Her eyes widened slightly. She nearly snatched her hand away, but then she spoke softly and with poise. “Lord Cameron. How nice to see you again.”
It was anything but nice for her to see him again, he thought, somewhat amused and somewhat sorry. She was even lovelier up close. So much of her beauty lay in her love for life, something vital and warm that seemed to sweep about her in a golden light. Well, she was passionately against him, he realized.
“Milady.” He bowed to her. These were passionate times. He was determined in his own course of action, and it was natural that tempers and spirits would soar high.
“Save a dance for Lord Cameron, my dear,” her father said. “Come, Eric, please, so that I may have my word with you.”
Eric bowed to Amanda once again, then followed Sterling toward the doorway to his office.
Cameron! Amanda thought, watching his broad back disappear in the wake of her father. Cameron!
He had come to taunt her! On this magical night, he had come here! Well, he had nothing on her! If he ever dared to implicate Damien, she would call him a traitor in no uncertain terms! He laughed at her, she saw it in his smile, he dared her with every glance!
She tightened her jaw, thinking that the man had really changed little. He had always been less than cavalier, supremely confident and assured. Soarrogant. She would never forget the day of the hunt. Perhaps shehadbeen too eager to catch the fox, but he’d had no right to spank her. She hadn’t thought that he would dare, but he would dare anything, she had learned. Perhaps it had been as much his fault. He had been about seventeen, and eager to return to one of Lord Hastings’s pretty chambermaids. She’d already heard his name whispered in various households. His appeal was legendary.
Oh! Cameron was a traitor. Just two weeks ago he had stood up in the governor’s chambers, a member of the prestigious council, an honor set upon one for life, and he had suggested that perhaps he should resign because he disagreed with various actions being taken. Everyone had been speaking about it. The governor had refused to accept his resignation, demanding that he think it all through. The colony had been abuzz with it! Last night Robert had talked of it, calling the man a fool and a traitor. It was amazing that he hadn’t been arrested on the spot, hanged, boiled in oil, or drawn and quartered.
Well, perhaps nothing so dramatic. And perhaps it was true that the governor would be hanging men from dawn to dusk if he had to start with the men who had spoken so in the lower house, the House of Burgesses. But Cameron was not a member of that society. He was a lord. His duty was to support his king and his governor.
It was said that he had given a fine speech with a wonderful elocution—learned at Oxford, so she had heard—and agreed to wait, but suggested that time would make little difference. His heart was with the men who had gone to Bruton Parish Church for their day of prayer—just as his heart was with the men who had dumped the tea into the sea. His heart was not with many of the decisions being made, and therefore he did not think that he could serve the governor to the best of his abilities.
He was listening to radicals. Men like Patrick Henry. He was far more interested in the lower House of Burgesses than he was in the goings-on of his own council chambers. He met with radicals at the various taverns in Williamsburg. He was dangerous.
“There goes the most arresting man in the colonies,” a soft voice mused behind her.
Amanda swirled around to see Lady Geneva standing behind her, batting her fan, her dark eyes following Lord Cameron.
“Cameron?” Amanda said incredulously.
Geneva nodded knowingly. “Lord Cameron,” she said, as if she tasted the name as she spoke and found it very pleasing. Her gaze shot to Amanda again. “He’s dashing, don’t you think? Bold, a rebel. He bows down before no man. All heads turn when he enters a room. Don’t you feel it? The tension…why, darling, the very heat! Oh, but I do just feel ignited!”
A sizzle of warm rushing liquid seemed to trail down the length of Amanda’s spine with Geneva’s words and she shivered, remembering how it felt to have her eyes locked with his, to feel his lips against her flesh. She shook her head, though, denying the sensation. She didn’t even want to think about the man, she wanted to find Robert.
“Lord Cameron is a traitor and nothing more. And I can’t even imagine why Father would want him here.”
“He might prove to be an invaluable friend one day,” Geneva said. “He is trusted by the radicals, and, oddly enough, he is even trusted by those very men he spurns. Your father is no fool, my pet. I’m sure he intends to stay very good friends with Lord Cameron.”
“And you, Geneva, do you intend to become very good friends with Lord Cameron?”
“Ah”—Geneva laughed—“the little tigress shows her claws! Me? Ummm. I am good friends with him. I don’t know about a lifetime commitment, for I like balls and pageants, I love royalty, I adore the finer things in life. Our fierce and proud Lord Cameron is casting his path in a different direction. He might well come to hang one of these days, and should he not, he might well find his bed to be one of hay. And still, I have danced with the man. I’ve felt his arms around me, and sometimes I do wonder if lying with him in a bed of hay might not be preferable to lying with any other man upon silk. But don’t worry, pet—the competition is still wide open.”
“You needn’t worry, Geneva,” Amanda said sweetly. “You’ve no competition from me. I’ve no interest whatsoever in a traitor to the Crown.”
Geneva batted her fan prettily, smiling to someone across the room. “Because of Lord Tarryton, I believe?”
“Believe what you wish,” Amanda told her, but Geneva was very smug, obviously ready to tell a secret that she was finding most amusing.
“I know things, Amanda. I’ll tell them to you if you like.”
“All right, Geneva. Tell me what you will.”
“Lord Tarryton is engaged to marry the Duchess of Owenfield back in England. She’s a widow and as her dear departed husband left no heirs, young Robert will gain the title of Duke of Owenfield.”
“I don’t believe you!” Amanda gasped, so stunned at the news that she could not pretend nonchalance.
“Then ask Robert,” Geneva said sweetly. “Excuse me, dear, will you? Men are flocking to your father’s study, and I’m quite certain they’ll have Lord Cameron on the cooking spit, searing him away. I should love to see him defend himself.”
Geneva hurried toward the hallway door. She bypassed it, excusing herself to various people to escape out the open doorways at the back of the hall. She would walk around the terrace to the floor-length windows and find a seat upon one of the swings, out of sight, and therefore able to listen in on the conversation.
