Love Not a Rebel (34 page)

“Well, well!” boomed her father’s voice. “Daughter!”

Nigel Sterling walked into the room, Lord Hastings and Lord Tarryton, the Duke of Owenfield, with his new lady duchess following behind him.

The music died, the servants ceased to shriek with laughter, and a curious quiet fell upon the room.

“Hello, Father,” Amanda greeted him coolly. Her fingers were trembling. She could not forget that the weapons had been seized, that she was lying to the man with whom she had fallen in love. Dear God, why on this day! she
prayed in silence, but he was already upon her, taking her hands, brushing her cheek with his cold kiss. Thom was quickly there to take coats and hats; she greeted Lord Hastings and Robert and his duchess, and quickly suggested that they retire to the dining room where there was still warm food and a blazing fire. She saw that Eric watched her, carefully, and she wondered at his thoughts.

There was a scuffle as she led their new guests toward the dining room. Startled, Amanda twirled around. She was shocked to see Eric standing there with his arm locked about Jacques Bisset’s throat, holding him despite the fact that the muscled Frenchman was straining to break free. Eric smiled despite his determined fight. “Do go on, my love. I’ll be right with you.”

“But, Eric—”

“Our guests, Amanda.”

Confused, she nevertheless hurried forward to escort their new guests to the dining room. As she closed the doors, she could see that Danielle had come over to talk swiftly to the man she had claimed as her brother. Amanda could not catch the words. With a sigh, she gave up. She turned about, facing those who had come. Her father watched her with his ever-calculating eyes; Lord Hastings with his ever-lecherous eyes; Robert with a startling lust; and Anne, the Duchess of Owenfield, with her soft brown doe’s eyes, ever frightened and timid.

“Anne, you must have some of our Christmas grog!” Amanda said cheerfully. “And the rest of you must try this too. Father, I know you prefer your whiskey, but this is a wonderful concoction with a trace of whiskey in it.” She didn’t wait for a reply, but played the grand hostess, pouring from a silver decanter that sat atop a small pot of burning oil to keep the contents warm. She placed a stick of cinnamon in each drink. By then Eric had come into the room, looking only slightly worse for the curious tussle.

“Welcome,” he said to the group, taking Anne’s hand in the best manner of the Virginia aristocrat. He kissed her fingers and smiled at the young woman—a trifle more gently than he smiled at her, Amanda thought, but then
she realized that he was very sorry for the timid woman married to Robert. “Duchess, it is indeed a pleasure to have you here. I’m so sorry I missed your wedding. I understand it was quite the occasion of the decade.” His eyes sparkled. “Tell me, do I detect something special here already?”

“Quite.” Robert had the grace to hold his wife’s shoulders and pull her against him. “We are expecting our first child.”

“Oh! How wonderful!” Amanda said, raising her glass to the pair. “A toast to the two of you, and to a healthy, happy babe.”

“Here, here!” Eric agreed, and he lifted his glass to the pair. “To a healthy, happy babe! Come, lady, be warmed by the fire.”

Eric was wonderful with Anne, light and warm, making her feel very much at home. But the conversation did not stay light long; Nigel Sterling brought up the fact that Williamsburg was alive with gossip about the conclave that was already being planned. “The time is coming, and coming fast, when a man will have to make up his mind! He will either be the king’s servant or his enemy.”

Eric waved a hand in the air, but Amanda noted that her husband’s eyes were glittering with tension. She knew to beware of him in such moods; she doubted if her father would see the danger or heed it. “Nigel, I have just recently returned from service at Dunmore’s request,” Eric stated. “I met the Indians upon our borders while politicians argued. Why do you tell me this?”

“Because, sir, you should abhor these proceedings! You, with your strength and power and your influence, you should be out there fighting the hotheads, not joining them!”

“Or leading them!” Robert suggested sharply.

It was out—it was almost an accusation of treason.

Amanda stood, bursting in between them. “I’ll not have it!” she announced, lifting her chin imperiously. “This is my house, and it is Christmas, and every man here shall behave with propriety for the occasion, or leave. This is not a tavern, and you’ll not act like it! Are we all understood?
Nigel, you are my father, and as such you are welcome here, but not to reap discord!”

There was silence for several long seconds. Amanda realized that Eric was looking at her and that his temper had faded. His eyes were glistening with laughter.

“Amanda—” Sterling began.

Eric rose. “You heard my wife. We’ve quite a traditional Christmas here and we are delighted to have you, but only in the Christmas spirit. Come along. We’ve excellent musicians, quite in the spirit of the holiday. Come, Lady Anne, ’tis a slow tune. If your husband will allow, I will gladly lead you gently to it.” The group returned to the party.

Robert nodded distractedly. As soon as Eric had taken Anne to the dance floor, he swept his arms about Amanda. He held her too close. Trying to ignore him and the pressure of his arms, she danced focusing her attention on the music and the movement of her feet. The fiddler was wonderful and the plaintive tunes of the instrument, joined by the soft strains of flute and harp, were haunting. Or they could be … if she did not feel Robert’s arms about her.

“Marriage becomes you, Amanda. You are more beautiful than ever.”

“Thank you. And congratulations. You are to be a father.”

“No child yet, eh? Tell me, do you sleep with the bastard?”

“With the greatest pleasure,” she replied sweetly. She felt his hands quicken upon her so that she was in pain; he nearly snapped her fingers.

“You’re lying,” he told her.

“No woman could find a more exciting lover.”

“You have not forgiven me yet. But you love me still, and I can warn you now, the time is coming when you will run to me.”

“Oh? Is it?”

“The British soldiers will descend upon this town very soon, and men the likes of your husband will be burned in the wake.”

She wanted to retort something horrible to him, but she did not have the chance. Her father touched his shoulder,
and despite Robert’s irritated expression, he was forced to relinquish his hold upon her. She was no more pleased to be held by her father, but she had little choice.

“You did good work, daughter,” he told her softly. Her heart leapt uneasily. “The arms were stashed where you said.”

“Then we are even.”

“There is no such thing as even. You will serve me when I demand that you do.”

“You’re a fool, Father. It will not be so easy! Haven’t you begun to understand anything yet? There are arrest warrants abounding in Boston—and no one to see them carried out. The people are turning away from this mess that men like you are causing!”

He smiled. “Don’t forget, daughter, that I do not make idle threats. When I need you again, you will obey me.”

He halted, turning her over to Lord Hastings. Amanda, wretchedly miserable from her father’s words, tried to smile and bear the man. She was certain that he drooled upon her breast, and by the time the music came to a halt at last she was ready to scream and go racing out into the snow. She excused herself and raced outside to the back porch, desperate for fresh air, be it frigidly cold.

The river breeze rushed in upon her. She touched the snow on the railing and rubbed it against her cheeks and the rise of her breasts, and then she shivered, staring out at the day. It was gray now, and bleak. And it had been such a beautiful, shimmering Christmas.

“Amanda.”

She turned around, startled. Eric had come outside. His arms were covered in naught but the silk of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold. The wind lifted a dark lock of his hair and sent it lashing back against his forehead. He walked toward her, pulling her into his arms. “What is going on here?”

“What?” she cried.

“Why has he come?”

“Father? Because it is Christmas.”

He kept staring into her eyes, and as he did so, the biting cold seemed to seep into her, wrapping around her very
heart. Now was the time. She should throw her arms around him; she should admit to everything.

She could not. For one, there was England. Above everything, she could not turn upon her own beliefs.

And there was Damien. She could not risk his life.

She moistened her lips and wondered desperately what would happen if it did come to war. She was Eric Cameron’s wife; and she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would cast aside everything for his own beliefs. Would he so easily cast her aside? And what of her? Perhaps she dared not utter the words, for they were painful ones, but she did love him. Deeply. More desperately than she had ever imagined.

It was terrifying.

“He has come,” she whispered, “to make me wretched.”

Eric’s arms tightened upon her. “And Tarryton?”

“Robert?” she said, startled.

“I saw the heat and the passion in your eyes when you spoke with him. Tell me, was it anger, or something else?”

“Anger only. I swear it.”

“Would God that I could believe you.”

She pulled away from him, hating him at that moment.

“You never pretended to love me,” he reminded her. He kept walking toward her, and he was a stranger to her then. He caught her arm and pulled her back to him.

“He is a married man expecting a child!” Amanda lashed out.

“And you are a married woman.”

“That you could think—” she began, then she exploded with a violent oath and escaped him, running past him and back into the house. The party was dying down. The servants were no longer guests, but they hurried about to pick up glasses and platters and silver mugs that had been filled with Christmas cheer. Amanda had assumed that her father and the others were staying; they were not. They took their leave soon after, telling her they meant to make Williamsburg before nightfall. Eric had come in quietly behind Amanda. He bid them all farewell cordially, ever the lord of his castle.

Amanda escaped him, rushing up to bed. She dressed in
a warm flannel gown and sat angrily before her dressing table, brushing her hair.

A few minutes later the door burst open. Eric, who obviously had imbibed more than was customary, stood there for a moment, then came in and dropped down upon their bed. He tore off his boots, his surcoat, and his shirt, letting them fall where they would. Amanda felt his eyes upon her. He watched her every movement even as she tried to ignore him.

“Why is it, Amanda, that we are not expecting a child?” he asked at last.

Her brush went still as the tense and brooding question startled her motionless. Then she began to sweep the brush through the dark red tresses again. “God must know, for I do not.”

He leapt up, coming behind her. He took the brush from her fingers and began to work it through her hair. The tendrils waved softly against his naked chest as he worked. She sat very still, waiting.

“You do not do anything to keep us from having a child, do you?” he asked.

“Of course not!” She gasped, trembling. Then she rose and spun around on him. “How can you suggest such a thing! ’Tis you—you marry me, and then leave me!”

His eyes softened instantly and he drew her against him. “Then you do not covet him, do not lie awake dreaming that the duchess should die, that perhaps …”

“My God! How could you think such a heinous thing of me!” she cried, outraged. She tried to jump to her feet and leap by him. He caught her and shoved her back to the chair, and suddenly she discovered that she was not just furious, but hungry for the man. She teased her hair against his bare midriff, soft sounds forming in her throat. She touched him with just the tip of her tongue, lathing his hard-muscled flesh until she felt the muscles ripple and tremble. She loosened his breeches and made love to him there until he shouted out hoarsely, wrenching her up and into his arms. He entered into her like fire, and the passion blazed steep and heady and wild. Crying, throbbing, sobbing, she reached a shattering climax. She felt
the volatile shuddering of his body atop her own, and she shoved him from her, curling away, ashamed. He tried to draw her back. She stared into the night, amazed that she could be so angry, hate him so fiercely, and be so desperate for his touch.

“Amanda—”

“No!”

“Yes,” he said simply. He drew her back and kissed her forehead. His soft husky laughter touched her cheek. “Perhaps you will better understand me after this night,” he murmured. “Anger, passion, love, and pain. Sometimes they are so very close that it is torment. I have wanted you in fury, in deepest despair, when wondering if I am a fool, when despising myself for the very weakness of it. That is the nature of man.”

She curled against him, glad that he did not laugh at her. He sighed softly, his breath rustling her hair. “If the world could just stay as it is.…”

His words faded away. For the first time since he had come home she guiltily remembered the map she held in the bottom of one of her jewelry cases. A shudder ripped through her. His arms tightened about her. “Are you cold?” he asked.

“No,” she lied. She was suddenly colder than she had ever been, even with his arms about her.

She determined to change the subject of their changing world. “What was that with Jacques today? You never told me; what a very curious incident.”

“Oh. Well, he wanted to kill your father. I stopped him.”

Amanda wrenched around, certain that he was fooling her. She glanced at his handsome features in the darkness, and she saw that though he smiled, he was very serious. The firelight played upon his bronze and muscled chest as he lay with his fingers laced behind his head. “Why does he want to kill my father?”

“Heaven knows. Or, perhaps, everyone knows,” he said quietly. He reached out and touched her chin very gently. “I have wanted to kill him upon occasion. He is not a very nice man.”