“Eric!” Anne Marie cried. “I know you too. You could have done no such thing—”
“It might have been the right thing,” he said coolly. “Anne Marie, I have to leave. I want to catch the tide.”
“Oh, Eric,” she said miserably, “I’ve done nothing useful here at all. Listen to me, please. Perhaps she was a spy. But she wouldn’t have turned against her own home! Someone else is using her past against her, can’t you see that?”
“I can see, Anne Marie, that Amanda has always had every opportunity to talk to me. If she was threatened, I would have defended her. I would have protected her and fought for her against any man, or any menace. She chose another course. Now, if you’ll be so good as to excuse me—”
She blocked his path. Her eyes were liquid with appeal and misery. “Oh, Eric!” she murmured again, and she came up on tiptoe to kiss him.
He didn’t know what overcame him. Maybe it was just the bitter pain of betrayal, but when her lips touched his, he seized upon her. He did not give her the sisterly kiss she had offered but parted her lips and delved deep within her mouth, as a lover might. And she responded. Just as a lover might. Her lips parted sweetly, she welcomed him, her arms wrapped around him. Moments passed in blindness, and then he realized that he could not take from Anne Marie what he was seeking in another. He could not use Anne Marie, because she was too good a woman. And she had always cared for him; he had known that. She was his friend, and the daughter of one his best friends. Shamed, he drew his lips from hers and slowly released her from the band of his arms. He wanted to apologize. Her eyes were upon his, and they both knew his mistake.
Before he could utter a word, a furious sound at the door interrupted them. Startled, Eric looked to the door to see that Damien Roswell was there, tall, straight, outraged.
“My lord Cameron, I came to see if you needed any assistance, but I see that you are well tended.”
He didn’t owe Damien any explanations. His young friend was rash and hot blooded, and he’d nearly spent years as a British prisoner because of it.
“I am on my way now,” Eric said curtly.
“Damien, you must understand—” Anne Marie began.
“Oh, I understand!” Damien said with a dry laugh. “He’s still a Brit in his own way, still ‘Lord’ Cameron. Just like Henry the Eighth! Down with the one, up with the next! Were you planning on killing Amanda, or just divorcing her, Lord Cameron?”
“Whatever I did, Damien, she would deserve,” Eric said smoothly.
“I’m going to sail with you.”
“No, you are not.”
“You might—”
“Damien, for the love of God! Washington will not let you go! Can’t you understand how serious a situation this has become?”
“If you hurt her, Cameron,” Damien swore, raising a tightly clenched fist, “revolution be damned! I will kill you, I swear it!” It looked as if there were tears in his eyes. Eric’s heart seemed to tighten with agony. He did not want to do battle with Damien. Again he damned Amanda with all of his heart.
“Damien—” he began.
But Damien was gone. Eric stood alone in the rough little room with Anne Marie.
“It’s all right. I’ll explain to him,” Anne Marie promised.
“It isn’t all right, and it never shall be,” Eric muttered. He swept up his hat, and bowed low to Anne Marie. “Take care.”
“Eric, go gently!” she cried.
But he did not reply. He felt as if he were a tempest of seething emotions, and he did not trust himself to speak.
On the morning of the twenty-fifth, Eric and his crew met one of Dunmore’s fleet, a small warship called theCynthia. Because the Continental forces were desperate for ships, they took care not to sink her. They suffered damage to theGood Earth’smainmast, but nothing major, and they managed to take theCynthiawith little effort. Her crew were sent to the brig, and a skeletal crew of colonials was left to sail her into a patriot port where she could be reoutfitted and sent into colonial service.
On the morning of the twenty-eighth they sailed the James. Through the glass Eric could see that fires burned at Cameron Hall. TheLady Janewas just leaving her berth.
Was his wife aboard her? Eric wondered.
He shouted orders to the gunners. The cannons were aimed and loaded by their gun crews, and he held his hand high. “Fire!” he commanded, bringing his hand down. It was his own damn ship he was bombarding!
And it might be his own wife he was about to kill! Would she be aboard? Aye, he thought bitterly, she would! The house was still standing, he could see it upon the far distant lawn. The warehouses were ablaze. Nothing could be salvaged from them.
And the ship, his ship, theLady Jane. She was coming about, ready to fire in turn.
