Love Not a Rebel

by Heather Graham

  She nodded. “I came to apologize. You caught me at a frightful disadvantage. I am grateful, of course. And I’m so very sorry that I was rude. Please, do forgive me.”

  “What else could I do, milady?” he replied.

  “Pardon me, milady, milord,” Damien complained softly. “I am here too, you know.”

  Eric laughed, looking at Damien. He liked the young man very much. He was bold and brash and witty, and yet, beneath it all, he was determined—and talented. Damien had already cast his glove into the fray. Roswell, he had learned, was dealing very closely with the Bostonians. Most men were still eager to negotiate. Damien ran with a crowd that seemed collectively certain that it would come down to a force of arms. Even though Washington spoke carefully, Eric was certain that he, too, thought it would come to bloodshed.

  “A thousand pardons, sir. But I’m afraid my keenest interest is in your cousin, Damien. Curious, isn’t it, that a lady should seek out a man in a tavern for an apology.”

  She still had her temper, he saw, even if she was trying to hide it. Her lashes were lowered, but he saw the flash in her eyes. When she lifted her head, she was smiling again. “Is it shocking behavior that I should be here? Why, all manner of good men and women come to this place, so I am told. The rooms, they say, are of a far more pleasant nature at Mrs. Campbell’s Tavern, but the food here is fine, the drink palatable, and the company … most respectable.”

  “Perhaps. But for a lady of your affluence?”

  “But there is a lord of your affluence here.”

  “And there lies the difference, Amanda,” he told her flatly.

  She flushed slightly but picked up a pewter tankard of ale, which she sipped and smiled. “Ours is a wonderful new world, isn’t that what they say? I am fascinated by it.” Her lashes rose and fell, her smile was compelling. She was flirting with him. Her fingers fell over his like butterfly wings.

  He caught her fingers with his own. “You are a loyalist to the core, Amanda,” he told her flatly.

  She tried to maintain a smile while she struggled to free her fingers from his grasp. “Milord! Do you mean to say that you are not? Have you then repudiated the king? I had not heard that the staunchest rebels had yet gone so far!”

  Only in whispers. But things were moving so quickly. Throughout the colonies, throngs of people had attacked shopkeepers who had failed to respect the boycotts on British goods. Few men or women had been injured, but the goods had been destroyed. And there had been no reprisals. It was all like a gigantic wind, sweeping around them. Rebellion was close at hand.

  And he was going off to fight Indians in the west, at Lord Dunmore’s request.

  He did not need to answer Amanda because Damien was already doing so. Leaning forward, her cousin spoke to her heatedly. “Amanda, hush! God alone knows who may listen to our words these days! Lord Cameron said nothing about having repudiated the king. Indeed, he is the king’s good servant, leaving his own hearth and risking his own life, limb, and health and fortune to go forth and meet the Shawnee.”

  “You should watch for your own life and limb, cousin,” Amanda warned softly.

  Damien sat back, staring at her. “What are you talking about?”

  She knew exactly what she was talking about, Eric thought. The night became ever more interesting.

  “Nothing,” she replied, and turned from her cousin, a charming smile on her lips. “It is whispered that this is where it all takes place.”

  “It … all?” Eric queried her innocently.

  “The clandestine meetings. The speeches, the—”

  “The rebellion, that’s what she means.”

  She pouted sweetly. “Amusing, Damien. But so very exciting,” she told Eric.

  What a wonderful liar she was, he thought. But it didn’t matter.

  “And are you fascinated, Lady Sterling?”

  “Incredibly.”

  “Is that a loyalist hobby?”

  “No, milord, merely a growing interest in politics,” she said. “Mob rule can be so very intriguing.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. We hear about the glorious cause of rights for Englishmen, the demand for self-government, how very ill the poor colonist is treated. But those same brave men raided the home of Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson in Boston, and he was a man very much opposed to the Stamp Act!”

  “Madness against an innocent man,” Eric murmured.

  “I beg pardon, sir?” Damien said.

  “Oh, the lieutenant governor’s words,” Eric said. “Yes, it’s true. Mob rule can turn very ugly. I daresay that the man did not understand just how incensed the people were about the Stamp Act.”

  “The ‘Sons of Liberty,’ ” Amanda said sweetly with only a touch of mockery to her tone.

  “Ah, the study of those sons fascinates you, remember!”

  “Of course.”

  She looked around the room. Eric was aware that she was looking for the men rumored to be at the root of the Virginia dissension.

  He rose, bowing to her deeply. “Lady Sterling, Damien, I was on my way out. Perhaps, if you are still interested in political discussion, you would be good enough to accompany me to my town house.”

  “What!” Amanda exclaimed, startled.

  He suppressed a smile at her discomfiture. “I was leaving, milady. But you are most welcome to accompany me. You, milady, and Damien too, of course.”

  “I’d love to,” Damien said quickly. “Mandy?”

  “I—I—” She hesitated, staring at him. Then she found her smile again. “I’m sure you can’t be so willing to forgive my bad manners that you would want me in your very home.”

  “My dear Lady Sterling, you would always be welcome in my home. Indeed, you—and your father, of course—are more than welcome to be my full-time guests at any time.”

  “That would not be necessary,” she said, maintaining a sweet smile. “We are guests of Lord Dunmore.”

  “Ah, so you are residing at the palace, and I offer my most humble abode. I’m quite sure Lady Dunmore has you in the comfortable guest room on the second floor. It is spacious, and so beautifully appointed. I could offer nothing so grand.”

  “Milord, it is a charming room he has given me, yes. You know the palace well.”

  “I have been a guest there often myself,” he said softly. “And I regret that you are not my guest for your stay in Williamsburg.” He smiled charmingly himself. It was good to know exactly where the lady was staying—and might be found, if necessary. “And, milady, it is incredibly easy to forgive you. Please, my carriage is outside. Yours can follow.”

  Damien was enthusiastic, and Amanda seemed to realize that she had little choice. Eric retrieved his cape and hat and led the two outside. His carriage, with the Cameron coat-of-arms emblazoned on the doors, did await them. The driver started to hop down from his seat, but Eric waved a hand to him. “It’s all right, Pierre. I shall get the steps. We’re going home.”

  “Oui, Lord Cameron,” the man replied.

  Eric opened the door and dropped the steps, then ushered Amanda up and into the carriage. He breathed in the scent of her hair as she passed him. Did she always smell so sweet and so good, like tender flowers on a sunny day?

  “Damien, after you,” he said. He watched the young man climb into the carriage, then followed behind him.

  After Eric climbed up and tapped on the carriage roof, the horses started off. His town house wasn’t far from Raleigh Tavern.

  “You’re near to the governor’s palace, aren’t you?” Damien inquired.

  Eric nodded. “Near enough.”

  “Prime, prime property!” Damien applauded.

  Eric laughed. “It belonged to my paternal grandmother.”

  Damien leaned forward. “There’s a rumor that your grandfather was a pirate,” he said excitedly.

  Eric arched a brow politely. “Is there?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard tell that he was a rogue, spying on the very likes of Blackbe
ard for the governor. Tell me, do you know anything about the treasure?”

  Eric laughed. “I’m afraid not, Damien. He did play a pirate, but he pirated only his own ships. Any gold he claimed was his own, and to the best of my knowledge, he knew nothing about any of Blackbeard’s treasure.”

  “Blackbeard’s head was severed,” Damien told Amanda excitedly, “and set upon a spike as a warning to all pirates. Then the men of his crew who had been taken were tried here, and all but one was hanged.”

  “Perhaps you should look to your own neck, cousin!” she warned again, then paled, seeing Eric’s eyes upon her. She inhaled and exhaled quickly, and Eric smiled, seeing her discomfort. He didn’t know quite what was going on, but she hadn’t planned on going to his town house.

  Soon the carriage drew to a halt. Pierre hopped down and opened the door, and Eric quickly climbed down then reached up for Amanda. His hands slipped around her waist, and he set her down slowly, loath to let her go. Her eyes were on his, very wide, and dusky green in the moonlight. He almost felt sorry for her then. Except that he longed for her, more deeply each time he saw her, and he knew that she was using him. It was a good thing that his ego was substantial, he thought. Her disdain was sometimes so apparent in her gaze.

  “Do you like the boxwoods?” he asked her, leading her along the walk as Damien followed. “My housekeeper grows them. I’m afraid that I’m not in residence often enough to do the plants here justice.”

  “And where are you?” she asked.

  “Why, at Cameron Hall, of course,” he said, opening the door. As they entered, a tall lean woman with her hair knotted beneath a mob cap came hurrying into the hallway.

  “Lord Cameron, I was not expecting you so early,” she said, taking his hat and cape.

  “Mathilda! I promised that I should be home nice and early!” he said quickly. “This is Lady Sterling, Mathilda, and her cousin, Damien Roswell.”

  Mathilda bobbed quickly to them both. Amanda murmured a greeting, looking about the hall. The Cameron wealth was evident in the fine wall covering, in the display of weapons, in the polished furniture. There was a maple cabinet in the hallway that had to be worth an apprentice artisan’s entire first year of pay. There were silver candlesticks set about, and, looking up the stairway, she noted that the upper hallway was lined with oil paintings.

  “This way, Lady Sterling,” Eric murmured.

  She was led into his study, a warm room with claw-footed, brocade upholstered chairs, a massive oak desk, a standing globe of the world, endless bookshelves, and a marble mantel. She felt his hand at the small of her back, and she longed to scream out. His touch could not be forgotten. Although he was perfectly polite, the lordly gentleman to the core, she felt that he was watching her with sizzling curiosity. He knew, she thought, and the very idea made her shiver. He was leading her along, waiting to pounce upon her like a wildcat.

  She had no choice. Damien was her cousin, her friend. If he had gone astray, she had to help him. There was nothing that Lord Cameron could know. She was befriending him, and that was all. There was nothing that she could learn from him. They had not joined his friends—they had left the tavern. And now she was in his home.

  “Sit, milady!” he said cordially, inviting her into one of the beautifully upholstered chairs. She did so and tried to smile again. The effort was weak.

  “It’s a wonderful house,” Damien said admiringly.

  “Thank you. Damien, a brandy? Lady Sterling, I would offer you tea, except that I have chosen to boycott its usage.”

  “I’d love a brandy,” she said sweetly. “Would you!” Damien laughed.

  “Yes,” she said, maintaining her smile but warning him with her eyes. She wanted twenty brandies. She wanted to pretend that she was far, far away and that she hadn’t been blackmailed into this trickery.

  Lord Cameron had one dark brow arched as he looked her way. He didn’t say a word though, but poured out three brandies from a snifter on his desk. He brought her a delicate glass, setting it into her fingers. His eyes touched hers, and when their fingers met, she was suddenly beset with shivers again. He was clad darkly this evening. His breeches and his frock were navy, as was his surcoat, and only the white lace of his shirt showed at his throat to lighten the effect. It was somewhat somber garb, and it became him well, with his hair so very dark and his eyes so hauntingly silver-blue. They probed the soul, she thought, and she tried to look away. He seemed to tower over her as he stood by her chair, not releasing the brandy but watching her endlessly, seeking some answer.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the glass. He smiled and moved away, offering Damien his brandy. Damien thanked him quickly and studied the books that lined the cases. He strode to the globe and spun it around, fascinated.

  “You are quite blessed, Lord Cameron,” Damien said. This beautiful town house, and I understand that Cameron Hall is magnificent.”

  “Thank you, I think it is.” Eric told him as he watched Amanda steadily. She wanted to look away from him, and she discovered that she could not. He was darkly satyrish this evening, and it was almost as if he had some mysterious power over her.

  It was nonsense, she convinced herself.

  “Do you play chess, Lady Sterling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Play me.”

  Was it the game he referred to? It was difficult to tell when he stared at her with such probing eyes. She shrugged. “If you wish.”

  He rose and went over to a small table with the board built onto it. The fine ivory pieces were kept in little pockets at the side.

  Eric set up his men and looked at Amanda. They had drawn their chairs close, and she felt his presence all the more keenly. “Your move,” he told her.

  She brought forth a pawn. He followed suit. She moved in silence; he moved again. Her gaze fell upon his hands. His fingers were long, his nails clipped and neat. They were intriguing hands, bronzed from the sun, large, long, and tapered. The palms were not smooth but callused, as if he often engaged in manual labor.

  She looked up and found that he was watching her, that it had long been her turn. She paled and foolishly moved a second pawn. He took it with his knight, and she was helpless to fight back.

  “In love and war—and chess—milady, it is dangerous to forget the object of the attack for even a moment.”

  “You’re giving me advice?” she said. “We have hardly begun the game. Perhaps, milord, you will find yourself on the defensive much sooner than you think.”

  “I had not realized that I was on the offensive.”

  “Are you playing to win?” she murmured.

  He smiled, very slowly, his gaze silver and searing while he rested back in his chair. “I always do win, Lady Sterling.”

  “Always?”

  “Always,” he assured her nonchalantly.

  She tore her eyes from his and concentrated on the game. Damien watched in silence.

  They moved quickly for a few minutes. They were both on the offensive, and they both played with skill. Amanda lost a knight and a rook, but in turn she took a knight and bishop and two pawns. Soon the game began to slow down as they both took greater care with each move, trying to weigh what would come after the next immediate turn.

  “Long-range planning,” Damien said lightly.

  Eric’s eyes met his over Amanda’s head. “Mmm. It can take a long, long time to win a game. Hours. Days, even. Alas, I haven’t many days left.”

  “Alas!” Damien sighed. “I was so looking forward to seeing your Cameron Hall.”

  “Were you? Well, sir, you’ve a standing invitation. I shall be gone, and I don’t know when I shall return, but my home is your home.”

  “Milord, I thank you sincerely!” Damien said.

  “My pleasure.” Eric looked over the board and maneuvered his knight in a position to set Amanda into checkmate on the next turn.

  She saw his move and countered it, saving her king. The rescue, however, cost her a bishop.
r />   “Ah! Take care, milady. I am stripping away your defenses. One by one.”

  “I am not beaten, milord.”

  “I should hope not, milady. You would not be a worthy opponent if you did not fight until the very end.”

  She was shivering again. They weren’t talking about chess, not at all. And Damien was blithely innocent to it all.

  They played for an hour and had reached a stalemate when Damien drew away Eric’s attention. “I am fascinated by your books, Lord Cameron!” Damien said.

  “Are you? I noticed you looking at the thesis on animal husbandry. I’ve another matching volume on botany. Would you like to borrow them?”

  “Yes, I would, very much,” Damien said.

  “Come then, I believe the volume is upstairs. Amanda, will you excuse us, please?”

  “Of course,” she murmured quickly. Her heart was beating hard and she could not wait for them to leave the room. When they were gone, she leapt to her feet. On sudden inspiration she raced around the desk and tried the top drawer, impatiently searching through the papers there. There were bills and receipts. He had written a note to buy Mathilda’s daughter a toy for her birthday. He had a list of stores in his wine cellar. There was nothing, nothing, indicative of any treason.

  She started to sink into his chair, then she paused and wrenched open a side drawer. There was a letter there, postmarked from Boston.

  They were coming back down the stairs. Amanda inhaled and exhaled deeply, then stuffed the letter into one of the pockets in her skirt. Then she closed the door quickly and raced back to her chair.

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the volume tremendously,” Cameron was saying. “If you love the land.”

  “Very much. Almost as much as I love horses,” Damien said cheerfully.

  “You sound like a friend of mine, Colonel Washington. He is enamored of horses and forever experimenting with botany.”

  “I am in good company!” Damien replied, and Amanda winced. Good company for a hanging! she thought, but then it didn’t seem to matter too much then for her heart was hammering and she could scarcely breathe. She imagined that any minute Eric would wrench her to her feet and his hands would fall brutally upon her until he managed to find the letter. And then his long fingers would curl around her neck.