She struggled for breath as he bowed deeply. “Lady Sterling, I am Cassidy, Lord Cameron’s valet. I shall take you to him now, and if ever I can be of assistance, you must let me know.”
Amanda nodded, startled by the man’s exquisite speech. She held herself with dignity as she descended the stairs. He said no more but walked along the large main hall until he came to a set of double doors. He opened them and moved discreetly to the side. “Lady Sterling, Lord Cameron.”
Amanda entered the handsome parlor. Eric was waiting for her by the mantel, this one made of fine smoke-gray marble. Persian rugs lay scattered over the floorboards, the walls were covered in a fine silk cloth, and there were deep window seats toward the rear of the room. A tea cart with a silver server and delicate porcelain cups was parked before a richly upholstered French sofa.
“Do sit down, Amanda,” he welcomed her, nodding to the black man. “I see you’ve met Cassidy.”
“Yes,” Amanda said, nervously taking a seat near the edge of the sofa. She smiled at Cassidy. He reminded her of his master. He appeared to be exceptionally strong, a man who could be of great value in the fields. Her father would never have had him as a house servant.
Cassidy bowed deeply and left them.
Amanda turned back to Eric to find that he was studying her intently, his silver-blue eyes brooding. She wondered if she hadn’t been a fool to come. She loved the house, she loved the excitement, she loved the freedom. But she didn’t know at all what she felt for the man anymore. He tempted her like the original sin of Eden, and that temptation burned into her, for her father’s words were never far away. She could not believe that her beautiful mother had been a whore, but when Eric Cameron came near her, she was forced to wonder at the blood that simmered within her.
“So that is Cassidy,” she murmured. “He looks more like a prince than a house slave.”
“I believe he would have stood in line to be a Nubian prince. And he is not a slave. He earned his freedom. He remains with me by choice, and earns wages.”
“How…interesting,” she murmured. She had difficulty meeting his gaze so she lowered her eyes quickly, wondering what he read within them. “So this is berry tea, milord? How intriguing.”
“No. It is horrible. But one gets used to it.”
“Shall I pour?”
“Please do.”
Her hands were shaking. She gritted her teeth and willed her fingers to cease their trembling. She lowered her head to her task, but when the curious berry tea was within a cup, she almost cried out, for when she raised her lashes he was before her, hunched down upon the balls of his feet and looking at her. He wasn’t a foot away. She hadn’t heard him move, hadn’t realized he was so near.
His teacup clattered within its saucer. She swallowed, noting his remarkable eyes and the pulse that beat a wicked rhythm against his throat.
“You startled me.” She gasped.
He rescued his cup, setting it down, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Marry me,” he told her.
“I cannot!” she whispered desperately.
He caught her hands and came up beside her on the sofa. A rueful smile curled his lip even as the tension remained in his eyes. “There is no reason that you cannot. There is every reason that you should.”
“I do not love you!”
“Ah, so you are still in love with that fop.”
“Fop! Robert Tarryton—”
“Is a fop, by God’s body, I swear it. Still, no man but Robert Tarryton will ever convince you of that. He is due to wed within the week. And your father is a dangerous man.”
“My father!” She flushed, fully aware that he was telling the truth and fully aware of him as he sat beside her. She had never felt more alive, she thought, more attuned to every fiber of feeling within herself. Her flesh burned with greater sensitivity, her heart beat as if it were touched. She was drawn…she frightened. His very passion on her behalf could well stand against her. He excited her beyond reason, he scared her to the depths of her soul. A pact with him would be like a pact with the very devil.
She shook her head, losing both breath and reason. She didn’t want tea or sustenance of any kind. She discovered that she was fascinated only with the long dark fingers that curled over hers. His thumb brushed again and again over her flesh, stirring strange fires and causing truth and wisdom to sweep away.
“Your father will not let you play this game long, though I am not certain of what game he plays himself. If you do not set a date to wed me, he will seek another for you. There was talk, you are aware, of betrothing you to Lord Hastings, a man almost thrice your age and—I’ve got it from very reputable sources—a man who snores with the vehemence of the west wind.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at Eric’s bold description of the man. He moved closer to her, drawing a finger provocatively over her cheek, then defining the breadth of her lower lip with the same sensual touch, his eyes following his movement. “I am not as young as Tarryton, and I admit to a scar or two upon my back and at my side, but I swear that my teeth are all mine and quite good, I’ve kept to one chin, and I do bathe with frequency. I am wealthy, landed, and I come with this house, a stable full of horses, and fields full of tobacco and grain. Marry me. And—I have it from very reputable sources—I do not snore.” She laughed again, but his eyes grew darker as they seemed to possess her own. “I promise to be an excellent lover.”
“Oh!” She gasped, but laughter still mingled with her indignity. He had broken into her very bedroom and forced her down upon her bed. What brazen words he offered now could not cause her more outrage. “You, sir, are the most egotistical man I have ever met! Tell me, sir, does that piece of information come from reputable sources too?”
“I’m sure I can arrange for references, milady, should you require them.”
