Love Not a Rebel (10 page)

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.