There was a wicked gleam about his eyes. Skye snatched her hand away. “I believe, Lord Cameron, that since you have seen my face, you have delighted in taunting me!”
He bowed gracefully to her. “That, too, Lady Cameron. That, too.”
He turned and strode back to the helm, shouting out orders as he did so. She did not miss his smile of amusement, despite his quick motion. He knows! she thought furiously. It was almost as if he knew the very truth of her heart, and taunted her mercilessly for it. She gritted her teeth and stared toward shore. The ship was coming about at the dock. She could see a throng of people there; it was like a holiday. Barefoot sailors cast ropes to the dock and the ship was soon brought to her berth. The sails were all furled and men worked to coil the rigging. Wives called to husbands, children to their fathers. It was a fascinating and colorful display. Tara and Bess were silent, in awe of the commotion. Skye was quiet, wondering at her future. She stared up the slope to the house. Her father would be there. And this fiasco would come to an end. She would go home and see her friends in Williamsburg. Mattie would be there, keeping house. Skye would be her father’s hostess, planning parties and engagements with Mattie, discovering the gardens again, walking to the governor’s new mansion for afternoon tea. It would be all right. She would pitch into her life with energy and fervor, and she would forget the pirate Silver Hawk, just as she would forget his noble cousin.
That was not to come so quickly, though. The plank was being stretched to the dock and Lord Cameron was coming her way once again. “My love?” He took her elbow, not allowing her to refuse his touch.
“I am not your love!”
“Come!” he commanded swiftly.
She had little choice. “Wait until I see my father!” she threatened him in a whisper.
“I wait with bated breath, madame,” he assured her.
They stood upon the plank. Lord Cameron paused, smiling his charismatic smile. A cheer went up, and cries of welcome. He silenced them all. “My bride, Skye, Lady Cameron!” he announced. More cheers went up. Little urchins struggled from their mother’s skirts to see her. Scarves were waved high in the air.
He led her across the plank and to the dock, and there he started making introductions so swiftly that her head began to ring. “My love, here’s Mary, the rector’s daughter. And Jeanne, his wife. Mr. Tibault, and Mr. Oskin—they are our tenants, my love, and farm the northern acres of the hundred. Mrs. Billingsgate—” He paused, brushing an old woman’s face with a quick kiss that sent her to flushing like wildfire. “Her late husband sailed with me. She runs a wee store here at the docks for the men and their wives. She brews tea and ale and makes fine, sweet biscuits!”
Mrs. Billingsworth bobbed quickly to Skye, still blushing. Her eyes fell back to her lord, adoringly. He did have his charm, Skye admitted, and it seemed that his people were all a bit spellbound by it. He was a popular master.
“Ah, the carriage!” he said, and pulled her forward. With every step, there were more rapid introductions. She nodded here and there, meeting people whose names she would never remember. Everywhere she was greeted with warmth, and nowhere did she manage to say that she was not Lord Cameron’s wife, nor would she ever be so.
He brought her to a handsome coach that would have been wonderfully appropriate for a fine English estate. The Cameron coat of arms was emblazoned upon the doorway. A footman opened the door while a coachman drove the fine team of four dapple grays. Skye entered the coach and he quickly followed her in. She sat back. It was luxurious indeed. A whip cracked in the air, and the horses started off. The ride was smooth, the upholstery was deep and cushiony and in an elegant teal velvet.
But even this ride had its price. He was watching her.
“What is it, madame, that dissatisfies you so?”
Skye moved against the door because he was leaning too close to her; his eyes were dark and probing, and she was suddenly afraid. He could be a brooding man, silent or eloquent as he chose. His temper could be great, she knew, soaring like flash fire before it became carefully leashed once more. “I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured. How long could this ride be? They were so near the house.
And he could be, at times, so like the Silver Hawk. He could reach inside of her. He could tease and evoke the same fevers, and make her feel as if she gasped for breath, as if she could forget the past, or remember it all too well.
“What is it, madame, that you do not like? My pride in my home is exorbitant, perhaps, but it is still one of the richest estates in all Tidewater Virginia—in all of the colony, I imagine. There is a certain prestige to be discovered here. The house has every luxury available, madame. We are a seafaring people, and acquire all manner of fine imports. Our table is always bountiful. So what is it, madame, that you do not like about being Lady Cameron?”
She smiled very sweetly. “LordCameron!” she told him, and turned quickly to look out the window. She did not know if she had ignited his temper, and she suddenly did not care to discover the truth of it if she had.
She heard his soft laughter, but it came with an edge. “We will see about that,” he promised her.
“Aye, we shall!” she agreed.
The coach came to a halt. The door was swung open by the footman, whom Lord Cameron quickly thanked. Then he reached for Skye. She fell against him as he lifted her from the carriage to lower her to the ground. His eyes touched upon her. “Indeed, we shall see!” he promised her.
She was dismayed to discover that her heart raced frantically. Quickly she lowered her eyes and disengaged from him. He took her elbow, leading her quickly up the steps to the porch with its massive Greek columns. Doors to a massive hallway with a polished wood floor lay open to them and a very correct butler in handsome livery awaited them.
“Peter, how goes it, man?”
“Well enough, sir. A bit o’ the gout in my leg, but that is all.” The man swept a low bow to Skye. “We welcome you, milady, with all of our pleasure and very best wishes!”
Petroc Cameron stood away, and as Skye looked into the wide hallway, blinking against the sunlight, she saw that the household servants were all arrayed to meet her and offer her best wishes. She met the groom and the cook and the upstairs maids and the downstairs maid and the head groom and his staff. She smiled graciously, and seethed inside. She would not stay! And with every passing moment, she felt as if ties bound ever more tightly around her.
When she came to the end of the line, she discovered that her husband had disappeared. The butler Peter was waiting for her. He bowed again, offering a pleasant and eager smile. She thought that for all the very proper dress and appearance of the servants, things were very different here. Cameron was a lord, but he was a colonial, too. A Yankee, like herself. It was not England. Servants, tenants, and masters all depended upon one another, and so the lines of society were far less rigid here. Peter, she thought, was more Roc Cameron’s friend than a mere servant. And he was eager to please her for his master’s sake.
“Milady, if you’ll be so good as to come along, I will show you to your room.”
“Fine. Thank you. But, Peter, where is my father? Lord Cameron said that he would be here.”
“Lord Kinsdale has not yet arrived, milady.”
