“The British soldiers will descend upon this town very soon, and men the likes of your husband will be burned in the wake.”
She wanted to retort something horrible to him, but she did not have the chance. Her father touched his shoulder, and despite Robert’s irritated expression, he was forced to relinquish his hold upon her. She was no more pleased to be held by her father, but she had little choice.
“You did good work, daughter,” he told her softly. Her heart leapt uneasily. “The arms were stashed where you said.”
“Then we are even.”
“There is no such thing as even. You will serve me when I demand that you do.”
“You’re a fool, Father. It will not be so easy! Haven’t you begun to understand anything yet? There are arrest warrants abounding in Boston—and no one to see them carried out. The people are turning away from this mess that men like you are causing!”
He smiled. “Don’t forget, daughter, that I do not make idle threats. When I need you again, you will obey me.”
He halted, turning her over to Lord Hastings. Amanda, wretchedly miserable from her father’s words, tried to smile and bear the man. She was certain that he drooled upon her breast, and by the time the music came to a halt at last she was ready to scream and go racing out into the snow. She excused herself and raced outside to the back porch, desperate for fresh air, be it frigidly cold.
The river breeze rushed in upon her. She touched the snow on the railing and rubbed it against her cheeks and the rise of her breasts, and then she shivered, staring out at the day. It was gray now, and bleak. And it had been such a beautiful, shimmering Christmas.
“Amanda.”
She turned around, startled. Eric had come outside. His arms were covered in naught but the silk of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold. The wind lifted a dark lock of his hair and sent it lashing back against his forehead. He walked toward her, pulling her into his arms. “What is going on here?”
“What?” she cried.
“Why has he come?”
“Father? Because it is Christmas.”
He kept staring into her eyes, and as he did so, the biting cold seemed to seep into her, wrapping around her very heart. Now was the time. She should throw her arms around him; she should admit to everything.
She could not. For one, there was England. Above everything, she could not turn upon her own beliefs.
And there was Damien. She could not risk his life.
She moistened her lips and wondered desperately what would happen if it did come to war. She was Eric Cameron’s wife; and she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would cast aside everything for his own beliefs. Would he so easily cast her aside? And what of her? Perhaps she dared not utter the words, for they were painful ones, but she did love him. Deeply. More desperately than she had ever imagined.
It was terrifying.
“He has come,” she whispered, “to make me wretched.”
Eric’s arms tightened upon her. “And Tarryton?”
“Robert?” she said, startled.
“I saw the heat and the passion in your eyes when you spoke with him. Tell me, was it anger, or something else?”
“Anger only. I swear it.”
“Would God that I could believe you.”
She pulled away from him, hating him at that moment.
“You never pretended to love me,” he reminded her. He kept walking toward her, and he was a stranger to her then. He caught her arm and pulled her back to him.
“He is a married man expecting a child!” Amanda lashed out.
“And you are a married woman.”
“That you could think—” she began, then she exploded with a violent oath and escaped him, running past him and back into the house. The party was dying down. The servants were no longer guests, but they hurried about to pick up glasses and platters and silver mugs that had been filled with Christmas cheer. Amanda had assumed that her father and the others were staying; they were not. They took their leave soon after, telling her they meant to make Williamsburg before nightfall. Eric had come in quietly behind Amanda. He bid them all farewell cordially, ever the lord of his castle.
