Amanda escaped him, rushing up to bed. She dressed in a warm flannel gown and sat angrily before her dressing table, brushing her hair.
A few minutes later the door burst open. Eric, who obviously had imbibed more than was customary, stood there for a moment, then came in and dropped down upon their bed. He tore off his boots, his surcoat, and his shirt, letting them fall where they would. Amanda felt his eyes upon her. He watched her every movement even as she tried to ignore him.
“Why is it, Amanda, that we are not expecting a child?” he asked at last.
Her brush went still as the tense and brooding question startled her motionless. Then she began to sweep the brush through the dark red tresses again. “God must know, for I do not.”
He leapt up, coming behind her. He took the brush from her fingers and began to work it through her hair. The tendrils waved softly against his naked chest as he worked. She sat very still, waiting.
“You do not do anything to keep us from having a child, do you?” he asked.
“Of course not!” She gasped, trembling. Then she rose and spun around on him. “How can you suggest such a thing! ’Tis you—you marry me, and then leave me!”
His eyes softened instantly and he drew her against him. “Then you do not covet him, do not lie awake dreaming that the duchess should die, that perhaps…”
“My God! How could you think such a heinous thing of me!” she cried, outraged. She tried to jump to her feet and leap by him. He caught her and shoved her back to the chair, and suddenly she discovered that she was not just furious, but hungry for the man. She teased her hair against his bare midriff, soft sounds forming in her throat. She touched him with just the tip of her tongue, lathing his hard-muscled flesh until she felt the muscles ripple and tremble. She loosened his breeches and made love to him there until he shouted out hoarsely, wrenching her up and into his arms. He entered into her like fire, and the passion blazed steep and heady and wild. Crying, throbbing, sobbing, she reached a shattering climax. She felt the volatile shuddering of his body atop her own, and she shoved him from her, curling away, ashamed. He tried to draw her back. She stared into the night, amazed that she could be so angry, hate him so fiercely, and be so desperate for his touch.
“Amanda—”
“No!”
“Yes,” he said simply. He drew her back and kissed her forehead. His soft husky laughter touched her cheek. “Perhaps you will better understand me after this night,” he murmured. “Anger, passion, love, and pain. Sometimes they are so very close that it is torment. I have wanted you in fury, in deepest despair, when wondering if I am a fool, when despising myself for the very weakness of it. That is the nature of man.”
She curled against him, glad that he did not laugh at her. He sighed softly, his breath rustling her hair. “If the world could just stay as it is.…”
His words faded away. For the first time since he had come home she guiltily remembered the map she held in the bottom of one of her jewelry cases. A shudder ripped through her. His arms tightened about her. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“No,” she lied. She was suddenly colder than she had ever been, even with his arms about her.
She determined to change the subject of their changing world. “What was that with Jacques today? You never told me; what a very curious incident.”
“Oh. Well, he wanted to kill your father. I stopped him.”
Amanda wrenched around, certain that he was fooling her. She glanced at his handsome features in the darkness, and she saw that though he smiled, he was very serious. The firelight played upon his bronze and muscled chest as he lay with his fingers laced behind his head. “Why does he want to kill my father?”
“Heaven knows. Or, perhaps, everyone knows,” he said quietly. He reached out and touched her chin very gently. “I have wanted to kill him upon occasion. He is not a very nice man.”
Amanda flushed and her lashes fluttered above her cheeks. Eric reached out for her, pulling her back into the snug warmth of his arms. “You are not responsible for your father,” he said briefly, dismissing the entire situation.
“You did not punish Jacques?”
“Punish Jacques? Of course not. He is a very proud man. He is not a slave or an indentured servant of any type—he could up and leave at a second’s notice. And I need him.”
She smiled in the darkness, thinking that he did tease her then. “How did you calm Jacques, then?”
He was quiet for a long time. “I told him that I wanted to kill Nigel myself,” he said at last. His arm held heavily around her when she tried to rise. “Go to sleep, Amanda. It has been a long day.”
She lay still beside him, but she did not sleep.
They traveled into Williamsburg to welcome in the New Year of 1775. The governor hosted a party, and despite the political climate, it was attended by all important men, be they leaning toward the loyalist side or the patriot. Watching the illustrious crowd that had come for the festivities, Amanda felt a tightening in her breast. It was, she thought, the last time that she should see all these people so, Damien laughing and sweeping Geneva about the floor, then bowing very low to the governor and his lady. The music was good, the company was sweet, but the mood was such that she clung to her husband’s arm and remained exceptionally silent. Damien brought her to the floor and she chastised him for not appearing for Christmas. But the young man was very grave, almost cold. She wanted to box his ears, for she wouldn’t be in her present predicament at all if it weren’t for him. I should have let them hang you! she nearly shouted, but then her father appeared, asking for the dance, and Damien demurely handed her over to her father.
“I need something more,” Sterling told her.
“What?”
“British troops are moving with greater frequency into Boston, and I suspect help here. There isn’t going to be any help for Virginia if I can’t get more information.”
“I haven’t any more! Eric has just come home; it has been winter.”
