Love Not a Rebel

by Heather Graham

  Her father appeared, looked her over curtly, gave the servants last-minute instructions, and then ordered her into the carriage. He looked at Danielle for a long moment and then shrugged. “No French,” he told her as she climbed up into the carriage. “I won’t hear any of that gibberish, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, milord,” Danielle said simply. Her eyes were lowered as they entered the carriage, and a chill shot through the Amanda as she watched the exchange. She was suddenly certain that her father had used Danielle, just as he had used his mistress in Williamsburg, and just as he used the mulatto slave girl. She felt hot and ill, and wished desperately that she would not have to face him for the next several hours as they traveled.

  It was a miserable journey, the whole of it passing in near silence. Her father read his paper, scowling constantly. Danielle stared out the window. There had been rain, and the road was pockmarked and heavily grooved. Like the others, Amanda sat in silence. She stared out the window, eager to arrive, eager to be rid of her father’s presence. Not until they neared Williamsburg and passed the College of William and Mary to come down Duke of Gloucester Street and turn onto Market Green did she begin to feel the least bit pleased to have come. Then she leaned back, thinking that her father would be completely occupied, she would be free to shop, to visit friends, to forget some of what happened, and to plan for her own future.

  They halted before the governor’s palace. Servants were quick to help them from the carriage and to attend to their luggage. Amanda and her father were ushered into the entrance hallway while Danielle was taken to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. Amanda did not look at her father while they waited, but stared at the impressive weaponry displayed with artistic grandeur upon the walls.

  “Ah, Lord Sterling!”

  She turned around as John Murray, Earl of Dunmore and the governor of Virginia, came toward them. Lord Dunmore was a tall, striking man with red hair and amber brown eyes and a fiery temperament to match his coloring. Amanda had always liked him. He was imperious but vivid and energetic, and generally kind and most often wise in his dealings with his elected government officials. It was only recently that he seemed to have completely lost his temper with the officials.

  He was impeccably dressed in yellow breeches, fawn hose, and a mustard frock coat. His hair was powdered and queued, and his hand, when he took Amanda’s, was as soft as pigskin. He smiled at her as he kissed her hand. “Lady Amanda, but you have grown to be a true beauty! You grace our very presence. The countess will be so sorry that she missed you!”

  “Thank you, milord,” she murmured, retrieving her hand. “Is your wife not here?”

  “She is not feeling well this afternoon.” He smiled with pleasure. “We are expecting a child, as you might have heard.”

  “I had not, milord, but I am delighted, of course.”

  She stepped back, aware that his true interest was in her father, which was fine. She wanted to escape them both.

  “Nigel, you old goat, you’re looking fit.”

  “And so are you, John.”

  “Come along. I’ve had tea served in the garden.”

  John Murray took Amanda’s hand, slipping it through his arm. He chatted about the summer roses and about the weather as they walked through the vast and expansive ballroom to reach the gardens out in the rear. They walked along a path of beautiful hedges, and came at last to a manicured garden. At a table places were set with huge linen napkins and silver plates. Lord Dunmore’s butler waited to serve them.

  Amanda sat, and thanked the man when her tea was poured. She nibbled at a meat pie and realized she could barely eat when her father was near.

  “Isn’t it a glorious day?” John Murray demanded, and she agreed. She listened and responded politely, and wondered when they would clear their throats and indicate that their coming conversation might be lengthy and of little interest to a young lady.

  They never came to that point. She was sipping a second cup of tea and watching a bluebird, wishing that she could fly away as easily as it could, when she realized that both men were silent and staring at her. She flushed and set down her teacup. “I’m so sorry. I was wandering.”

  “Ah, milady, it’s quite all right. It is a beautiful day. And a young woman’s fancy must not be confined to a garden with two older men, eh? I’ve heard that Lord Cameron asked for your hand in marriage, young lady,” Dunmore said.

  She flushed again and lifted her chin without glancing her father’s way. “I believe he asked Father permission to court me, milord.”

  “You turned him down.”

  “I—” She hesitated a minute, feeling her father’s eyes boring into her. She smiled sweetly. “Milord, I hear that he is in sympathy with certain men of whom I do not approve. His politics are quite different from my own.”

  “His politics! Nigel, do you hear that!” Dunmore laughed. “Why, young lady, you mustn’t worry yourself with politics!”

  She smiled. He was still chuckling, but the men exchanged glances again and again. A prickling of unease crept along her spine. Dunmore moved toward her. “Did you know, Amanda, that he is one of the wealthiest men in Virginia? He owns endless acres. He is titled, he is deeply respected. He is young, striking, and known for his courage, honesty, and valor. Perhaps he is noted for a certain hardness, determination, and temper, but his anger is aroused, they say, only under the greatest duress. He is considered a most illustrious marriage prospect and has been approached by nobility and royalty, as well as by the most affluent of private citizens. He has politely eluded all of these offers—then shocks us all with a proposal for you. Not that you are wanting in any physical way, indeed, my dear, you are surely one of the loveliest creatures in all of his Majesty’s realm. But you are not royalty. Your father’s holdings in Europe are meager. Therefore one would think that Lord Cameron is quite enchanted by your beauty and your beauty alone. You should feel quite honored, milady.”

  Honored. She remembered the way he had taken her into his arms, the way she had felt. And she remembered the way Robert had seemed to cower before him, and she felt ill.

  She remained silent, and Lord Dunmore spoke again. “His teeth are excellent, and one of my maids told me the other day that he had the most manly handsome face and fascinating eyes she had ever seen. Would you mind explaining to me, milady, your aversion to the man?”

  “I—” She paused, completely unprepared for the intimate conversation. This should be between her father and her, and no one else. She couldn’t have even told her father, though, that her aversion was her love for another. She could have also told them both that Lord Cameron did not want her anymore, that he manipulated her like a puppet on a string, and that she would never be able to endure his laughter or the mocking knowledge in his eyes.

  “I cannot say, milord,” she answered at last, smiling. “What is there in one that we do or do not love? Who can say?”

  Dunmore leaned back, nodding. “Your father has the right to say, child,” he reminded her. “And at the moment …” His voice trailed for a moment. “Eric Cameron is one of my most able commanders. I will lead men out west to fight a Shawnee uprising very soon, and Eric will be my right hand. He can summon more men for a fighting force in less time than it takes to gather the militia. He is a very important man to me.”

  “I imagine that he is, milord,” Amanda agreed carefully. She cast her lashes down and gazed toward her father, wondering where the conversation was leading. John Murray did not play idle games. He was a powerful man who spent his time wisely and well.

  Her father remained silent. He just watched her, his eyes very small and narrow and speculative.

  “Do you love England, my dear? Do you honor your king?” Lord Dunmore asked suddenly, staring at her as if she were a culprit.

  “Of course!” She gasped, startled by the turn of conversation.

  “So I thought!” he said proudly. He leaned toward her again. “Lady Amanda, I have a task to ask of you.”


  Her fingers started to shake. Dread filled her.

  “As I’ve said, Lord Cameron is to leave very soon for the west. The Indians are giving our people severe trouble, and they must be stopped. Cameron and I will be together in this venture, I know—he has given me his word.”

  Eric Cameron was leaving. That was wonderful. But what on earth could they want of her then?

  “Until such a time, I would like you to see him.”

  “I beg your pardon, milord?”

  “For me, for England, Lady Amanda. It is also your father’s will. See him. Become his friend. Pretend that you might consider his proposal.”

  She didn’t realize that she was standing until she heard her teacup shatter upon the ground. “Oh, no! I can’t. I really can’t. I’m sorry, I do love England, milord, and I will be loyal to the death if need be, but I cannot—”

  “He spends his time at a tavern with a number of hotheads. Men who might be arrested soon enough for their politics. I want to know if he is still loyal to the Crown. And I want to know what plans are being made by these so-called patriots.”

  “But milord! Men speak openly of their opinions. I believe Lord Cameron is a traitor, but then, by the law, so are hundreds of men. Lord Dunmore—”

  “Please. Other men may have opinions. Not Lord Cameron. Too many men will follow him blindly, and, my dear, if he is guilty of stockpiling arms against the king, then he is a traitor in black and white, and must be stopped.”

  “But … I—I can’t stop him!”

  Dunmore leaned back. It was her father’s turn to speak at last. He stood up, facing her coldly. “You can, Amanda. And you will.”

  “Father—”

  “You see, Lord Dunmore has on his person an arrest warrant for your cousin Damien.”

  “What?” She gasped. He stared at her, smiling. He was enjoying himself, she realized. He really enjoyed seeing her hurt and shocked, and he enjoyed using her. Her ears seemed to roar. She could smell the flowers, and she could hear the chatter of birds on the air. The day was so very beautiful.

  And so awful.

  She looked at the governor, and she knew that it was true. “What crime has Damien committed?” she asked hollowly. She tried very hard not to scream in panic, for they didn’t need to tell her much. She had suspected him of foolish deeds for a long, long time. She had followed him in Boston because she had been so afraid of his activities. She didn’t think that he had dumped tea into the harbor, but he had left the party so determinedly.…

  “Damien Roswell is guilty of a number of crimes, dear. We know that he has smuggled arms and armaments and that he has possessed and propagated numerous pieces of seditious literature.”

  “Seditious literature! Why, Lord Dunmore. You would have to hang half of the colony—”

  “I can prove that he has been smuggling arms, Amanda,” Dunmore said softly. His tone was truly unhappy. Then he fell silent, and in those seconds Amanda felt her blood run cold. She could not bear it if harm were to come to her cousin, no matter how foolish his behavior. “His crime,” Dunmore continued softly, “is treason, we have him dead to rights. But Damien is a small fish, and knowing how dear he is to you, we are loath to make him a scapegoat for the sharks.”

  She sank back to her seat again. They couldn’t be serious, but they were. She lifted her chin, determined that she could be as cold as her father. She would never forgive him now. She hated him with all her heart.

  “What do you want?”

  “The truth about Cameron. What he intends to do, what he has done. I have to know if he will turn his back on me if the trouble with the radicals becomes too serious.”

  “If I get you the information you want—”

  “Then I destroy the warrant for your cousin.”

  “I don’t mind—I don’t mind being a spy, milord. I don’t mind serving England, and I am a loyal Tory. But milord, if you’ll just ask something else of me—”

  “I need you, Lady Amanda.”

  “But Lord Cameron is no fool!” she said uneasily.

  “Yes, I realize that. The man is my friend, even if we are destined to be enemies. You’ll have to be convincing. Tarnation, girl! I must know if he is loyal to me or not!”

  “You—you are both blackmailing me!” she cried.

  Lord Dunmore rose. He was not happy with the situation, she knew. He didn’t like what he was asking her to do.

  But her father was delighted with it. She knew then that it had all been her father’s doing.

  “Think about it. Your service would be greatly appreciated,” Dunmore said. He rested his hand upon her shoulder. “The decision is still yours, my dear. I’ll leave you to think.” He walked away, and she was alone with her father. She stared at him for several long moments, listening to the chirp of the birds, feeling the sun and the breeze against her cheeks. Then she spoke with softly yet with venom.

  “I hate you. I will never forgive you for this,” she told him.

  He rose, coming so close to her that she nearly leapt to her feet to run. He caught her chin and held it in a painful grip. “You’ll do as you’re told. I have waited all these years for you to be of some use, I have let you live the life of a lady, and now you will obey me. You will give me a place of prominence with the king. And if you do not, Damien will hang. Do you understand?”

  She jerked free of his touch, trying to hide the tears that burned behind her eyes. “As I told Lord Dunmore, Eric Cameron is no fool! He knows that I despise him!”

  “You must change his mind.”

  “He will not trust me.”

  “Convince him.”

  “What would you have me do, prostitute myself?”

  Nigel Sterling curled his lip into a smile. “If necessary, my dear, yes.”

  She gasped, leaping up again, clutching her skirts. “You’re a monster!” she told him. “No father would ask this of a child!”

  His smile tightened. “I am a monster, but you are the spawn of a whore,” he told her softly. “Use your heritage.”

  She gasped aloud, stunned. Then she cried, “No! How dare you! You cannot say that about my mother!” Furious, she leapt toward him.

  He was no small man. He caught her in a cruel grip and held her very tight. She felt ill. His breath touched her face, his eyes raked over her, and that hateful smile remained.

  “It would delight me to take a bullwhip against you. I can do that, as well as see that Damien hangs.” He paused, staring into her eyes with an assurance that he did not threaten her idly. “Perhaps you should get ready for an evening out. Damien is here, in Williamsburg. I’ve told him that we are coming, and I’ve assured him he has my permission to take you for a ride this evening. You should get dressed. I expect him by seven. Such a young lad. Many will cry to see him hang, I am certain. Don’t make the mistake of warning him. He is a dead man if you do.”

  Nigel released her and walked away, leaving her alone in the garden.

  The scent of the summer flowers rose high all around her. The birds continued to chirp, the breeze to flutter the foliage. She sank down on the garden seat, her fists clenched in her lap, and feared that she would be sick.

  Somewhere inside the mansion the countess was lying back on her bed with a smile upon her lips. She probably dreamed of her child, and when that child was born, both she and Lord Dunmore would cherish it, and plan a future for the babe with love and care.

  What had gone so horribly awry in her life that her own father could despise her so? Label her mother a whore, and send her out to play a harlot’s game?

  She brought her knuckles to her mouth and bit down hard upon them, silently damning Damien for his foolish ways. But Damien loved her, honestly, with his soul and his heart. She had so little of value in life, of love sincere and untainted.

  They were casting her to Lord Cameron. Casting her to the very wolf. Wolf? Aye, he was that! But if he had wanted her—even to devour her!—he would have come to her to do so. What could
she do? Her father could not know how crude or harsh the words had been between them. He could not understand that it would be dangerous indeed for her to suddenly appear to have a change of heart.

  She rose slowly and turned back toward the mansion. It had to be nearly seven now.

  She did not mind serving England, there was so much that she would have done gladly for Lord Dunmore!

  But this …

  She started to shake, and so she walked faster. She was still shaking when she entered the mansion and hurried up the stairs to the guest room she had been given. She knew she had to wash and dress, but she threw herself on the bed, still shaking.

  She remembered Eric Cameron’s face, the strength of his features, the laughter in his eyes and then the hardness.

  And then she knew why she shook so badly. She had said it, and it was the truth. The man was no fool. And if he suspected her of betraying him, if he caught her …

  She swallowed hard, and she knew that she was afraid. Very, very afraid.

  * * *

  A hush fell over the crowd as Eric entered the public room of the Raleigh Tavern. It was known to be a place where men of different minds gathered, and Eric was looked upon with a certain distrust, for he was a lord, and it was expected that his allegiance was with the king. After all, he had great estates in England to consider.

  Men, mostly planters and farmers, some merchants and shopkeepers, looked about, nodded his way respectfully, then looked nervously back to their meals or their ale. In turn he bowed, then ignored their suspicious gazes. He strode in, doffing his tricorn and cape and taking a table near the rear door.

  The owner rushed forward to greet him. “Lord Cameron, come to visit with us for a spell, eh? Well, it’s honored we be, and that’s a fact.”

  “Is it? Tell me, is Colonel Washington about?”

  The man went red in the face. “Well, now, I don’t know—”