“Spy upon the spy?” Jefferson laughed, but his eyes were grave.
“There’s nothing for her to discover,” Eric said.
“Is that true?” Washington asked him. “There are some who believe, Lord Cameron, that you are more deeply involved than anyone.”
“Men believe almost anything these days,” Eric said evenly.
“Still, take care,” Washington warned him. “Ispeakas your friend, Eric, and a man who would see you well.”
Eric sat, drumming his fingers against the wooden arm of his chair. “Perhaps you are right. Thank you for the warning, but I always take care. Perhaps I can discover certain truths about the lady—with certain lies of my own.” He stood again and bowed. “And, gentlemen, it will be fascinating, this road of discovery. I am looking forward to it immensely.”
They laughed. “I bid you good luck at the Congress,” he added.
“And we bid you Godspeed against the Indians,” Jefferson said.
Eric grinned and left them. Outside the door, he paused for a moment before heading toward the public room and his unexpected meeting with Lady Sterling.
His smile faded, his eyes went hard. He remembered her hatred for him, and he knew that nothing had changed between them. She thought to use him.
Well, she was welcome to try.
Then he remembered the way that she had looked when he had seen her upon the stairs, and he recalled the way that she had felt in his arms. He tasted anew the nectar of her lips, saw the fire of her eyes, and felt the perfection of her body pressed to his. He had meant to have her, in his own time, in his own way. He had not forgotten for a single moment the excitement of wanting her, the ache she had created within him, nor the raw and relentless determination he would use in his careful pursuit…
But now she was there. And not because of any ardent desire, he was certain. She was playing with fire.
Aye, she played with fire, he thought. But it was her choice, and her game, and by God, he would play it.
And win.
Part II
The Reluctant Spy
VI
Amanda was very beautiful that night. Eric saw her long before she saw him, for she was seated at a table with Damien and she was speaking earnestly with her cousin. Her eyes betrayed some deep emotion that was soft and spellbinding. Watching her, Eric realized that he envied her cousin. She loved Damien. And in that moment, as she sat in the flickering firelight, he thought that he would gladly sell his soul and be damned if she would just gaze upon him once so warmly.
He knew he was being a fool and reminded himself that he barely knew the little hellion, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t needed to know much once he had seen her, once he had touched her.
He was in lust, so he had said. Perhaps that, too, was true. He had been careful to wait, biding his time. He had not expected her to seek him out, and yet here she was. With Damien. He wondered what she knew of her cousin’s activities. No matter how her heart bled for England, she would never endanger young Roswell.
She had turned down his proposal of marriage, but now she was back. Deviously. What a pity. Her soft smile for him would be a lie. She had come to wage battle, else she never would have stepped foot inside this tavern.
Her beauty was her weapon, and she was not averse to using it, nor did she lack the confidence, he thought, to know the very power of it.
She wore green, a fetchingly casual gown with a heavier brocade bodice that tied with delicate ribbons over her breasts. It was a color that highlighted the evocative depths of her eyes, emphasizing the emerald dazzle of them. The night was warm, but she carried a light shawl, and it draped about her elbows, exposing her upper arms. Her hair had been swept up high in ringlets, and the sleek length of her neck was bare and inviting.
Every eye in the tavern was on her, of course. She looked like a thread of gold in a coat of coarse linen. There weren’t many women in the place, and not one of them could hold a candle to her striking splendor.
He felt himself grown warm, watching her, and it occurred to him that many a man was drooling in his beer. Eric quickly grew annoyed. She shouldn’t be here. Even escorted by her cousin, she should not be out as she was now. She was an innocent, yet there was something about her that was more than evocative. He thought of Helen of Troy and of a face that could launch a thousand ships. Amanda Sterling had that same kind of power; she created tension and emotion. Lust, perhaps, but longing and a haunting yearning too. With a smile she could tempt a man to any act; with a promise she could be deadly trouble.
Be forewarned, my friend, he told himself. And yet still his own confidence was great. He was older. Wiser, he assured himself. He saw the danger and therefore could elude it.
“Lady Sterling, Damien,” he said, moving forward. Damien rose, Amanda remained seated. She offered Eric her hand and one of those smiles for which a man could be led to kill. He kissed her gloved fingers, glanced Damien’s way, and took a seat beside Amanda.
“’Tis good to see you, lad,” he told Damien.
“And you, sir.”
