Love Not a Rebel

by Heather Graham

  “Amanda, I should get you back. Your father will be worried.” And more cruel than usual. Damien did not say it, but Amanda sensed the thought behind his words.

  “To the governor’s palace, then,” she said as Eric gazed at her. Why did it always look as if he knew so much more behind those silver eyes?

  The governor’s palace—she would stay at such a place, or with friends. A lady of her standing seldom sought lodging in a public place. It was probably scandalous that she had gone as she had tonight to the tavern. She didn’t care much about her reputation, though. It had mattered only when love had mattered, and now she had been betrayed. She would never love again, she still bore the bitter scars of Robert’s betrayal, and so her reputation didn’t mean a thing.

  Eric smiled, taking her hand. She wished that she could wrench away from him. He seemed to do so much more than touch her hand. The heat from his fingers coursed through her. “It has been a pleasure, milady. I’m sorry that you are established with Lord Dunmore. As I said, I would have gladly offered you this residence. Or Cameron Hall, had you use for it.”

  Amanda smiled, pulling her hand back. She had to get away. She was hot and shaking, and she could feel his letter in her pocket. “Thank you,” she told him.

  She turned about and started for the door. Mathilda came to see them out, and Eric walked them down the road to where Damien’s small carriage awaited them with his old Negro driver. Thomas was sleeping, and Amanda was pleased to see the gentle way her cousin awakened him. There was so much good in Damien. How could he be a traitor!

  “Let me help you, milady.” While Damien spoke to Cato, Eric Cameron lifted her up and set her into the carriage. She felt his hands upon her waist and then she felt them brush her skirt. Her eyes widened with fear. She quickly tried to hide her eyes, lowering her head and her lashes. Then she raised them again, composed, her heart beating furiously.

  Damien still spoke with the driver. Eric looked in at her, a twisted smile upon his lips. “One would think, Lady Sterling, that my touch aroused you.”

  “What?”

  “Arouse, milady. You do know the meaning of the word.”

  “Lord Cameron, how dare—”

  “Lady, I have seldom seen such wide eyes. And there—at your throat—a pulse beats with ardent fury.” He came closer to her. “One might think that you longed to be kissed again.”

  “You think—wrongly.”

  “What?” he demanded. “Your heart does not clamor for a lover’s touch. Then one would think that you were hiding something from me. That you were a thief, with stolen goods within your pockets.”

  “Don’t—be ridiculous,” she managed to reply.

  His smile deepened. “Then your apology tonight was sincere.”

  Her breath came too quickly, causing her breasts to rise in rapid succession, pressing provocatively against the ribbon-laced bodice of her gown. Soft swirls of radiant ringlets framed her face and cast shadows against the emerald of her eyes. She gripped the seat, unaware that her fear gave her added beauty, that she enticed, even as she angered the man.

  “My apology was most sincere,” she said, desperate to raise her chin, to defy him.

  “I am glad,” he told her. With that he stepped into the carriage and sank down beside her. With the length and breadth of her she felt his form beside her own, heated, tense. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came to her. He reached out and touched her cheek, stroking downward upon it, bringing his fingers around to the nape of her neck. She nearly closed her eyes, for the sensations were so sweet, as if she were suddenly drugged by the nearness of the man. It was the brandy. Burning, swirling throughout her body. She could not protest, she could sit and feel and nothing more.

  His lips hovered just above hers. “I am very, very glad,” he murmured, “for I should hate it, milady, were I to discover you false.”

  Amanda could not answer for several seconds. She fought for reason, for words. “I offer you friendship,” she whispered. She could not pull away from him. She felt the curious combination of force and tenderness in his hold upon her. She remembered his hands. Strong hands. He could break a man’s neck, if he chose. Or a woman’s.

  She was being foolish. He would not harm her. No matter how she betrayed him.

  Or would he?

  She swallowed, trying to keep her eyes innocently upon his, desperate, for his letter lay within her pocket. There was steel in his eyes. He would not forgive or forget if he was betrayed. Perhaps he would not harm her, and yet, if he discovered the truth about her, she was certain that she would regret her actions for the rest of her life.

  Take your hands from me! she wanted to cry. She longed to leap from the carriage and to race all the way to the governor’s palace. She could not do so. His hold remained firm, just as his eyes continued to compel her. His mouth came ever closer to her own. He brushed her cheek with his lips, touched her earlobe, and she felt unable to break away, unable to fight the raw, sensual power. His face rose over hers again, his eyes entering into her naked soul. She moved toward him then, wanting more. Wanting just to taste … Her lips parted as she drew breath. No breath came to her, for his kiss closed down upon her lips.

  She tasted brandy and the heat of his mouth. What she had initiated, he finished. His tongue swept with sensual insinuation deeply into her mouth. His fingers stroked first her face and then her breasts.

  She could not breathe. She could feel only the flow of the brandy within her, and it was like a liquid fire. It was like the man, entering into all of her, making her burn with a sweet and startling desire to feel more, to know more.

  “Mandy—” Damien began, and then he halted, clearing his throat.

  Eric Cameron lifted his lips from hers, smiling. He set her gently back upon the seat and leapt down from the carriage facing Damien with no apology. His dark hair was somewhat tousled, slashing over his forehead. She could well see him as the pirate his ancestor had been, she thought, and then she realized that her fingers were at her lips and that she was trembling.

  And that the warmth and desire were still with her. She didn’t even understand desire, she thought with pain and fury, and yet it was something there, living deep inside of her. And this dark traitor had awakened it.

  A whore. Her father had called her a whore like her mother.

  She didn’t believe it. She would never believe it.

  He watched her. Damien was still, and she was silent, and it seemed that even long moments passed before Eric spoke to her again. “I have asked for your hand, lady. The offer still stands, should you need me.”

  She managed to form words. “I cannot marry you.”

  “And still, Amanda, I tell you, if you need me, I will be there. I will suffer your disdain, I will marry you knowing that you love another. Just don’t seek to betray me.”

  “Betray you, sir? Pray, tell me what is there that I might betray?”

  “Any man can be betrayed.”

  “I do not betray you,” she lied smoothly.

  “Good,” he told her. But he did not smile, and the look of steel remained about his eyes. He turned to Damien. “I will offer no excuse, Damien, for I would marry her, if she would have me.”

  Damien didn’t jump to her defense. He looked from Amanda to Eric. “Why?” he asked politely.

  Amanda and Eric both stared at him. “I’m sorry, Mandy,” Damien said. “But you were so very rude to him, from what you say yourself. And you’ve hardly been an angel this evening. Lord Cameron, I know that the world can be yours, so I am simply curious. Why?”

  “Damien!” Mandy warned.

  Eric laughed. “Aye, lad, she’s cruel and abrasive, but she’s truly the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

  “But you cannot love me! You’ve admitted as much,” Amanda murmured desperately. No, he did not love her, but she felt the attraction more and more herself this evening. She might despise him for what he was, for what he knew of her, for all he had witn
essed of her soul, but he fascinated her! She was drawn to his touch, she wondered more and more about the way his hands might roam, the places his lips might kiss. She reddened with horror. “You can’t just …”

  He chuckled softly again, and the tone of it made her burn, as did the husky sound of his voice when he spoke. “Amanda, I can. Ah, lady, perhaps I do not love you. You most certainly do not love me. But as you boldly pointed out at our last meeting, lust can rule a man’s heart and soul and mind, and lady, you have driven me to distraction. I do desire you, with a fever scarce kept under control. Watch your kiss, lady, lest it go too far.”

  “My kiss!” she cried.

  “You do wound me to the soul. You kissed me tonight, do you recall?”

  “Damien, can we please go?”

  “Mm … surely,” Damien agreed, but he was grinning.

  “Damien, now!”

  Damien leapt up into the carriage. Amanda stared straight ahead, determined not to so much as glance Eric Cameron’s way again. She looked down to her lap, feeling a fierce burning inside her. She could not bear these feelings. She had loved Robert, she had been deeply in love. And she had never felt like this with him, so what could it be? Her father’s words returned to haunt her. She was a whore’s daughter.…

  Her heart rebelled. She had seen the portraits of her beautiful mother, seen her gentle smile, the intelligence in her eyes. She couldn’t have been a whore. Amanda had never known her, but she could not believe such a thing.

  “I remain your faithful servant, milady!” Cameron said.

  Grinning, Damien waved to him and tapped on the carriage. Thomas clipped the reins, and they started down the street. They were very close to their destination.

  The carriage swayed and she felt she was going to be sick. She stared across in the shadows at Damien, aware that he was watching her.

  “He is twice the man Robert Tarryton is,” Damien said softly.

  Longing to pull his hair out, Amanda let loose with a startling oath. “Damien, don’t you dare say such a thing to me! After all that he has said and done that you have seen or heard!”

  “He has been honest,” Damien said quietly. “Which you are not, cousin,” he added.

  She longed to rail at him and barely managed to hold back her words. “Leave me be, Damien.”

  “Amanda,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “I love you, you know,” he reminded her.

  She exhaled. “Oh, Damien! I love you too.”

  He reached across the dark carriage and squeezed her hand as Cato drove up around the driveway to the front door of the palace. “I’ll deliver you to your father, and then Cato and I shall retire for the evening.” He lifted her from the carriage and set her upon her feet, grinning. “I shall face my uncle the ogre with you!” he said dramatically.

  “I will be all right,” she assured him.

  He shrugged. “Come.”

  The door was already being opened by a servant in handsome livery. They entered the hall and Amanda saw her father coming down the stairway, hurrying toward them.

  “I’ve brought her home, Uncle, well and in good time, I pray,” Damien said.

  Nigel Sterling nodded curtly to Damien. “Fine. You may call upon her again, nephew.”

  Damien quirked a brow at Amanda, then wished her good night and made a hasty retreat.

  When the door closed behind him, the servant discreetly disappeared and Amanda faced her father alone.

  “Well?”

  She shrugged. “Lord Cameron intends to leave on the governor’s behalf to the west country to fight the Shawnee.”

  “He does intend to go?”

  “Yes, definitely. Dunmore knew that already.”

  “Did Cameron introduce you to his acquaintances?”

  “No.”

  “Then you failed! He did not—”

  “He asked me to marry him again, Father,” she said coldly, “so I did not fail.”

  Sterling fell silent, stroking his chins. She returned her father’s stare and felt distinctly uneasy. He hated her and she was quickly learning to hate him.

  She felt the letter in her pocket. She had brought it to turn over to her father.

  Yet she could not do so. Not until she had read it herself.

  “When he comes back, you’ll see him again.”

  She smiled. “I understand that the Shawnee are fierce and merciless. Perhaps he will not return.”

  “Then there will be no worry on the matter, and we will decide a different future for you.” He smiled pleasantly. “Lord Hastings has been a widower for some time now. He would be delighted to take you in marriage.”

  Lord Hastings was well over sixty with a girth the size of an elephant’s and a penchant for whipping his slaves.

  She shivered and stood staring at her father, despising him with ever greater ferocity. She had never been afraid to be near him before, and now she realized that she dreaded the days to come. He would sell her to any man, and do so with relish.

  “We’ll go home in the morning,” Sterling said. “You may go to bed. And Damien will be safe. For the time being.”

  She trembled, fearing the sudden brutality of his smile. Without knowing what she was saying, she started to talk.

  “Lord Cameron offered me the hospitality of his home while he is gone fighting, Father. I thought that I should go.”

  “You will not—” Sterling began, but then he broke off, smiling again. “Yes. Yes, you shall go. And while he is gone, you can search his belongings for his correspondence. We could capture the whole core of this rebellion and hang them all like the traitors they are if we can bring proof of high treason into court!”

  “There is no high treason, Father, don’t you see that! The man is Lord Dunmore’s friend—”

  “No. No man has friends right now, girl. Bear that in mind. Friendship will not matter—blood will not matter.”

  Amanda felt a chill sweep over her. Her father turned away, heading for the stairs. “Tell him that you will marry him. You won’t have to do so, but the promise alone will open doors for you.”

  “Father—”

  “And think of it, my dear,” he said, holding the newel post and turning back to her. “Such a move will salvage your pride. Robert Tarryton’s fiancée has arrived from England. They are to be married in the middle of October. It will look so much better to the world if you are betrothed to Lord Cameron.”

  He started up the stairs again, murmuring to himself. “Perhaps you should marry him. If he is innocent, he is a man of the greatest prestige. And if he is guilty they will hang him, and his property will fall to you.”

  The chill swept around Amanda, settling deeply into her heart. “I cannot marry him!” she cried, racing after her father.

  He paused and looked down at her. “You will do as you are told,” he said, and kept walking.

  She gritted her teeth, longing to run away, into the night. She didn’t care what happened to her, as long as she could escape him.

  But then Damien would hang.

  She waited until he had disappeared, then she tore up the stairs herself and slammed into her room. She fell upon the bed, breathing heavily.

  Then she remembered the letter in her pocket, and she slipped her fingers into it, anxious to read the correspondence.

  Her fingers faltered, and her heart began to slam. She had his life in her hands.

  And before God, she didn’t know if she wished the letter to prove him a traitor or no. Pulling it from her pocket at last, she began to shiver. Even as she smoothed out the envelope, she felt again the fever of his kiss, the touch of his hands. Yes! She could condemn him. She had to! She was a loyalist; he was a patriot.

  And it might well be Damien’s life against his.

  She rolled over and looked at the envelope. There was a name and address in the corner. Frederick something of Boston.

  With shaking fingers, she reached inside.

  The envelope
was empty.

  She lay back on the bed, and she began to laugh. She laughed until she cried.

  And then she sobered with a gasp. She had spoken in haste.

  And now she was condemned to play this torturous game still further. She was to go to his home; she was to make promises that she would never keep.

  By God, she could not …

  By God, she had to.

  VII

  There was a soft tap on Amanda’s door. She hastily stuffed the envelope back into her pocket and rose, hurrying to the door. “Yes?” she called softly.

  “C’est moi, Danielle.”

  Amanda quickly opened the door and Danielle, dressed in sober blue with an immaculate white pinafore, slipped into the room. She had taken her hair down, and it streamed in dark folds down her back.

  She touched Amanda’s cheek. “You had a nice evening, ma petite?”

  “It was … fine,” Amanda lied. She forced a smile that probably did not fool the woman in the least. “You know how I love Damien.”

  Danielle nodded and crossed the room to a large wardrobe in the corner, opened it, and brought out one of Amanda’s nightgowns. It was soft silk, trimmed with Flemish lace at the throat and bodice and sleeves. “Lord Sterling does buy for you the best,” Danielle murmured. “You have fought with him again?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Not really. It is as it always is.”

  “No. It is worse now. He sees you growing up.” She was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes luminous. “I should have killed him years ago!”

  “Danielle!” Amanda gasped. “No, you cannot even think such a thing! They would hang you for it. And perhaps—perhaps not even God would forgive you.”

  Danielle moved the silk against her cheek. “God would forgive me,” she said. She looked at Amanda, troubled. “That they should hang me, perhaps that is better than what he will do to you!”

  Amanda was shaking again and she didn’t like it.

  “He is my father. He would not really hurt me.” But she couldn’t help it; the shivers remained with her. She couldn’t forget the way that Nigel had called her mother a whore and suggested that she was just like her.