She shivered and stood staring at her father, despising him with ever greater ferocity. She had never been afraid to be near him before, and now she realized that she dreaded the days to come. He would sell her to any man, and do so with relish.
“We’ll go home in the morning,” Sterling said. “You may go to bed. And Damien will be safe. For the time being.”
She trembled, fearing the sudden brutality of his smile. Without knowing what she was saying, she started to talk.
“Lord Cameron offered me the hospitality of his home while he is gone fighting, Father. I thought that I should go.”
“You will not—” Sterling began, but then he broke off, smiling again. “Yes. Yes, you shall go. And while he is gone, you can search his belongings for his correspondence. We could capture the whole core of this rebellion and hang them all like the traitors they are if we can bring proof of high treason into court!”
“There is no high treason, Father, don’t you see that! The man is Lord Dunmore’s friend—”
“No. No man has friends right now, girl. Bear that in mind. Friendship will not matter—blood will not matter.”
Amanda felt a chill sweep over her. Her father turned away, heading for the stairs. “Tell him that you will marry him. You won’t have to do so, but the promise alone will open doors for you.”
“Father—”
“And think of it, my dear,” he said, holding the newel post and turning back to her. “Such a move will salvage your pride. Robert Tarryton’s fiancée has arrived from England. They are to be married in the middle of October. It will look so much better to the world if you are betrothed to Lord Cameron.”
He started up the stairs again, murmuring to himself. “Perhaps you should marry him. If he is innocent, he is a man of the greatest prestige. And if he is guilty they will hang him, and his property will fall to you.”
The chill swept around Amanda, settling deeply into her heart. “I cannot marry him!” she cried, racing after her father.
He paused and looked down at her. “You will do as you are told,” he said, and kept walking.
She gritted her teeth, longing to run away, into the night. She didn’t care what happened to her, as long as she could escape him.
But then Damien would hang.
She waited until he had disappeared, then she tore up the stairs herself and slammed into her room. She fell upon the bed, breathing heavily.
Then she remembered the letter in her pocket, and she slipped her fingers into it, anxious to read the correspondence.
Her fingers faltered, and her heart began to slam. She had his life in her hands.
And before God, she didn’t know if she wished the letter to prove him a traitor or no. Pulling it from her pocket at last, she began to shiver. Even as she smoothed out the envelope, she felt again the fever of his kiss, the touch of his hands. Yes! She could condemn him. She had to! She was a loyalist; he was a patriot.
And it might well be Damien’s life against his.
She rolled over and looked at the envelope. There was a name and address in the corner. Frederick something of Boston.
With shaking fingers, she reached inside.
The envelope was empty.
She lay back on the bed, and she began to laugh. She laughed until she cried.
And then she sobered with a gasp. She had spoken in haste.
And now she was condemned to play this torturous game still further. She was to go to his home; she was to make promises that she would never keep.
By God, she could not…
By God, she had to.
VII
There was a soft tap on Amanda’s door. She hastily stuffed the envelope back into her pocket and rose, hurrying to the door. “Yes?” she called softly.
