Her father suddenly came close to her. She felt uneasy as his eyes raked over her. They seemed to have a strange, hungry light about them. He touched her chin, lifting it up, and he stared down at her breasts, so ill concealed in the gown. His finger ran down her throat to the deep valley between the mounds. “What happened?”
“I twisted in my sleep. I have rent the seam, nothing more. I will fix it.”
“It is a beautiful gown on you, daughter. I have kept you well clad.”
“You have,” she acknowledged bitterly.
His hand hovered closer until she thought that she was going to throw up. She cried out, backing away from the door. His eyes narrowed as if he would grab her and wrench her away, and for the first time she was physically afraid of him as a man. He made her feel unclean.
She threw open the door quickly. If he came toward her again, she would scream. The governor was a good Englishman who might stoop to a little bribery or blackmail, but if she screamed hysterically, he would at least see that she was left alone. Her father would not dare abuse her before Lord Dunmore.
“Good night, Father,” she said.
Sterling stared at the door then stared at her, a pulse ticking at the base of his throat. He swallowed hard and walked by her, but paused in the doorway, holding the door open. “It’s not over between us, my daughter. We will return to our own home.”
He closed the door sharply. Amanda fell against it, leaning her forehead upon it, ready to cry.
Then a sudden movement alerted her and she twirled around.
Eric Cameron hadn’t left at all. He had hidden, motionless and silent, beyond the dressing-room door. Now he was standing there before her, watching her, his face somewhat hidden by shadow, and yet she felt both the fury and the pity within it. She didn’t want his pity.
“I wanted to kill him,” he said furiously.
She arched a brow, startled. Even in the darkness she could sense the tension about him. He was more enraged with her father than he was with her.
“He is my father,” she said, shrugging. She could not bear that he should see her pain.
“The more he should be slain for what he does to you.”
As regally as she could manage, she swept her gown about her. “My God, can’t you please get out of here too?”
He strode toward her, taking her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. Some furious war waged in the very cobalt of his eyes. “So, you were ordered to apologize to me!”
“You’ve found your letter, now please go.”
“I warn you now, milady,” he said very softly, “I will not be betrayed again. Why didn’t you tell him that I was here?”
“You promised to kill someone if I did.”
“And you believed me?”
“What difference does it make?” she snapped scathingly. “You would have said that I’d asked you here.”
“And he would have believed me, wouldn’t he?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to see his piercing silver-blue eyes anymore, or feel the strength of his hands upon her. She wanted to be left alone.
“Answer me!”
He could rise so quickly from gentleness to sharp, demanding anger! “Yes! He would have believed you. He—he despises me,” she admitted softly. Then she jerked back away from him. “For the love of God, will you leave me alone?”
“I did not start this thing, lady, but I would finish it,” he said softly. She didn’t understand his meaning, and it worried her. His tension seemed to have increased and he paced the floor, as if he were suddenly loath to leave her.
She trembled. “You know what I have done—”
“I know that he is willing to sell. And I am willing to buy.”
“My father—”
