She shook her head, swallowing against the fear that closed about her throat. He spoke with dispassion, but a fire burning beneath his words brought terror to her heart. She had never seen him like this. When she had despised him, he had been determined and patient. When she had been cold, he had been an inferno. He had been there for her, always, no matter what scandalous truth he discerned, he was ever there, a ferocious warrior to wage her battles. She had known how to take care; she had feared for her heart should she lose it to him.
And now that she was cast into that desperate swirl of love and abandon, she was lost indeed. All that was left was the tenacious grip with which she tried to cling to some semblance of dignity and pride. She had to be strong; she needed to remember how to fight.
Yet it was terrible to think that she must find the wit and reason to battle him now. Never had he seemed more a pillar of strength, filling the doorway, taller than all other men in his boots and cockaded hat, striking with his hard handsome features, his dark hair queued but unpowdered, his stance so confident yet so fierce. And so determined.
“Give it to me, Amanda,” he repeated. Low and husky and deep, his voice seemed to touch her. To sweep over her flesh. Assured, commanding, touched by the rawness of the colonial man, yet with a trace of his Oxford education, he was a contradiction. In a land the British often considered to be peopled by criminals, Eric Cameron was one of their own, but with all the strengths and rugged power of the colonial. He knew the strategy of war, and he knew, too, the skill of hand-to-hand combat. He had learned how to fight from master generals—and from the blood-thirsty Iroquois and Shawnee. He was like the country, made of muscle and sinew, wild and untamed, no matter how civil his manner, no matter that they called him “lord.”
“Amanda!” He moved toward her.
“Get away from me, Eric!” she warned him.
He shook his head, and in his eyes she saw the depth of his anger. She wanted to throw down the gun, to back away. All was lost this day.
“Now, Amanda! I warn you that my temper is brittle indeed. I almost fear to touch you, lest I strangle the light from those glorious eyes! I’ll take the gun.”
“No!” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Let me by you. Let me go. I swear that I am innocent—”
“Let ‘Highness’ go? Why, milady! They would hang me for the very act!”
His words were light; they were followed by a long determined stride in her direction. She backed away as he lunged for her with the finesse of the fencer. “No!” she cried. “I’ll shoot you, Eric, I swear it—”
“And I do believe you, milady!” he countered, approaching her nonetheless, a mocking light of challenge in his eyes. “Shoot me, then, if you dare, milady! But take heed that your weapon be loaded!” He moved like lightning, catching the gun by the barrel, sending it flying across the room. The firing mechanism snapped; the gun went off, sending the bullet into the wall.
He stared at her, hard. And then he smiled slowly, bitterly. “Itwasloaded, milady. And aimed uponmy heart.”
She had never seen his eyes colder. Never seen his lip curl with such disdain.
She faced him, thinking frantically. She needed to turn, to run. There had to be somewhere else to go. If she could reach the door, she could escape the ship. No other man would seek to stop her. She could cast herself into the Chesapeake Bay. Eventually she could reach the shore. Dunmore’s ships were lost to her, Robert had kidnapped her just to desert her to her fate, but if she could swim to the shore, she could eventually make it north and find General Howe’s troops. If she could just escape Eric this night! He would offer her no mercy, not this time. She knew that as she saw the cold and wary eyes.
“And now, Highness…”
“Wait!” Amanda swallowed hard. She feared that she would faint as a rush of memory swept over her, leaving her hot and trembling. She knew so much about him. She knew the searing hellfire of his passion, and she knew the ice of his fury. Just as she knew the gentle sweep of his fingers…and the relentless power of his will and determination. He could step forward now and break her neck and be done with it, and by silver-blue rapier blades of his eyes that struck upon her now, it seemed that that was what he longed to do.
God! Deliver me from this man I love! she prayed in silence.
“Wait for what, milady? Salvation? You shall not find any!”
She stared at the gun, broken upon the floor. He had seized it with such power that the heavy stock had shattered. She glanced at him one more moment, then she burst into motion, determined to run, to risk any factor, just to escape him.
She was not quick enough. His arm grabbed her, his fingers winding into her hair. She screamed with the pain of it and panicked as she was brought swirling back into his arms. She fought his hold, squeezing her arms between them, pummeling his chest. Tears of desperation stung her eyes. She tried to kick him and quickly earned his wrath. He caught her wrists and wrenched them hard behind her back, and through it all she felt the simmering liquid heat of his body, bold and vibrant and recalling echoes of the past. She cried out as he pulled upon her wrists, and went still at last, pressed against him, tossing back her head to meet his eyes.
With one hand he held her wrists at the small of her back while he placed his left palm against her cheek and slowly stroked it. “So beautiful. So treacherous. But it is over now. Surrender, milady.”
She met his gaze. Something of all that had lain between them touched her heart and seemed to skyrocket. Just the touch of his strength against her seemed explosive. Once love had flamed so fiercely and so strong! But their battles had been as passionate, and now she did not know what tempest ruled the blood that flowed within them and the air that churned about them. Her eyes burned with tears, but she could not give in now. Be it love, be it hate, what burned between them demanded that she not falter now. She shook her head and dared to offer him a rueful, wistful smile. “No surrender, my lord. No retreat, and no surrender.”
Footsteps echoed upon a stairway and a second man came to a halt behind him. He was young, barely beginning to grow whiskers, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. “We’ve found her! Highness! She gave the ship and the intelligence to the British.”
“Aye, we’ve found her,” Eric said softly, and still his eyes bored into hers, with what thoughts she could not fathom. She did not look away, even with the young officer watching them. Then Eric muttered an oath and cast her from him. She nearly fell, but caught herself, and stood tall, backed against the paneling. She braced herself with her hands, and thought, How peculiar. The sea was so very calm she could scarcely feel the ship rock, and the room was alive with storms.
The young man suddenly let out a soft whistle as he watched her. “No wonder she played our men so false so easily!” he murmured.
Eric Cameron felt everything inside of him tighten like a vise at the man’s words. She was still beautiful. More beautiful than ever. She was flush against the wall, cornered, yet still defiant. She was a perfect picture of femininity, of grace. So delicate and glorious as she stood, her breasts rising from her bodice with each breath, her flesh pale, as perfect as marble. She wore green silk with an overskirt and bodice of golden brocade. Her throat and shoulders were bare, and her hair was worn in soft ringlets that curled just over her shoulders. She was as cool and smooth as alabaster as she returned his stare, her eyes as green as the gown, her hair a startling and beautiful contrast with the shades of the silk and brocade. It was deep, deep red, sometimes sable, sometimes the color of the sunset, depending on the light.
He wanted to wrench her hair from the pins, he wanted to see it tumble down. He did not want to see her so silent, so beautiful, so still, so regal. Damn her. Her eyes defying him, even now.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “It was easy for her to play men falsely.”
“I wonder if they will hang her,” the soldier said. “Would we hang a woman, General?”
