“You must change his mind.”
“He will not trust me.”
“Convince him.”
“What would you have me do, prostitute myself?”
Nigel Sterling curled his lip into a smile. “If necessary, my dear, yes.”
She gasped, leaping up again, clutching her skirts. “You’re a monster!” she told him. “No father would ask this of a child!”
His smile tightened. “I am a monster, but you are the spawn of a whore,” he told her softly. “Use your heritage.”
She gasped aloud, stunned. Then she cried, “No! How dare you! You cannot say that about my mother!” Furious, she leapt toward him.
He was no small man. He caught her in a cruel grip and held her very tight. She felt ill. His breath touched her face, his eyes raked over her, and that hateful smile remained.
“It would delight me to take a bullwhip against you. I can do that, as well as see that Damien hangs.” He paused, staring into her eyes with an assurance that he did not threaten her idly. “Perhaps you should get ready for an evening out. Damien is here, in Williamsburg. I’ve told him that we are coming, and I’ve assured him he has my permission to take you for a ride this evening. You should get dressed. I expect him by seven. Such a young lad. Many will cry to see him hang, I am certain. Don’t make the mistake of warning him. He is a dead man if you do.”
Nigel released her and walked away, leaving her alone in the garden.
The scent of the summer flowers rose high all around her. The birds continued to chirp, the breeze to flutter the foliage. She sank down on the garden seat, her fists clenched in her lap, and feared that she would be sick.
Somewhere inside the mansion the countess was lying back on her bed with a smile upon her lips. She probably dreamed of her child, and when that child was born, both she and Lord Dunmore would cherish it, and plan a future for the babe with love and care.
What had gone so horribly awry in her life that her own father could despise her so? Label her mother a whore, and send her out to play a harlot’s game?
She brought her knuckles to her mouth and bit down hard upon them, silently damning Damien for his foolish ways. But Damien loved her, honestly, with his soul and his heart. She had so little of value in life, of love sincere and untainted.
They were casting her to Lord Cameron. Casting her to the very wolf. Wolf? Aye, he was that! But if he had wanted her—even to devour her!—he would have come to her to do so. What could she do? Her father could not know how crude or harsh the words had been between them. He could not understand that it would be dangerous indeed for her to suddenly appear to have a change of heart.
She rose slowly and turned back toward the mansion. It had to be nearly seven now.
She did not mind serving England, there was so much that she would have done gladly for Lord Dunmore!
But this…
She started to shake, and so she walked faster. She was still shaking when she entered the mansion and hurried up the stairs to the guest room she had been given. She knew she had to wash and dress, but she threw herself on the bed, still shaking.
She remembered Eric Cameron’s face, the strength of his features, the laughter in his eyes and then the hardness.
And then she knew why she shook so badly. She had said it, and it was the truth. The man was no fool. And if he suspected her of betraying him, if he caught her…
She swallowed hard, and she knew that she was afraid. Very, very afraid.
***
A hush fell over the crowd as Eric entered the public room of the Raleigh Tavern. It was known to be a place where men of different minds gathered, and Eric was looked upon with a certain distrust, for he was a lord, and it was expected that his allegiance was with the king. After all, he had great estates in England to consider.
Men, mostly planters and farmers, some merchants and shopkeepers, looked about, nodded his way respectfully, then looked nervously back to their meals or their ale. In turn he bowed, then ignored their suspicious gazes. He strode in, doffing his tricorn and cape and taking a table near the rear door.
The owner rushed forward to greet him. “Lord Cameron, come to visit with us for a spell, eh? Well, it’s honored we be, and that’s a fact.”
“Is it? Tell me, is Colonel Washington about?”
The man went red in the face. “Well, now, I don’t know—”
“It’s all right” came a laughing voice. Washington himself was looking in from the hallway that led to the private rooms. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with dark hair—graying now—neatly queued at his nape. “He’s my friend, and he’s come to see me. Eric! Come along, will you? I’ve some people eager to meet you.”
