cornerstones and build the hall.”

He had led her through the doors, and now they stood in a grand and massive hallway. Opposing double doors opened to the river behind them, and a gentle breeze blew through the hallway. A grand stairway stood at center, and a door led off in either direction to the wings of the house. The bannister was polished mahogany, the walls were covered with European silks, and the ceilings had beautifully crafted moldings. A man in crimson livery similar to Pierre’s came hurrying down the stairs. “Ah, here is Richard. Richard, Lady Sterling, and her maid, Mademoiselle Danielle.”

White-haired and lean, Richard bowed. “At your service, milady, mam’selle. Milord Cameron, shall you desire anything now?”

“Blackberry tea in the library in an hour, Richard, if you would be so good. I had thought that I would show milady and mam’selle their rooms, and give them time to refresh themselves from the ride.”

“Very good, milord,” Richard said, and bowing, he left them.

Lord Cameron led them on up the wide and graceful stairway. At the landing they came upon a portrait gallery. Amanda found herself stopping before the first portrait, startled. A dark-haired man in seventeenth-century dress stared out at her with Eric Cameron’s silver-blue eyes. Beside him was the portrait of a beautiful blond woman with crystal eyes.

“Jamie and Jasmine,” Lord Cameron told her. “Rumor has it that she was a tavern wench, but he was so enamored of her that he would have her no matter what her birth.”

Amanda stared at him and flushed, feeling the piercing power of his eyes. “Are all Cameron men so determined?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Ah, here, Jamie’s grandson, another Jamie. And his Gwendolyn. They sheltered numerous Roundheads when Cromwell ruled and King Charles the First lay headless in his grave. Virginia has always been a loyalist colony.”

“So what has happened?” Amanda asked him.

“Time changes eternally, Lady Sterling. Seeds, once sown, often flourish, and the seed of liberty has fallen here.”

“So you are a traitor.”

“What words, lady! I am about to travel with Lord Dunmore to face the West County savages! What traitorous work is that?”

She smiled serenely, and he laughed huskily. “Alas, I can imagine your very thoughts. You see a Shawnee hatchet riding high upon my temple. Mam’selle, that you could be so cruel!”

He mocked her, she knew, but his fingers felt like steel about her own, tense and powerful. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Just the very light brush of the hot moisture of his lips made her blood seem to sizzle and flow, her knees grow weak. A flush came to her features because she knew that he evoked forbidden things within her, and it should not be. And still she stood, captured in a curious hold as he turned her hand, touching his kiss against her palm. A pulse leapt through her. His eyes rose to hers and she felt suddenly dizzy. “Please…” she whispered, dismayed by the note of desperation in her voice.

He let go of her hand and moved down the gallery to another portrait. He was, she thought, well versed in this game they were playing. He was making the rules. She could not allow him to do so. “Here, my lady! This is a favorite portrait of mine. Petroc Cameron, and here, his wife. Roc was rumored to be a pirate, and to have captured and seduced his own bride.”

“A Cameron tradition?” Amanda inquired pleasantly.

He paused, looking into her eyes. “He pirated for the Crown.”

“So ’tis rumored .”

“He was my grandfather, and he raised me, for my father was killed fighting the French. I know the truth about him and his beloved, for I heard it from their very lips. They aged in beauty and in love, and never seemed to change to one another. He was the pirate; I daresay that she did the taming. But they taught me much of the true values in life, and I am grateful.”

He turned away from her, walking on with Danielle at his heels. Amanda paused, suddenly aching. She’d never known what it was like to watch someone age with love, to learn any of life’s true values. She’d known coldness, betrayal, and brutality.

She looked again at the portraits, and wished that these people had been her own family. She wanted this background, she wanted the very beautiful people to look down upon her, with love.

Amanda trembled and feared that she would cry. It was so very senseless. She was there to escape her father. Bless the warring Shawnees, they would take Lord Cameron away, and she would have peace.

“Milady?”

He was politely waiting for her now.

She hurried along. He threw open a door on the southern side of the passage. She stepped into a huge room with a mahogany sleigh bed and Persian carpets on the polished wood floor. Huge grand windows opened to a river view, and there was a massive fireplace to warm one, a fine carved table with two elegant French brocade chairs to face the windows. It was a room fit for a princess, finer than the governor’s room at the palace.

“Will this suffice?” he asked her.

She nodded, then lowered her head. He had turned to speak with Danielle. “Mam’selle, you are just down the hall, there.”

The open door awaited her and Danielle smiled, thanked him, and hurried forward with delight. Amanda still had her head down but she could feel him near her, the very crisp clean fabric of his clothing, the pleasant scent of good tobacco and brandy and leather, and something subtle, something with which he apparently bathed. And there was his own scent, vibrantly masculine. She moistened her lips and turned to him. He was watching her, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes unreadable.

“Where is your room, Lord Cameron?” she asked him.

He arched a brow politely, then smiled. “Through the wardrobe, Lady Sterling.” He watched with amusement as she paled, then added, “You have a key, of course.”

“Of—course.”

“But then, one wonders why you are so interested. Are you concerned about my whereabouts, or my belongings?”

“I’m not concerned—”

“You are, so please, spare us both, and quit lying. Search to your heart’s content, but take care. If I find you too close to my bed, I might be tempted to believe that you wish to lie upon it. Pride, my love, dies hard.”

“I imagine, for yours is monstrously large.”

“Perhaps with just cause.”

“You do flatter yourself.”

“Do I? I think not. I do believe that I know you better than you know yourself, and therefore I am at an advantage.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her no chance. He bowed and turned away, then paused at the door.

“Richard will come to escort you to tea. You’ll need to meet Cassidy, my valet, and let’s see, Margaret will furnish you and Danielle with anything you need. From then on, milady, you shall be on your own. And, my lovely little spy, it will be quite fascinating to see where your—delicate—steps do lead you.”

“Never too close!” she called after him. “Never so close as to be…”

“Caught?” he inquired pleasantly. His eyes leisurely drifted to her, and he smiled. “You are in check already.”

“I do not concede the game!”

“Ah, trust me. You will.”

He turned then and was gone.