Love Not a Rebel (41 page)

She loved Cameron Hall even more fiercely than Eric, she thought, for she spent so much time there. Her portrait and his had now joined the others in the gallery. It was her home.

“You’re thinking that you should take care, eh?” Danielle questioned her.

Amanda cast her a quick glance. “Danielle, I do not know what you’re talking about.”

Danielle exhaled impatiently. Amanda ignored her. She swallowed tightly, closing her eyes. It seemed that so very much distance lay between her and Eric now. Miles … and time. She had missed him so much when he had first gone. In the days that followed, she had tossed and turned through the cold lonely nights. But then her father had come, over six months ago now, it was then that the distance had settled in, then that she had grown cold, then that she had begun to feel that things were so very horrible they might never be righted.

Amanda opened her eyes and saw that Danielle was still staring at her reproachfully. The Acadian woman started to speak.

“I’m very tired,” Amanda said quietly, and the other woman remained silent. Leaning back against the coach, Amanda realized that she was very afraid of Eric now. She would never be able to make him understand. She wasn’t always sure she understood herself. In her desire to give information that would keep Damien alive and avoid bloodshed at the same time, she had resorted to using information from Eric’s letters to her. Small things. Casual paragraphs on supplies of salt, herbs, fruits that the navy needed to avoid the plaguing diseases on the ships. She had only discovered major troop movements once, and then, it seemed, her information coincided with something
the governor had learned himself. She tried not to think about battles, but she knew that it was war. Men were going to die.

Eric would never forgive her.

Somewhere during the journey she must have slept. She awoke to discover that they had come to the town house, that it was night. The door to the coach opened, starting her awake.

“We’re here, Amanda,” Danielle said to her.

Amanda hurried toward the house. She walked up the steps, pulling off her gloves, calling to the housekeeper at the same time. “Mathilda, I’ve come!” She twisted the knob, found that the door was open, and walked on into the house. “Mathilda!” she called again, walking on through to the parlor. She tossed her gloves absently upon the desk, thinking idly of that first night here when she had begun her game of chess with Eric. He had been right. She had been in check all the time.

A sound suddenly startled her and she looked across the room. Her heart leapt to her throat and caught there, and she had to clutch the desk to steady herself.

Eric was there, an elbow leaned upon the mantel, a snifter of brandy in his hand. He looked wonderful in his tight white breeches, deep-blue frock coat, white laced shirt, and high boots, his lips curved in a slowly lazy smile as she realized his presence at last.

“Eric!” Her hand fluttered to her throat.

“Amanda!” He tossed his snifter into the fire, heedless of the cracking of the glass, of the hiss and steam and ripple as the alcohol sent the flames rising high. In seconds he was across the room, and she was in his arms. In seconds she was achingly aware of him, of the scent of him, of the texture of his face, the ripple of his muscles, the rough feel of his fabric, the intoxicating feel of his lips. She felt as if she were sinking into clouds, rising into acres of heaven. It had been so long since he had touched her.…

She was going to fall. It didn’t matter. Not at that moment. He was kissing too hungrily. When her trembling caused her to slip, he lifted her into his arms. Then she forgot her fears again as his fingers moved through her
hair, and she found a simple fascination in the way that it sprang beneath her fingers. She was barely aware that they moved upstairs, she was desperate to touch more of him, to feel more of his kiss. And then, in the darkness, there was nothing but the feel and the warmth and the sex of the man, and the throbbing pulse of an ancient music, wrapping them in a world where words meant nothing. She tried to speak, whispering his name with wonder. She didn’t know how he was there, but he was, glistening muscle rippling beneath her fingers, his lips feverishly upon her, upon her body, upon her breasts. The night seemed to come alive with the ragged harmony of their heartbeats, with the pulse that pounded between them, with the fever and flames that leapt and crackled and caused beautiful colors to explode even within the darkness.…

The night …

It remained alive with the beauty, and the hunger, and when passion was sated, it was still not time for words, for they needed just to touch, to hold one another, to relish something that had become exceedingly precious just to be wrenched away.

It was morning before they talked. Before Amanda worried again. Before Eric was able to explain his presence. He was still in bed, leaning against the frame, his fingers laced behind his head. Amanda had risen at last and sat before the dressing table, trying to detangle the wild mass of her hair.

“It ended. The siege ended. St. Patrick’s Day brought an Irish surprise. The Brits had evacuated Boston.”

Amanda met his eyes in the mirror. “I’m glad for you, Eric.”

“But not for the Brits, eh?”

She shrugged.

“Well, Amanda?”

“Eric, I am trying very hard to be a neutral.”

He leapt up from the bed. She felt as if she were being stalked by a tiger as he walked up behind her. “Are you, Amanda? Are you really?”

His hands were upon her shoulders. She prayed that he would not feel the way that she shook, and yet she was not
lying when she spoke. “Yes! I swear that I would be neutral now, if I could.”

Some passion must have touched her voice, for though he still seemed frustrated, he seemed to believe her too. He stalked back to the bed, then stretched out upon its length, casual, bold, and brazen, and catching her heart all over again. “I have heard that some of the things I told you in my letters came to be discovered.”

Fear clutched her heart like an icy hand. “Much of what you have told me has been common knowledge!”

“Aye, that it has. But since I have come home, I have realized that many a good Virginian politician and military man is alarmed by the rumor that a spy rests closely among us. A woman spy, my love. They are calling her ‘Highness.’ Actually, her fame had even reached Boston. Washington thinks that it might be you.”

His voice was cool, ironic. Her heart thundered drastically and she could scarcely breathe. She shook her head. “Eric—”

“You have never denied being a Tory, my love.”

He sprang to his feet and moved up behind her. He set his hands on either side of her head and stroked her cheeks and her throat. How easily his fingers could wind about her throat!

“I am your wife,” she reminded him, her eyes falling.

“But are you innocent?”

She met his eyes again in the mirror. “Eric!” she told him passionately and sincerely, “By God, I swear that in any matter of choice, I would never seek to hurt you!”

“Or my cause?”

“Or—or your cause!” she swore softly.

“Am I a fool to believe in you, Amanda?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. Her hair moved against his naked belly and he bent over her, finding her lips. He spoke just above them in a whisper. “Don’t ever let me catch you, lady!” he warned huskily, then kissed her. He pulled away.

“Oh! God!” he said suddenly. “How could I have forgotten, when it is so very important! I have seen Damien!”

“What?”

She nearly screamed the word, spinning around. Eric grinned, pleased. “Yes, well the Brits had him, but he managed to escape. He had some friendly guards and they shared some ale. He managed to swim his way to some flotsam, and then he was picked up by a colonial ship. He was delivered to Baltimore and hurried back to Boston. I was able to see him just before I left.”

“He’s—free?” Amanda asked.

“Yes—free as a bird.”

She screamed out something incomprehensible, then jumped to her feet and hurtled herself upon his naked form, bearing them both back down to the bed. He grunted and groaned, and then laughed. She showered him with kisses that caused his groaning to take on a different timbre. Laughter faded and they made love again, desperately again, until they were exhausted and glistening and unable to find words for they could not find breath. And yet finally Amanda managed to speak again. “Eric, how long do you have?”

He exhaled unhappily. “Less than a week. And so much is happening here! I’ve already heard that when the Virginians meet again, they plan to declare the land a commonwealth—to vote for independence! Before it is even done in the Continental Congress! History, my love, in the making, and I shall be back in New York, for that is where Washington believes they will attack next. We must plan a defense for the city.”

Less than a week. So little time between them. So much that might be discovered.…

But Damien was free.

She twisted in his arms suddenly, smiling. “I shall never betray you, Eric!” she promised him. She almost continued. She almost told him that she loved him, but some dark shadow in his eyes held her back. He did not really believe her. He did not trust her. He was not saying as much, but it was true. He was watching her, and now she was going to have to prove that she was loyal to him, if a Tory still at heart.

“See that you don’t,” he warned her. She lay still against him. In a while, she realized that he slept. There were new
lines about his eyes, about his mouth. Battle was taking its toll upon him.

She rose, needing to leave him to sleep, and reflect upon her new good fortune.

She dressed quickly and hurried out of the room. A pair of boots rested before one of the bedroom doors. Someone had traveled with Eric, she realized. One of his men. More danger, she thought, her heart beating fiercely.

She hurried on down the stairs and slipped into the parlor. There she knelt down before the desk and drew open the door.

And then she felt the knife against her throat, brought around her from behind. She froze.

“Good day, Lady Cameron” came a husky voice. It was the tall black man. Her father’s emissary.

She forced herself to speak. “You’re a fool. My husband is home. Williamsburg is run by colonials. All I need do is scream, and they will hang you—”

“Ah, but your blood will rise in a pool long before that moment, and as I’m quite sure Lord Cameron might be surprised, there is a chance that his blood might also stain the floor. Think carefully, Lady Cameron …” The knife came so tightly against her throat she could barely speak.

And still, she was determined on her own freedom. “Damien is free, and I am done, ‘Highness’ no more! Kill me if you will, but tell my father he will get nothing more from me!”

“We were afraid that you had heard of your cousin’s escape, my lady. Your father sends this message—if he comes to Cameron Hall again, it will be to burn the wretched mansion to the ground. And Lord Tarryton wants you to know that if he comes, you will be his prisoner, his mistress. He is most anxious.”

“If they come anywhere near Cameron Hall,” she said, “they will die!”

He did not reply. A second later she no longer felt the knife against her throat. With a soft rasping cry she leapt to her feet, spinning around.

He was gone. The man was gone. The window was
open, the spring breeze was rushing in. She ran to it but could see nothing.

She sank into a chair and sat there, motionless, feeling the breeze. She should tell Eric. She should admit everything that had happened, she should explain that it was all because of Damien.

She should, if she could just find the courage!

But it was over now. All over. She never had to play the spy again. Never. Eric need never know. And if she told him, he might despise her, he might never forgive her.…

Later Mathilda came and served her breakfast. She discovered that the boots belonged to Frederick, who had accompanied Eric, and she sat and drank coffee with him.

Eric slept most of the day. And when he came down, and his eyes fell dark and brooding, upon her, she knew that she could say nothing. It was finished. It had to be. She prayed with all her heart that it should be so.

Unless … unless the British did come to Cameron Hall.

They did not stay in Williamsburg long. General Charles Lee, a highly respected military man and an Englishman who had cast his lot with the colonies, was in Virginia to oversee militia troops. He was learning that the Virginia political machine was very competent and that he would do best to work with the local leaders. Eric was interested in seeing Lee and other of his friends and acquaintances, but he was most interested in returning home to Cameron Hall.

They rode the estate there, and Amanda was delighted when he applauded her various efforts to keep things moving smoothly. It was still spring, and cool, but they came to the little cover by the river, and they laid their cloaks there and made love beneath the rippling branches of the trees overhead.

Amanda still agonized over telling him the truth of what she had done, yet she was not sure that she could make him understand, and since Damien was free, no one could coerce her again.

And Eric watched her. When she would move about the house; she would catch his eyes upon her. When they rode, when they lay down to sleep together, and sometimes even when he held her. If she awakened with her back to him, she would sense that he leaned upon an elbow, watching the length of her, and she would turn and would discover it to be true, and the shadows would fall over his eyes again.

On his fifth day home the
Lady Jane
sailed brilliantly past Dunmore’s ships and came in to her home berth. She had just returned from Italy, so Eric told Amanda. But when she awoke that night, Eric was not beside her. She caught a sheet about her and hurried to the window to see the activity down by the docks.

“Spying, my love?”

The question startled her. She spun around to find Eric in a simple white shirt, tight breeches and boots, his hands on his hips, framed in the doorway of her room. He strode over to stand beside her. She tried not to allow her pulse to leap. “I was looking for you. I awoke, and you were gone.”