Danielle was pleased about the marriage, if distressed about the rush. “There should have been time for a wedding gown, for the church to properly announce the ceremony. But it is good, mais oui, it is good. You will be out of that monster’s clutches forever!”
“That monster,” Amanda knew, was her father. But Danielle was wrong. She was not out of his clutches.
In Williamsburg she was taken to the governor’s palace. His countess very kindly and enthusiastically helped her freshen up from the journey. She chatted very happily about her wedding day, and apologized for the indisposition that had kept her from entertaining Amanda on her last visit. “I do hope that John was gracious.”
“Very gracious,” Amanda agreed. He had threatened her cousin’s life—graciously.
But then the countess offered her a stiff brandy. “A gentleman’s drink perhaps, but for the prewedding tremors, a lady’s drink as well!”
Amanda drank a lot of it. It seemed to be one way to endure the ceremony.
Despite the haste of the wedding, the Bruton Parish Church was quickly filled. Many of the men who had been in town for the dissolved House—who would soon be attending the Continental Congress—came to see Lord Cameron take his bride. As she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, Amanda noted that it was a curious assembly indeed. The governor laughed and joked with the very men whose meeting he had so recently dissolved. Lady Geneva had come, and squeezed her hand as she passed by. Colonel Washington was there, she saw, nodding to Eric with a pleased grin on his sober countenance. She did not see Damien, and that worried her, as he had been invited. Actually, everything worried her.
She was going to pass out, she thought. But she could not. Nigel Sterling passed her hand over to Eric, and the reverend stepped forward to tie their wrists together with white ribbon.
And then he began to speak.
Amanda did not hear his words. She felt the heat of the small church, and she heard the muffled whisperings of the people in the pews. She felt Eric standing beside her, and she heard the clear, well-modulated tones of his vows. Then she heard a pause, and she forced herself to speak even as she wondered at the words she said. She swore to love, honor, and obey.
Suddenly the reverend was smiling and suggesting that Eric might kiss his bride. Then his lips were upon hers, and fierce as she had never felt them before. The breath was robbed from her body and very nearly her life. It was not so different from any other of his demanding kisses except that it seemed ever more so. It was not a taunt … it was a possession, she thought.
There was a cry, and Lady Geneva surged forward, laughing, kissing her, then kissing her groom with something a little less than propriety. But that didn’t seem to matter, for the peculiar assemblage was in a joyous mood. Dunmore kissed her deeply, then others in the council, and then members of the House of Burgesses.
There were so many people around her. Unable to breathe and feeling terribly trapped, she finally managed to escape through the crowd and exit the church into the cemetery. There she leaned against the cold wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She opened her eyes to discover that Washington had followed her. Tall, with soft blue-gray eyes, he smiled her way ruefully. “Are you all right, Lady Cameron?”
Cameron. It was her name now, she thought. She opened her mouth to answer the man, but no words would come, and she knew that her eyes were wary. She nodded.
Washington smiled at her. “If I can ever help you, please do not hesitate to come to me. I see your husband coming. I wish you long life and happiness, milady, and I hope that you will visit us at Mount Vernon. We shall all pray for peace.”
“Yes, we will pray for peace!” she agreed. The trees rustled over their heads, and for a moment they smiled at one another and shared something. Then the moment was broken, for Damien had discovered her.
He flashed Washington his rogue’s smile, then kissed his cousin warmly. “Felicitations, Lady Cameron!”
“Damien! I did not see you!”
“I was in the church. I would not have missed it!” He swept her off her feet and swirled her around, then he suddenly paused, laughing. “Uh-oh. Lord Cameron! Well, er, here she is! Your bride!”
He thrust Amanda into Eric’s arms. So she wouldn’t be dropped between the two men, she curled her arms around her husband’s neck and met his gaze. He smiled down at her, and the tenderness in his smile warmed her. She offered a tentative smile in turn, and then he was laughing at something someone was saying, and then agreeing that the wine and ale were flowing freely at his town house.
It wasn’t much of a walk to the town house. Eric carried her all the way there with a score of wellwishers behind them. She remembered little more of the afternoon, for despite his smile she was very, very nervous and so she kept her glass of Madeira filled and refilled, perhaps far too often. She thought that they would party into the night, but the wellwishers were still in abundance when Eric came to her, sweeping her into his arms again. Panic seized her as she felt his arms close around her.
“What—”
“We’re going home.”
“Home?”
“Cameron Hall.”
“But—” she said, then fell silent, for she was glad of it. The long drive would delay their time alone together, the time that she was dreading, that now held her in pure terror. She had sold herself today, to a devil or a traitor, she knew not which. She had done so with open eyes, yet now she was afraid.
“Speech!” someone shouted out, and Eric gave one, waxing on eloquently about love—and then Shawnees, ending with an apology that all must be so quick since the darned Shawnees didn’t care a whit about his love. Laughter followed them out to his carriage. He deposited her inside first, then climbed in beside her. Danielle would follow in her own coach.
Amanda closed her eyes as the horses clattered down the street, afraid to acknowledge the man beside her. He shifted suddenly, and her eyes flew open, for she was afraid that he meant to take her into his arms. He did not. He watched her from the shadows of the carriage. “It will be a long drive. You’ve been, er, imbibing quite freely. Perhaps you should try to sleep.”
“Ladies do not imbibe,” she told him.
“Nor do they swear, and Damien tells me that you could put a cattle drover to shame.”
Lowering her lashes, she flushed and informed him that it was very rude of him to say so. He laughed and slipped an arm about her, drawing her upon his lap. She looked up at him in the shadows, ready to protest, then felt his fingers smoothing back her hair. “Rest, Amanda.”
She did so. She fell asleep and did not waken until he had lifted her from the carriage and carried her up the stairs. Then her eyes widened with renewed panic, for this was it, she was home. She wondered where he would carry her. He took her past the portraits and into his room, and lay her down upon the huge bed there. He straightened then. “I will send Danielle to you, her coach has arrived behind us, I am sure.”
He left her and she sprang up. A steaming hip bath awaited her by the fire. She began to pace, ruing the fact that she had slept away many of the effects of the wine.
The door opened. Danielle came in and hugged her quickly. Amanda stepped back, wringing her hands. “I can’t do this!”
“There, there, love, you can!” Danielle protested. She turned her about and unhooked Amanda’s gown, sliding it down from her shoulders. Amanda stepped from it.
“I can’t breathe.”
“It’s your corset.” Danielle pulled away her shift, then untied her corset. It didn’t help. She still couldn’t breathe. Danielle had to lead her to the bed to sit down so that she could remove her shoes and hose and garters. Then she shivered desperately as the breeze hit her naked flesh.
“Come, into the hip tub before you catch your death!” Danielle chided.
Amanda found herself in the bath smelling the sweet scent of rosewater. She sank back as Danielle lifted her hair carefully away from the water. The woman dropped her a round ball
of French soap and a cloth, and Amanda automatically picked them up and sudsed the cloth, then her body. Then she started to shiver. Danielle handed her a little glass.
“Brandy.”
“Oh, thank God!”
She nearly inhaled the liquid. “Again!” she begged Danielle, gasping. Danielle refilled her glass, and she swallowed it down quickly again. Then she was furious with herself. She was behaving like such a coward. Just who did he think that he was, terrifying her so? He had wanted the marriage. She just wasn’t ready for this side of it. He would understand. She would make him.
She scrubbed herself to a glow then stood and grabbed for the towel Danielle offered her. Then she stood shivering as Danielle dropped a shear silk and lace gown over her head. The night was cool, despite the fire. She did not shake with fear, she absolutely assured herself.
“Bonsoir, ma petite!” Danielle told her, kissing her cheek tenderly.
“You’re leaving!” Amanda gasped.
“But of course,” Danielle said, shaking her head. But she had not left when the door suddenly opened, and Eric appeared.
His dark hair was damp, as if he had bathed elsewhere. He was clad in a long velvet robe that tied at his waist and fell nearly to his ankles. A smattering of dark hair showed at the neck of the robe where it lay open against his chest. Amanda discovered herself staring at his chest and losing the strength to stand.
“Pardonnez-moi!” Danielle said quickly.
“Bonsoir, Danielle,” he said, his eyes locked on Amanda.
Danielle left them and the door closed behind her. Amanda moistened her lips and cleared her throat. She discovered herself backing toward the windows. “Eric …”
“Yes?” He was walking toward her. He had the grace of a wildcat and the same sure stride of determination.
“I … uh … I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“I can’t go through with this.”
“Oh?” He paused, his smile polite. “What do you mean, can’t?”
“I …” She looked down at her gown. Horror filled her as she realized that the gossamer gown delineated the rouge crests of her nipples and the red-gold triangle at the juncture of her thighs. She drew her eyes quickly back to his, wishing that she could snatch the curtains from the walls to cover herself. He was coming toward her again. She shook her head.
“Eric, I beg of you, be a gentleman and understand …”
He paused again, as if carefully weighing his decision. “No.”
“No!”
He shook his head and kept coming for her. “I told you yesterday what I would expect. You gave me your word that you would not renege.”
“I didn’t intend to renege. I swear it. Eric, please try to understand. I don’t know you—”
“By the end of the night, my love, you will know me very well.”
“Eric, honest to God, I would like to! I can’t—”
He caught her arm and pulled her hard against him. Beneath the robe she felt the pulse and vitality of his body, for her gown lay as nothing but mist between them. She felt his male shaft, rising. She looked into his eyes and saw the darkness within them and the silver glitter of his laughter as he lowered his head to whisper against her lips.
“But you can, my love. Honest to God, you can.” He lifted her into his arms. “Now, if you don’t mind, Amanda, I’d just as soon have no more of the deity on my wedding night.” He tossed her down into the softness of the bed. Even as she struggled to rise she heard his laughter, then his weight was upon her, bearing her ever farther downward into the depths of the bed.
IX
She felt as if she were immersed within lightness and magic and clouds, and yet at the same time Amanda keenly felt everything about her. She felt the rush of the river wind and the warmth and flicker of the candles and the fire. And she felt the hard-muscled body and heat of the man on top of her, barely clad in the robe, and nearly naked against her. But even as she brought her arms against his chest, she felt the simple fascination of touching him there, of feeling the dark, crisp hair with her fingertips, of knowing the ripple of sinew and muscle beneath it. When she looked up she saw that he was smiling, no, laughing.
“Don’t you dare gloat and laugh at me!” she cried, but his smile deepened and his laughter was haunting, as was the silver-blue decadence in his eyes. He planted a kiss upon her forehead, for she was powerless to move, and then his lips brushed her cheeks and her mouth, causing her to ache for more. His words fell softly against her flesh, and they, too, were a curious caress. “I’m not laughing at you, my love, and if I gloat, well, then you will have to forgive me.”
“I forgive you nothing!” she retorted, meeting his eyes in the candlelight that made a devil’s flame of them. It was best to meet his eyes. She did not dare look upon him. It was enough that she felt him.
“No, you would not!” he whispered. “Nor would you give up any fight, and yet you are, my little hawk, suddenly a sparrow in this bed.”
“Sparrow!” She surged hard against his chest. A gasp escaped her as she saw that he had purposely goaded her to action, that pressing against him only served to accent all that was male and relentless, all that was hard and unyielding about him. Her fingers closed over his arms. As she felt the tension and size of the muscle there, she knew that she would never dislodge him. Despite herself she began to tremble. She moistened her lips to speak, but that was when he chose to kiss her at last. His tongue penetrated into the far recesses of her mouth, touching her as if he entered into her soul. Each movement was so slow, and so filling, and each robbed her of more breath, each made her tremble with a greater fever. His face rose above hers in the darkness, and he smiled, tracing his finger over the wetness of her lips. “So the hawk returns. You are never afraid, Amanda. Why fear me now?”
“I do not fear you,” she whispered.
“And you must not,” he told her. “I have not lied to you. Life is meant to be lived, to be enjoyed, my love, aye, even here! And I promise you, I will teach you that it is so.”
“If you would do this tonight, it will be rape, and I swear that I will never forgive you.”
“It will not be rape.”
“It will!” she cried in sudden panic, slamming a fist between them, seeking any way to fight his weight and strength. In a burst of desperate new energy she thrust against him with all her strength, her knee connecting with his masculine anatomy.
At first she didn’t comprehend what she had done.
He was suddenly still and taut, his features harsh, pained. At first all she realized was that he had eased his hold upon her. She slammed hard against him again, managing to escape his hold.
Before she could roll off the bed, she felt a hard tug upon her gown. The material ripped down her side as she cried out and tried to rise. She rolled and fell to the floor.
His foot landed hard upon her gown and she looked up into his face. He was furious. And he was reaching down for her. “Amanda, my love, you are a true bitch.”
“No,” she whispered. She didn’t know if she denied his words, or the things yet to come between them that night. “No!” she breathed again, frantically trying to tug her gown free. She could not endure him towering over her so, and she couldn’t cease her trembling. She realized then that she had really hurt him and she was suddenly afraid. She had been a fool. She should have continued to try to reason with him.
“I did not mean to hurt you!” she cried.
“Oh? Was that your idea of a gentle, wifely caress? Then, my dear, you are sorely in need of instruction.”
She did not like the look upon his face at all, he had not forgiven her. “Eric—”
“Get up, Amanda!” He reached down a hand to her.
She stared at it, and knew that she could never take it.
She ripped free from the patch of gown beneath his foot, rose, and tore across the room. She spun around to face him again with her back to the wall. With almost casual strides he pursued her, pau
sing there, not touching her, but imprisoning her by placing his hands upon the wall on either side of her head. He smiled. “We spoke of this. Nothing, nothing, my love, will change the course of this night. Be it whatever it shall be.”
She gasped, startled, and tried to strike out as he swiftly pulled her into his arms. She kicked and writhed, but he carried her back to the bed and cast her down upon it. She tried to rise, but he was on top of her, catching her wrists and holding them high above her head with one hand.
“We will be man and wife this night,” he promised her savagely.
Then he captured her cheek with his free hand, and he kissed her. Kissed her thoroughly, passionately, open-mouthed, stealing her breath and strength and reason, and shattering her will with the reckless plunder of his tongue. She did not know how long the kiss went on between them. When he took his lips from hers, his eyes were passionate, his words were harsh. “You’re my wife, Amanda. Your commitment to lie with me in this bed was made when you spoke your vows to me, and, lady, you may not now change your mind!”
She stared at him, knowing that she would fight him no matter what his words, yet wondering at the fierce new pounding in her heart. She hated him.
Yet … she might even want him.
He released her wrists, placed his palms over hers, and threaded her fingers with his own, holding them steady by the sides of her head. Her hair flamed out over their entwined fingers, radiantly red in the firelight. He smiled again as she stared at him, her eyes wide and emerald in that same haunting light.
He had never wanted her more, never needed her with such a frightening urgency. He had sworn to himself that he would go gently; he had not expected her to fight so viciously, nor had he expected the anger that would cause him to treat her so. Nor had he expected to feel a surge so strong within himself that it could not be denied. She had said that it would be rape.
Grimly he determined that it would not be so, and yet he knew that one way or another, he would have her. There was no way that he would let her go this night. No way that she would not sleep beside him, his wife in fact, his marriage consummated.
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