Love Not a Rebel (37 page)

“Her father.”

“Your pardon, my lord?”

Eric shook his head vehemently. “Nothing—”

Suddenly Dupree’s light eyes clouded over and he looked very grave. “Lord Cameron! You must not believe that you have been tricked or defrauded! No one knows of this … oh, I am so distressed now. I had not realized that you might now despise your wife for being the love child of her mother and not the legitimate issue of Lord Sterling. Oh, please, you mustn’t despise her for this—”

“I assure you, sir, that I will never despise her for this.” He might be furious with her for any number of other reasons, but for being Jacques’s daughter rather than Sterling’s, he could only applaud her.

“Sir! I brought you this secret because I owed the girl’s mother. I have been plagued with guilt for years; I have worried about
la belle jeune fille
, and I beseech you—”

“And I assure you, Monsieur Dupree, that your secret about my wife’s birth shall remain my secret now. I do ask your permission, though, to tell the truth to Amanda, if I ever feel that it will be to her benefit to know.”

“Tell a lady that she is a love child? I cannot see where this would please one raised as she!”

“Bastard, actually,” Eric suggested with a trace of humor. “Still, Monsieur Dupree, the news might please her. At some later date. If that time comes …?”

Dupree lifted his hands in a typical French gesture. “She is your wife, Lord Cameron. You must know her very well.”

Not half as well as I would like, Eric thought. “Thank you,
merci
,” he said aloud. Dupree rose then and left him at the round oak table. Eric downed the rest of his whiskey and sat there as the candle died, pensively watching the dying flicker of the flame.

Then he rose quickly, called for writing materials, and set about carefully to write to his wife.

He had not forgiven her; he did not know if he could. But he loved her, and he wanted her. Jacques and the servants had been keeping a steady eye upon her, but she was his responsibility. His temper had somewhat cooled. It was time to see her again.

He never knew quite what she would do.

The convention ended on March 27; Eric had returned to Williamsburg, where he had bade Amanda to meet him.

He did not go immediately to his town house, but stopped by the Raleigh for ale to cool his parched throat—and for a hot bath out in the privacy of one of the storerooms with only a lad who couldn’t begin to comprehend Eric’s determination to totally immerse himself more than necessary. He could have gone home and enjoyed bathing in far more luxury, but didn’t want to greet Amanda with the dust and mud of travel upon him. There was too much between them now, far too great a gulf. And he was far too eager to see her.

“Damn her!” he muttered aloud, through the steaming bath cloth that lay over his face.

“Your pardon, my lord?” the serving boy said with confusion.

He laughed softly, a dry sound, and removed the cloth. He grinned to the boy. “Nothing, lad. Just take your time before you marry, son, and even then, take more time!”

The boy grinned. Eric popped the cloth back upon his face, and she was there again before him. Amanda.

Many times he lay awake at night and cursed himself. The world was exploding, he was living in a time of drastic
revolution and change. He was central to many of the things happening, and despite that, he spent his nights and often his days in anguished thought and dream and nightmare regarding his wife. He did love her so much. And that was the rub. It was bitter, bitter gall to wonder at the emotion she bore him, to never know for certain what was hidden beneath the sweep of her lashes, within the beautiful color of her eyes. There was always that which she held away from him, always that which she seemed to deny him with thought and stoic determination. He had walked away from her in anger, but he had been the one to pay the price. Now, knowing more about her, he wanted to try to find the truth within her heart and mind once more.

And still, he reflected, there was the matter of a man’s pride. He had, upon occasion, betrayed himself for her. He swore silently that he would never betray Virginia, or the colonies, or his men for her.

The steam had grown cold. He called for a towel and his clothes, dressed quickly, tipped the serving lad, and headed for the street and his horse. He was but minutes from the town house.

And when he arrived, he sat on his horse for several long moments. He wondered if she had even obeyed his summons to come here. His words had been curt, demanding her appearance. His pride had forged his words.

The moon, soft and glowing, rose high over him. The first of the spring roses were just beginning to blossom in the garden, and vines were curling around the latticed trellises upon the porch. The light of a gas lamp glowed softly from within the parlor, and suddenly, even as he watched, even as his heart and body quickened, he saw her silhouette. Slim, graceful, she moved across the room, leaving it. And then, seconds later, she was at the front door, opening it.

“Eric?”

He dismounted from his horse, patted its rump, and let the animal amble forward to graze on the small stretch of lawn before the house. The horse would make it to the stables by itself. He watched her where she stood upon the
porch, awaiting him. It was spring, and a soft breeze rose, and her gown looked like spring, soft white and lace with delicate blue flowers upon it. Her hair was swept up demurely, but strands escaped it, like drifting curls of flame, touching her cheek, dusting across her shoulders. He could not see her eyes for the shadow, but he prayed that there had been a welcome in her voice.

He did not respond to her; he did not need to. The streets were lit with gas lamps and the moon itself was giving off a majestic glow. He started slowly along the path, seeking her eyes. She did not move. He came to the steps, and still she did not move, and then he stood before her, and he smelled the lush sweet scent of her hair and of her flesh. And he felt the racing tenor of her heart, saw the pulse thump erratically against her throat, and he wanted to sweep her into his arms and up the stairway right then. But then he forced himself to wonder if she trembled with pleasure at his return, or if she trembled with some secret fear or excitement due to some new espionage. Her beautiful eyes were so very wide, so anxious, almost as if she loved him, welcomed him.…

He allowed his eyes to travel over her and touch her, though he forced his itching fingers to remain still. “You are here,” he said simply.

She stepped back, her shoulders squared, her eyes suddenly as hard as diamonds. “You commanded that I come, my lord. You commanded that I retire to Cameron Hall, and so I did. Then you commanded that I come back here, and so I have.”

He caught her chin, lifting it, and his lip curled into a slow, cynical smile. “I commanded you to tell me what you did running about in the middle of the night too, and you defied me in every way imaginable.”

She snatched her chin from his grip, attempting to turn about. “If you have ordered me here simply to argue—”

“I have not, madame,” he said sharply, catching her arm, spinning her back about so that she faced him again. Her breasts rose provocatively with her agitation. A silken skein of hair fell like a burning cascade over her shoulder, loosened by the force of his touch. He clamped down hard
upon his teeth, grateful that his breeches were tight, hating the fever that rushed through him, the desire that seemed to override both common sense and pride every time he touched her.

“Listen to me, my love!” he commanded her heatedly, coming closer against her, feeling the startling warmth of her body touch and inflame his. “There will be no argument. You’re my wife. You will not disappear by night again, or by day, for that matter. There are men out there who might gladly hang you—”

“And there are men out there who might gladly hang you!” she retorted, her eyes flashing. She tugged her arm away from him. “Must we squabble in the very street?” she demanded in a tense whisper.

He laughed, startled by her hauteur. “No! By all means, let’s do go in. I’d much rather squabble in our own bedchamber!”

A bright flush covered her cheeks but she did not reply to that, and he wondered if she hadn’t missed him in some small way. She opened the door, entering before him. She headed for the parlor, but he caught hold of her hand, pulling her back. Her eyes came wide upon his as he indicated the stairway. “I said that I’d rather squabble within my own bedchamber. That way, madame.”

She clenched her teeth. Her eyes snapped beautifully and he did not think that he could stand much more. She was going to defy him and deny him, he thought, but then she spun about in a regal fury and began to take the stairs swiftly. She burst into the bedroom. The door started to slam on him as he arrived behind her, but he caught it with his hand before it could do so and followed her in, then closing the door tightly behind him, and leaning against it. She stared at him for a moment, then spun around again to sit at her dressing table, removing the pins from her disheveled hair, brushing it with a high level of energy.

There was a sudden rapping upon the door. Eric turned impatiently and opened it. Mathilda stood there anxiously. “Oh! Lord Cameron! I hadn’t realized that you had
come home. I heard the commotion and I was worried about my lady—”

“Ah, Mathilda! Thank you for your concern, but as you see, it is unnecessary. I am home and all is well.”

“And glad to see you, I am, my lord—”

“Thank you, Mathilda.” He quickly steered her around, away from the door. “Perhaps we’ll dine later.”

“Oh!” Mathilda flushed crimson, realizing that her master wanted to be alone with his wife. “Oh, of course!”

Eric closed the door once again to discover Amanda staring at him with a flush nearly as bright as Mathilda’s and the fire of battle naked in her eyes. “How could you be so crude!” she accused him.

“Crude? Lover, I have not yet begun.”

She spun back to her mirror, and her brush tore through her hair. “Spoken like a true patriot!” she hissed.

Swift steps brought him behind her. She leapt to her feet, spinning about to face him. “Don’t you dare come home like a strutting cock!” she warned him, her eyes ablaze with fury and passion. “I am tired of being ordered about and dragged here and there at your whim. Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Dare touch you!” he exclaimed, his fingers gripping tightly into the back of the chair she had so recently vacated. “Madame, I shall do far more than dare to touch you. And if you keep up with your present attitude toward my return, I shall be sorely tempted to deal with you as I did when you were a child.”

Her eyes widened and he could almost see her temper soar as she remembered that time when they had first met, when Eric had dragged her over his knee in the midst of the fox hunt. He took a step toward her and she seized her brush from her dressing table, hurtling it toward him. Eric ducked just in time.

Amanda knew she had gone too far when she saw the dark cast to his expression as his eyes met hers again. She hadn’t meant this, this awful fight, it was just that she was always afraid, it seemed. And he goaded her so.

What she had wanted was him, but she had gone too far now to admit that. She straightened her shoulders. She
needed time. “Eric, let’s leave this be. I’ve things to do, we can cool down, we can talk later—”

“I don’t want to talk, Amanda,” he snapped.

“You’re being crude again!” she charged him.

“And I don’t want to cool down.”

“Don’t you take another step toward me.”

He did, and she looked quickly for a second object to throw. She found a book set upon the chair by the fire and hurled it so quickly that she found her mark, catching him right in the temple.

He swore furiously. Even as she cried out, he had grasped her wrist. “No, Eric, no!” she gasped, but he was not to be waylaid. Within seconds he was in the chair, and she was strung over his lap, and his palm was descending deftly upon her posterior. Outraged, she cried out. Desperately she freed herself from his hold, falling to the floor at his feet and staring at him with wrath nearly choking away her words.

“Now, madame—” he began.

“You must be insane. After what you’ve done! This is neither the time nor the place—”

“It is precisely the place, and the time,” he stated flatly.

It was not. She was quickly on her feet. Her eyes met his and she realized that he was still every bit as furious as she was. She decided on a hasty retreat, streaking toward the bedroom door. He was there beside her, slamming it closed. She stepped quickly away as he remained there, his back to the door. “The time, and the place, love. You’ll note, our bed lies there, my love, awaiting us.”

“I’ve no intention of joining you in bed. No intention, do you understand me?”

“Then the floor shall be just fine.”

He was already in motion. Even as she turned to flee a second time, his hands were upon her arm, jerking her around and into his arms. Gasping, she tried to kick him. She was off balance so, and he quickly swept her up, bearing her down to the floor. She found herself staring into his eyes, startled by the depth of the passion within them. “I have missed you deeply,” he breathed to her.

“Bastard!” she snapped back with soft venom. “I will
not—” she paused, moistening her lips. “I will not make love with you here on the floor.” His lips were above hers. He smiled slowly. Her heart was thundering. He would surely strike her, or kiss her. He did not. Instead, he straddled her, and began to untie the ribbons to her bodice. She lay still, feeling his fingers move upon her, knowing how deeply she had missed him.

“I think that you’ll make love anywhere I demand,” he said.

“Oh!” Furious, she slapped his hands away. He laughed dangerously and warned her, “Make love, my lady, or take the risk of further interrogations!”

“Eric Cameron—” she began.

But then he did kiss her, and in moments she didn’t feel the floor, she felt the warmth and heat of the man and fire escalating between them. His hands were upon her, beneath her shirt and petticoats, finding naked flesh. She did not know what seized her there, she knew only that the flames of anger and passion were combining with her and that she could no longer fight him. He was quickly wedged between her thighs. His hand cupped her mound, his fingers stroked into the moist heat of her body even as his lips caught hers, searing her with another kiss. She felt him wrestle with his breeches, and then it was the steel shaft of his masculinity within her, and fevered winds quickly rose to rock the world between them. Desperately she rocked with him and clung to him, felt the pounding, pulsing rhythm, the need rising so high and sweet that it was nearly anguish. And then it burst upon her, so shattering, so strong, and filled with honeyed sweetness, that the world itself swung to darkness for long, long moments.