Love Not a Rebel

by Heather Graham

  “Did you?”

  He cuffed her on the side of the head, a silent blow that still sent her reeling down to the bed. She jumped back to her feet, loathing him, trying to pull the torn shreds of her bodice together. He walked over to her, staring closely. He lifted a finger to talk to her as his eyes narrowed. “You’ll not play the harlot, not on my time, girl. A whore breeds a whore, but you’ll serve me and do my purpose before playing elsewhere.”

  She stood still, her teeth clenched, her shoulders squared, and she prayed that Eric Cameron was gone. She could not bear him witnessing another scandalous scene, yet if he was near, he could not miss hearing the words.

  She was a fool, she thought. If she shouted out and screamed and cried, she could tell the truth! But Cameron’s words were true. With her father’s appraisal, it would appear that she had asked him here. She spoke softly. “There is no one here, Father. I am alone. Please leave me, so that I can sleep.”

  “There is no one here?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t play games with me. I have ordered you to bestow your charms on Lord Cameron, and you will obey me.”

  She inhaled sharply, looking into the shadows. Please God, she thought, let him be gone, let him be gone.

  Her father suddenly came close to her. She felt uneasy as his eyes raked over her. They seemed to have a strange, hungry light about them. He touched her chin, lifting it up, and he stared down at her breasts, so ill concealed in the gown. His finger ran down her throat to the deep valley between the mounds. “What happened?”

  “I twisted in my sleep. I have rent the seam, nothing more. I will fix it.”

  “It is a beautiful gown on you, daughter. I have kept you well clad.”

  “You have,” she acknowledged bitterly.

  His hand hovered closer until she thought that she was going to throw up. She cried out, backing away from the door. His eyes narrowed as if he would grab her and wrench her away, and for the first time she was physically afraid of him as a man. He made her feel unclean.

  She threw open the door quickly. If he came toward her again, she would scream. The governor was a good Englishman who might stoop to a little bribery or blackmail, but if she screamed hysterically, he would at least see that she was left alone. Her father would not dare abuse her before Lord Dunmore.

  “Good night, Father,” she said.

  Sterling stared at the door then stared at her, a pulse ticking at the base of his throat. He swallowed hard and walked by her, but paused in the doorway, holding the door open. “It’s not over between us, my daughter. We will return to our own home.”

  He closed the door sharply. Amanda fell against it, leaning her forehead upon it, ready to cry.

  Then a sudden movement alerted her and she twirled around.

  Eric Cameron hadn’t left at all. He had hidden, motionless and silent, beyond the dressing-room door. Now he was standing there before her, watching her, his face somewhat hidden by shadow, and yet she felt both the fury and the pity within it. She didn’t want his pity.

  “I wanted to kill him,” he said furiously.

  She arched a brow, startled. Even in the darkness she could sense the tension about him. He was more enraged with her father than he was with her.

  “He is my father,” she said, shrugging. She could not bear that he should see her pain.

  “The more he should be slain for what he does to you.”

  As regally as she could manage, she swept her gown about her. “My God, can’t you please get out of here too?”

  He strode toward her, taking her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. Some furious war waged in the very cobalt of his eyes. “So, you were ordered to apologize to me!”

  “You’ve found your letter, now please go.”

  “I warn you now, milady,” he said very softly, “I will not be betrayed again. Why didn’t you tell him that I was here?”

  “You promised to kill someone if I did.”

  “And you believed me?”

  “What difference does it make?” she snapped scathingly. “You would have said that I’d asked you here.”

  “And he would have believed me, wouldn’t he?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to see his piercing silver-blue eyes anymore, or feel the strength of his hands upon her. She wanted to be left alone.

  “Answer me!”

  He could rise so quickly from gentleness to sharp, demanding anger! “Yes! He would have believed you. He—he despises me,” she admitted softly. Then she jerked back away from him. “For the love of God, will you leave me alone?”

  “I did not start this thing, lady, but I would finish it,” he said softly. She didn’t understand his meaning, and it worried her. His tension seemed to have increased and he paced the floor, as if he were suddenly loath to leave her.

  She trembled. “You know what I have done—”

  “I know that he is willing to sell. And I am willing to buy.”

  “My father—”

  “You must be taken from him.”

  Amanda felt the heat and fury of his words, though they were spoken softly. She shook her head, protesting. “You don’t understand! I do find you a traitor! Whatever I did—”

  “You are a fool. It is best for me, milady, to have my eyes upon you. I will speak with him, and warn him that I don’t want my bride bruised, battered—or touched in any way.”

  “I’ll never marry you.”

  “Little idiot. No one can make you marry. I am offering you an escape, and God alone knows why. No woman is that beautiful,” he murmured. “Yet you are,” he said softly. “Beautiful, and cold. And yet I have seen the passion in you. “I’ve even felt it. Why do you pretend so fiercely that it isn’t so?”

  “Because I hate you, Lord Cameron!” she cried. She hated that he could make her tremble so easily, to grow hot and flushed, and breathless as if she were what her father accused her of being …

  A whore.

  “Never mind! If you would just—”

  “But I will not ‘just’ anything,” he assured her huskily. Then he came around to her again, and it did not seem that he felt her resistance when she tried to free herself from his hold.

  “You will come tomorrow. You cannot wait any longer, do you understand me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “I will leave the invitation with Lord Dunmore. If they are eager to hang me, I must give them the rope. Whatever his mind, he is a decent man. I will speak with your father. A betrothal will give you freedom. You will come out to Cameron Hall tomorrow—”

  “You are mad!” she cried. “I stole your letter, and you know that I hate you, but you would have me anyway! And what makes you think that I would come?”

  “The fact that I will be quickly gone and that you will have the place to yourself.”

  She fell silent. She knew that she would go. She longed so desperately to escape her father.

  Cameron doffed his hat to her. “You should marry me, and quickly, you know. I could well be skewered through by a Shawnee arrow.”

  “I don’t believe that I should have such wonderful good luck,” she retorted.

  His teeth flashed in a dangerous smile and he reached out suddenly, pulling her gown back in place. The silk had slipped from her fingers, and she had been standing before him, proud and bare. She swore softly, brushing his hand aside, but not before she felt the stroke of his fingers, warm and taunting. “You may have to marry me soon. For the sake of your good name.”

  “I haven’t a good name left at all, Lord Cameron. And I don’t give a fig,” she said regally.

  His laughter was soft and husky, but then it faded, and the silver-blue eyes that fell upon her held pity and tension. “You don’t need to fear me.”

  “Don’t I?” she inquired sweetly, now holding the remnants of her bodice together very firmly. She smiled, her teeth grating, as she awaited his answer.

  “You should fear those ar
ound you, lady. Come on your own accord, milady, else I shall find a way to rescue you from yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “And I pray that you need not discover the truth of my words,” he warned her. Then he bowed deeply. “Adieu, milady.”

  He twirled around and was gone. The breeze rustled through the open window, and she wondered briefly how he did not break his neck, or a leg at the very least. Then she wondered, too, about the British guard assigned to the governor’s palace. She should hear shouts any second. Eric would be arrested, strung up.

  She raced to the window, her heart hammering in her breast. She looked down into the yard below but saw nothing but the shadows of the night and, beyond, the foliage of the governor’s gardens and mazes. Cameron was uncanny. For his great height and the breadth of his shoulders, he could move swiftly, and silently.

  Damien once told her that many men who had fought in the French and Indian Wars had come home like that. Still soldiers.

  Still savages.

  He was no savage, she assured herself. But he was swift to anger, and she had already aroused him.

  The letter was gone, in his hands.

  Her tongue felt dry; her breath came quickly. Though she was afraid of Lord Cameron, still she knew that if the invitation was true, she would travel to Cameron Hall in the morning.

  She dared not remain with her father, and Lord Cameron was right about one thing. A betrothal would buy her freedom.

  The next day had turned to a beautiful sun-streaked twilight when Amanda first saw Cameron Hall. She didn’t know when Eric had gone to talk to the men, but she listened in silence when her father told her that she was betrothed and when Lord Dunmore told her that Pierre, with the Cameron carriage, would be waiting for her and Danielle whenever she was ready.

  Lord Cameron would be leaving any day, but he wanted her to accustom herself to his home in his absence. The wedding date, in these troubled times, must be set later.

  Her father caught hold of her arm just before she entered the carriage. “You will make yourself at home. You will search his desk and his papers, and you will find the truth. Anything, anything you find—letters, names, addresses—we must have. Do you understand?”

  “He’d probably kill you, Father, if he knew what you were about,” she said flatly.

  “You’re still my daughter, mine to command,” Sterling reminded her roughly. “And I can have you dragged home whenever I choose. Then there is your cousin. You think on it, girl.” He released her arm. Then he smiled and stared at her, and the same unease that had touched her the night before filled her with dread. She didn’t think that she could ever bear to be in a room with him alone again.

  “If you touch me, he’ll kill you,” she said bitterly, and then she was startled by the fear she saw in her father’s eyes. For a man who had been badgering his prospective son-in-law about his political views not a month previous, suddenly he seemed very wary and cautious.

  Sterling stepped away from her, and she was glad. Danielle was already in the carriage.

  Lord Dunmore had already turned his mind to the matters of the day, and it was her father who stood before the gates of the palace to watch the carriage turn along the green. He did not wave, and Amanda was relieved. She leaned her head back against the carriage and was glad of the respite. It would be a three-hour drive down the peninsula to Lord Cameron’s home.

  From the moment she first set eyes on the place, she felt a peculiar stirring in her blood. A mist was just rising as the carriage turned down the long winding drive. Great oaks sheltered the drive, and the mist caught within their branches and leaves. Then suddenly the trees parted and the house could be seen, rising high upon a hill on a waving lawn of emerald-green grasses. It was a huge place, made of brick, with a great porch surrounding the whole of it and great white Doric columns adding grace and elegance to the symmetry of the architecture.

  “Mon Dieu,” Danielle murmured, pulling back the carriage draperies to better study the house. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at Amanda. “This is a house, mais oui!”

  Amanda tried to smile, but she felt butterflies in her stomach. The whole of the plantation was impressive. As they rounded the drive, she could glimpse the neat rows of outbuildings all on a path and surrounded by vegetable and flower gardens. The gardens seemed to stretch out forever, just as the main house seemed almost to glitter beneath the sun and reach upward to the heavens. It was an illusion of the mist, she thought, and yet she couldn’t deny that it was beautiful. To the far left she could see the fields, and already there were a multitude of men at left. From this distance, slaves and white tenant farmers all seemed to blend together as they bent at their tasks. Far beyond she could see a rise of trees as the land sloped down to the river, and she could just make out some of the dock buildings that lay directly behind the house and far down the slope. Lord Cameron was at a distinct advantage with his property sitting on the river and with his own dock and deep harbor.

  Danielle’s eyes were flashing happily. “It will be good here, ma chérie. It will be good. This lord is very wealthy, and he will marry you and keep you far from your papa.”

  Amanda shivered suddenly, despite the grace and beauty that surrounded her, and she didn’t know if it had been Danielle’s mention of her father or of Lord Cameron. She was escaping the one to come to the other. He knew that she was a fraud, yet it was his fraud that they were now perpetuating. She had never lied about her own political beliefs. He knew she considered him a traitor. He had been furious to hear that her apology the other night had been forced upon her, but he’d already known that she had been spying on him.

  She could never marry him. Even if nothing had ever happened between them, if she had not fallen in love with Robert, if her heart had not been twisted by her father’s dark corruption, she was still, in her heart, and always, a loyalist. They were English; they were English people, with English laws, and she was proud of that heritage. At the school for young ladies, she had learned she loved London. America was still raw and wild, but her people belonged to one of the most cultured and greatest nations on earth. To her, he was a traitor.

  “There he is! Lord Cameron awaits us!” Danielle said happily.

  Amanda was not so happy. She swallowed sharply as she held open the curtain. He was awaiting them on the steps to his house. He was in white breeches and stockings, boots, and a navy frock. As usual, his shirt was finely laced and impeccable, his hair was unpowdered but neatly queued. As the carriage clattered along the stone drive, Amanda admitted that he well fit the regal house, for his bearing was fine.

  The carriage came to a halt. Pierre came scampering down from the driver’s seat. Lord Cameron called out something to him, and Pierre laughed, then helped Danielle from the carriage.

  “Welcome, Danielle,” Cameron said. He took the woman’s hand in both of his own. “Welcome to Cameron Hall.”

  Flustered, Danielle smiled and Lord Cameron kissed her hand.

  “Merci, merci!” Danielle murmured, blushing and flustered. She was so happy, Amanda thought. And perhaps she had the right, for Nigel Sterling had never treated her with anything that resembled kindness.

  He had always hurt her, Amanda thought, paling. Then she saw Eric’s eyes on her, and she flushed. He had known that she would come. And she had.

  He took her hand. “And, my love, to you my warmest welcome. I hope that you shall be very happy here. And safe.”

  Safe? she wondered. Could she be safe from him?

  With both of her hands within his own, he pulled her close. He kissed her cheeks and then slowly released her, studying her eyes. “Pierre, find Thom if you would, and see to Lady Sterling’s trunks, please.”

  “Mais oui,” Pierre agreed, grinning and turning toward the house.

  Amanda found herself looking at the carriage with its coat-of-arms and then to Eric Cameron. He was so comfortable here, so affluent, and yet it seemed that he was willing to risk i
t all.

  “Shall we go in?” he asked her.

  She nodded, and then she realized that she hadn’t spoken a word yet. “Yes, of course.”

  “Come, Danielle, I think that you’ll enjoy a bit of a tour too.”

  “Merci—thank you,” she said quickly. Nigel Sterling hated her to speak French. He hated the fact that Amanda had mastered the language so easily.

  But Lord Cameron did not mind at all. He smiled kindly, and in those seconds Amanda felt a curious thrill sweep through her, for his smile had made him arresting indeed, charming and youthful.

  It was only when he was crossed that the laughter left him and the tension settled in.

  She had already crossed him.

  Large double doors painted white were opened behind them and he was no longer gazing her way. “The land, my love, was originally called the Carlyle Hundred. It was granted to my many times great-grandfather by James the First. He was a Jamie himself, and he and his wife Jassy built this place. They were here when the Powhatans massacred the settlers in 1622, but they survived to lay the cornerstones and build the hall.”

  He had led her through the doors, and now they stood in a grand and massive hallway. Opposing double doors opened to the river behind them, and a gentle breeze blew through the hallway. A grand stairway stood at center, and a door led off in either direction to the wings of the house. The bannister was polished mahogany, the walls were covered with European silks, and the ceilings had beautifully crafted moldings. A man in crimson livery similar to Pierre’s came hurrying down the stairs. “Ah, here is Richard. Richard, Lady Sterling, and her maid, Mademoiselle Danielle.”

  White-haired and lean, Richard bowed. “At your service, milady, mam’selle. Milord Cameron, shall you desire anything now?”

  “Blackberry tea in the library in an hour, Richard, if you would be so good. I had thought that I would show milady and mam’selle their rooms, and give them time to refresh themselves from the ride.”

  “Very good, milord,” Richard said, and bowing, he left them.