“Why didn’t you give this to your father?” he demanded.
“I—I never had a chance.”
“You’re lying.”
“All right. I wanted to read it myself. But as you see, there is no letter. If fact…why are you here, if there is no letter?”
He turned around, striding across the room to her bed. He sat on it, watching her carefully. “There is a name upon it,” he told her. She shivered, feeling the silver touch of his eyes, even in the shadows.
“Frederick’s name. The printer from Boston. The Indian tea-ditcher, right?” She swallowed quickly, not liking his eyes as they fell upon her. “You’ve got the envelope. Now go.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t quite decided what to do about you.”
“About me?” she exclaimed. She tilted her head back, defying him.
“You went through my personal belongings; you stole my property.”
“If you’re not out of here in two seconds, I promise that I will scream until the entire British army is in here.”
He leaned back more comfortably. “Nice lads. Some of them are my friends.” He shrugged, then rose up from the bed and approached her with slow, menacing steps. She was nearly against the door. She had nowhere else to run. And yet she had not managed to scream.
“If you do scream,” he promised her softly, “I shall offer your father my gravest apologies, but I shall tell him that you seduced and coerced me to this room, and then I shall be broken-hearted, of course, wondering just how many men you have led astray.” He set a hand against the wall, his teeth flashing whitely as he smiled.
Amanda stared at him, furious and appalled.
“He knows I—”
“Despise me? Ah, but Lady Sterling! You came after me this evening! With apologies sweeter than wine tripping off your fair tongue.”
“Yet—” She broke off. Both were silent as they heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside.
His knife flashed suddenly before her face. “Behave!” he warned her. “A word, and someone will die!”
He turned and seemed to disappear. Amanda stared into the shadows after him, uncertain as to whether he had slipped out the window or perhaps into the dressing room beyond her own.
There was a sharp pounding on her door. She stood behind it, her mouth dry. “Who is it?”
“Your father. Open the door.”
She hesitated, then threw open the door. She stayed there, blocking his entry to the room. “What is it?” she asked quietly.
He pushed past her and went on in, lighting a candle with a wick from the fire, then looking about. He went over to her, staring at her intently. “I heard voices.”
“Did you?”
He cuffed her on the side of the head, a silent blow that still sent her reeling down to the bed. She jumped back to her feet, loathing him, trying to pull the torn shreds of her bodice together. He walked over to her, staring closely. He lifted a finger to talk to her as his eyes narrowed. “You’ll not play the harlot, not on my time, girl. A whore breeds a whore, but you’ll serve me and do my purpose before playing elsewhere.”
She stood still, her teeth clenched, her shoulders squared, and she prayed that Eric Cameron was gone. She could not bear him witnessing another scandalous scene, yet if he was near, he could not miss hearing the words.
She was a fool, she thought. If she shouted out and screamed and cried, she could tell the truth! But Cameron’s words were true. With her father’s appraisal, it would appear that she had asked him here. She spoke softly. “There is no one here, Father. I am alone. Please leave me, so that I can sleep.”
“There is no one here?”
“No.”
“Don’t play games with me. I have ordered you to bestow your charms on Lord Cameron, and you will obey me.”
She inhaled sharply, looking into the shadows. Please God, she thought, let him be gone, let him be gone.
