Love Not a Rebel (22 page)

“Be still,” he warned her again, staring into her eyes, daring her to defy him. Slowly he moved his hand.

“Get off me! I shall scream to high heaven!” she warned him.

“Yes, that’s quite what I’m afraid of,” he told her. She
gasped then, for she realized that he now had a knife in his hand. He had slipped it from a sheath at his calf while he spoke. He lay the blade low between the valley of her breasts. She inhaled raggedly, fought for courage, then stared into his eyes again.

“You wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t take a knife against an innocent woman.”

“But you’re not an innocent woman,” he told her.

He knew. He had seen her take the envelope. Fear rushed through her. “You would not slay me, I know it. And I will scream. I find you despicable! How dare you come in here. I will scream, and my father will see that you hang—”

“Your father very well may wish to see me hang at some point, but I’d wager it would not be now. And what happened to the sweet apology you offered me earlier this very eve?” he demanded. “I warn you again, lady—” He paused, letting her feel the cold blade of the knife. “You shall be greatly distressed.”

“You’ve broken into my room—into the governor’s palace!” She smiled suddenly, lifting her chin. He wouldn’t hurt her, and she knew it. She opened her mouth to scream, heedless of the consequences.

His fingers slapped back over her mouth. The blade of the knife moved swiftly in seconds, and she discovered that although her flesh remained unharmed, her garment was in shreds, and her breasts were spilling free from the silk and lace bodice. “Lady, I will wrest you from this place stark naked if you are not silent, and that is a promise. I will parade you down the streets of Williamsburg, and there are enough people here to enjoy it, for Tories such as yourself are not gaining much popularity these days.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Don’t ever tempt me too far. There are many things that I would like to do.”

“You bas—” she began.

“No, no, milady. You are forewarned. Take care.”

“I’ll not—”

“You will!” His hand clamped hard upon her again, but
she gave it no heed. She wasn’t about to take care. She surged against him with all of her strength, seeking to kick him. She thrashed violently against him, flailing and twisting in a fury.

Eric didn’t fight back. He just held her, letting her arch, writhe, and twist. Her efforts were almost amusing to him, she realized. He had only to maintain his grasp upon her wrists, and the power of his body hold did the rest.

While she …

She had managed only to wrest herself closely against him, leaving her legs as naked as her breasts.

“Be still!” he warned again.

Amanda fell silent, a blush scorching all of her flesh, for she was already half naked and he was studying her at his leisure. She tried to twist away from him, but his hold upon her wrists was firm. She went still at last, aware that the ruffles of his shirt hung down upon the bareness of her nipples and breasts, and that her position was precarious indeed. Always with him she was wrested and beaten, so it seemed. She moistened her lips, horrified to realize their position. She thought of his hands, should they move. Should they touch her. She thought of the feel of his lips upon hers, and she wondered what the sensation would be if they moved lower against her, brushing her shoulder blades, closing upon her breasts. She felt the hardness of his thighs against her hips, the pressure of his manhood against the near-naked territory at the apex of her thighs, and suddenly she was truly silent, no longer wishing to defy him, desperate only that he should move away from her.

She shook her head. His fingers eased from her swollen lips. “I shall not scream! I shall not. I swear it.”

He watched her for a long, hard moment. Then he sat back. She was still his prisoner, still captive between his muscular thighs.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“Many things,” he told her casually, “but at the moment, I want my letter returned.”

Amanda stiffened, then forced herself to relax, offering him a wide-eyed smile. “Why ever would you think—”

“I don’t think, I know. And by God’s blood, lady, cease the dramatics with me, for though you do bat your lashes prettily, you are a liar and we both know it. I want my letter now. Or you shall forfeit something else.”

She was seething with fury, hating him for his crude and quick ability to see through her. She gritted her teeth. “Truly, Lord Cameron, your behavior is not civilized!”

“If it was civilized, I would not be here. I am pretending nothing, Amanda. I am no gentleman, and no fool, so do be warned and take heed for the future. I want my letter.”

“I—I don’t have it anymore.”

His fingers closed harshly upon her shoulders, wrenching her up against him with such violence that she cried out in pain. He thrust her back down again, heedless of the pain, his lips very near to hers as he spoke. “I may well lose my own neck over you one day, Lady Sterling, but I’ll not have other men endangered because of your treachery. Where is the envelope?”

“I gave it to my father.”

“You’re lying!” he snapped so quickly that she gasped and trembled and bit her lip in an effort to stay still. She had forgotten his knife. It lay against her cheek now. He stroked her face with it.

“You would not use that,” she challenged him.

“Perhaps not.” His eyes were very dark but glittering still in the night. “Perhaps I would use other means to reach my end.”

She didn’t know what he meant, only that the warning was very real. She didn’t want to discover what lay beneath it. “It’s—it’s in the pocket of my gown.”

If he was dying with desire for her, he certainly betrayed no emotion then. He was off her in a second, dragging her from the bed. His hat had fallen to the floor in their scuffle and now he swept it up atop his head. Stumbling, she tried to draw her gown together. She hurried to the wardrobe with him two steps behind her. She could barely open the door, and when she found the dress, he pushed her aside, reaching into the fashionable pocket hidden within the skirt. He found the envelope and thrust the dress back inside, and closed the door.

“Why did you take it?”

“Because—because you’re a traitor. And you have to get out of here. Now.”

“Oh? And you intend to prove that I’m a traitor?”

“No!” she cried with horror. “I just … I …”

“Pray, do go on.”

“You get out of here! Before I do choose to scream!”

But he didn’t move. He was watching her very closely. She clasped the gown closely about her, backing away. Something about him was exceptionally fierce in the strange shadowland of the bedroom, and yet she no longer felt the explosion of anger about him. He stepped toward her, towering in his tricorn and cape.

“Why didn’t you give this to your father?” he demanded.

“I—I never had a chance.”

“You’re lying.”

“All right. I wanted to read it myself. But as you see, there is no letter. If fact … why are you here, if there is no letter?”

He turned around, striding across the room to her bed. He sat on it, watching her carefully. “There is a name upon it,” he told her. She shivered, feeling the silver touch of his eyes, even in the shadows.

“Frederick’s name. The printer from Boston. The Indian tea-ditcher, right?” She swallowed quickly, not liking his eyes as they fell upon her. “You’ve got the envelope. Now go.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t quite decided what to do about you.”

“About me?” she exclaimed. She tilted her head back, defying him.

“You went through my personal belongings; you stole my property.”

“If you’re not out of here in two seconds, I promise that I will scream until the entire British army is in here.”

He leaned back more comfortably. “Nice lads. Some of them are my friends.” He shrugged, then rose up from the bed and approached her with slow, menacing steps. She was nearly against the door. She had nowhere else to run. And yet she had not managed to scream.

“If you do scream,” he promised her softly, “I shall offer your father my gravest apologies, but I shall tell him that you seduced and coerced me to this room, and then I shall be broken-hearted, of course, wondering just how many men you have led astray.” He set a hand against the wall, his teeth flashing whitely as he smiled.

Amanda stared at him, furious and appalled.

“He knows I—”

“Despise me? Ah, but Lady Sterling! You came after me this evening! With apologies sweeter than wine tripping off your fair tongue.”

“Yet—” She broke off. Both were silent as they heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside.

His knife flashed suddenly before her face. “Behave!” he warned her. “A word, and someone will die!”

He turned and seemed to disappear. Amanda stared into the shadows after him, uncertain as to whether he had slipped out the window or perhaps into the dressing room beyond her own.

There was a sharp pounding on her door. She stood behind it, her mouth dry. “Who is it?”

“Your father. Open the door.”

She hesitated, then threw open the door. She stayed there, blocking his entry to the room. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

He pushed past her and went on in, lighting a candle with a wick from the fire, then looking about. He went over to her, staring at her intently. “I heard voices.”

“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—”