“Come, Danielle, I think that you’ll enjoy a bit of a tour too.”
“Merci—thank you,” she said quickly. Nigel Sterling hated her to speak French. He hated the fact that Amanda had mastered the language so easily.
But Lord Cameron did not mind at all. He smiled kindly, and in those seconds Amanda felt a curious thrill sweep through her, for his smile had made him arresting indeed, charming and youthful.
It was only when he was crossed that the laughter left him and the tension settled in.
She had already crossed him.
Large double doors painted white were opened behind them and he was no longer gazing her way. “The land, my love, was originally called the Carlyle Hundred. It was granted to my many times great-grandfather by James the First. He was a Jamie himself, and he and his wife Jassy built this place. They were here when the Powhatans massacred the settlers in 1622, but they survived to lay the cornerstones and build the hall.”
He had led her through the doors, and now they stood in a grand and massive hallway. Opposing double doors opened to the river behind them, and a gentle breeze blew through the hallway. A grand stairway stood at center, and a door led off in either direction to the wings of the house. The bannister was polished mahogany, the walls were covered with European silks, and the ceilings had beautifully crafted moldings. A man in crimson livery similar to Pierre’s came hurrying down the stairs. “Ah, here is Richard. Richard, Lady Sterling, and her maid, Mademoiselle Danielle.”
White-haired and lean, Richard bowed. “At your service, milady, mam’selle. Milord Cameron, shall you desire anything now?”
“Blackberry tea in the library in an hour, Richard, if you would be so good. I had thought that I would show milady and mam’selle their rooms, and give them time to refresh themselves from the ride.”
“Very good, milord,” Richard said, and bowing, he left them.
Lord Cameron led them on up the wide and graceful stairway. At the landing they came upon a portrait gallery. Amanda found herself stopping before the first portrait, startled. A dark-haired man in seventeenth-century dress stared out at her with Eric Cameron’s silver-blue eyes. Beside him was the portrait of a beautiful blond woman with crystal eyes.
“Jamie and Jasmine,” Lord Cameron told her. “Rumor has it that she was a tavern wench, but he was so enamored of her that he would have her no matter what her birth.”
Amanda stared at him and flushed, feeling the piercing power of his eyes. “Are all Cameron men so determined?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Ah, here, Jamie’s grandson, another Jamie. And his Gwendolyn. They sheltered numerous Roundheads when Cromwell ruled and King Charles the First lay headless in his grave. Virginia has always been a loyalist colony.”
“So what has happened?” Amanda asked him.
“Time changes eternally, Lady Sterling. Seeds, once sown, often flourish, and the seed of liberty has fallen here.”
“So you are a traitor.”
“What words, lady! I am about to travel with Lord Dunmore to face the West County savages! What traitorous work is that?”
She smiled serenely, and he laughed huskily. “Alas, I can imagine your very thoughts. You see a Shawnee hatchet riding high upon my temple. Mam’selle, that you could be so cruel!”
He mocked her, she knew, but his fingers felt like steel about her own, tense and powerful. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Just the very light brush of the hot moisture of his lips made her blood seem to sizzle and flow, her knees grow weak. A flush came to her features because she knew that he evoked forbidden things within her, and it should not be. And still she stood, captured in a curious hold as he turned her hand, touching his kiss against her palm. A pulse leapt through her. His eyes rose to hers and she felt suddenly dizzy. “Please…” she whispered, dismayed by the note of desperation in her voice.
He let go of her hand and moved down the gallery to another portrait. He was, she thought, well versed in this game they were playing. He was making the rules. She could not allow him to do so. “Here, my lady! This is a favorite portrait of mine. Petroc Cameron, and here, his wife. Roc was rumored to be a pirate, and to have captured and seduced his own bride.”
“A Cameron tradition?” Amanda inquired pleasantly.
He paused, looking into her eyes. “He pirated for the Crown.”
“So ’tisrumored.”
“He was my grandfather, and he raised me, for my father was killed fighting the French. I know the truth about him and his beloved, for I heard it from their very lips. They aged in beauty and in love, and never seemed to change to one another. He was the pirate; I daresay that she did the taming. But they taught me much of the true values in life, and I am grateful.”
He turned away from her, walking on with Danielle at his heels. Amanda paused, suddenly aching. She’d never known what it was like to watch someone age with love, to learn any of life’s true values. She’d known coldness, betrayal, and brutality.
She looked again at the portraits, and wished that these people had been her own family. She wanted this background, she wanted the very beautiful people to look down upon her, with love.
Amanda trembled and feared that she would cry. It was so very senseless. She was there to escape her father. Bless the warring Shawnees, they would take Lord Cameron away, and she would have peace.
“Milady?”
He was politely waiting for her now.
