“The Sons of Liberty are on the streets, milady, as well as British soldiers—as well as some common rapists and thieves ready to take advantage of the situation. I promised Anne Marie that I would find you, and for her, I shall return you.”
He set his hand upon her with a force she could not deny. She seemed to sense the implacable determination in his words, so she merely stared at his hand, gritted her teeth, and agreed. “Fine.”
She swept around, then paused, looking back to Elizabeth. The young wife now knelt by her husband with such a look of love and anxiety in her eyes that even Lady Sterling seemed to soften. “Keep him well,” she murmured, and exited quickly to the streets.
Eric followed her, catching her arm when she would have walked ahead. She spun about, staring at him with her chin and nose regally high. He smiled. “Did you ride?”
“No, I—”
His voice deepened harshly. “You have been walking all this distance on a night like this? What an idiot! You could have been robbed of that splendor, stripped naked, raped, killed!”
“You are crude!”
“You are a fool.”
She tried to wrench her hand from his hold. He had already released her to set his hands about her waist and throw her up atop his horse. Before she could protest he was mounted behind her. Her back went very stiff. “How do I know that you are not about to rob, rape, or knife me, sir?” she demanded coolly.
“Because I am worth far more than you are, I prefer my women warm, willing, and talented, and murder simply isn’t among my decadent hobbies.” He nudged his horse into a canter. She twisted her face against the chill of the night, shivering as she raised her voice so that he might hear her.
“You may take me back to the Sir Thomas’s, milord, but it will do you no good. I must find Damien.”
Eric hesitated. He had an idea where young Roswell might be, if he was in any way involved with the dissidents. He reined in so sharply that she crashed back against him. The sweet scent of her hair teased his nostrils and the shocking warmth of her body lay flush against his.
“Milord—” She gasped, but he ignored her, nudging his heels against his mount’s flanks and leading the animal toward the left.
“We’ll find Damien then,” he said.
They rode through the streets until they came to a tavern. The street was very quiet there, the light within was dim. Eric dismounted. “Don’t move!” he ordered her. Then he turned and entered the tavern.
A multitude of men were there, engaged in soft and quiet conversation. There were no drunks about, just working men in their coarse coats and capes and tricorns, huddled about the meager warmth of the fire. At his entrance, all eyes turned to him. Several faces went pale as the quality of his clothing was taken into account.
Someone rushed forward—the barkeeper, he thought. “Milord, what is it that we can do—”
“I need a word with Mr. Damien Roswell.”
“Milord, he is not—”
“I am here, Camy.” The handsome young man who had partnered Amanda in the dance stepped forward. He stretched out his hand. “You’re Lord Cameron. I’ve heard much about you.”
Eric arched a brow. “Have you?”
“Why were you looking for me?” Damien asked carefully.
Eric cleared his throat. “I am not. A lady is.”
“Amanda!” He gasped. “Then she knows…”
“She knows nothing. But perhaps you should come along.”
Damien nodded instantly. He and Eric exited the tavern together without a backward glance.
From atop Eric’s horse, the girl cried out. “Damien! You had me so worried!” She leapt down gracefully and ran forward.
“Amanda! You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“You are in trouble, off on your own,” she said worriedly.
Eric stepped back on the porch of the tavern, watching the two together. Damien turned to him. “Thank you, milord. Thank you most fervently. If I can ever be of assistance to your—”
