“Oh,” Skye murmured, disappointed.
“If you will, please…” Peter indicated a graceful and sweeping stairway. She followed him along it, looking about. The manor was truly fine and gracious. The hallway loomed beneath her, while a fine gallery stood above her. She followed the curve of the banister and came at last to the landing, another hallway, leading to the main room, and to the two wings of the house, east and west.
She paused in the hallway. It was a portrait gallery, the type made popular during the reign of Elizabeth I. There was a fine array of Camerons portrayed there, beautiful women, handsome, provocative men.
Too many of them with the haunting, silver eyes! she thought, and shivered. They could be so much alike. The Hawk could just as easily have his portrait hung here as the rightful Cameron heir. Shave him and queue him neatly and dress him fashionably and—
“Milady, this way, please.”
He took her through the hall to a more narrow corridor leading into the west wing. There he cast open a set of double doors to a large chamber.
Skye stepped inside.
The room was huge and handsome. Paned windows reached near to the floor on the far side, looking out upon the James River and the beautiful slope of the land. Skye walked to them first, and instinctively murmured with delight. Then her murmurs and delight faded as she slowly turned around to look at the room.
It was dominated by a huge four-poster bed with handsome blue velvet draperies. Far to the right were bookshelves, and far to the left was the fireplace with several wingback chairs brought near to the hearth. There was a huge trunk at the foot of the bed, and there were matching armoires in the two rear corners. Across from the fire and facing the windows was a large oak desk, and closer to the sunlight was a small round table covered simply in white linen. An open doorway led to a dressing room. Skye strode to the doorway and stepped through, bracing herself against the shadows there. There was a washstand and a pitcher and bowl and beyond it a huge brass hip tub and a necessary chair. To the far rear of this smaller room was a rack hung with coats and apparel.
Men’s coats, men’s apparel.
She stepped out from the dressing room. Her trunks were already arriving here. She didn’t speak, but looked around once more. It was the master’s room, beyond a doubt. It faced the river, and it caught the river breezes. It was a handsome and masculine room. It offered every amenity and elegance, but it retained something of a manly air.
“This—this cannot be my room!” she protested to Peter.
Peter, startled, looked her way. “Milady, this is Lord Cameron’s room, of course. He instructed me to bring you here, Lady Cameron.”
“But I’m not really—”
She broke off, not willing to argue with his servants. It would get her nowhere, she realized. Her trunks were already arriving, carried by grooms and houseboys, who all bowed to her again with shy and welcoming pleasure. If she protested, they would merely think that she had gone mad.
Her fight was with Lord Cameron. She had to stop him from this madness, and no one else.
She clenched her fists to her sides and approached Peter. “Where is your master, Peter.”
“He’s busy, Lady Cameron—”
“I did not ask you that. Where is he?”
“His office, milady. But I would not—”
“No, Peter, you should not—but I would, and I will interrupt him,” she said sweetly. She left Peter and the servants and the wing behind, coming out upon the portrait gallery and clutching the banister to scamper down the length of the stairway. She felt all those pairs of blue and gray and silver eyes following her down to the landing in the lower hallway.
In his office…
She pushed open a door to the left and discovered the formal dining room. Swords crossed over the fireplace, the table sat at least twenty, a Persian rug lay over the floorboards and beneath the table, and the Cameron coat of arms covered the far wall. Windows looked out upon the sloping lawns of the estate.
Skye slammed the door and went on. The next one entered to a music room with comfortable chairs and a beautiful rug and molded and corniced ceilings. She slammed that door and went on, discovering a parlor decorated to the Sun King’s tastes. She slammed that door, too, and hurried across the hallway. She shoved open the first door and discovered Roc Cameron behind a massive, polished desk. There was a huge globe on the floor nearby, and every shelf there was lined with books. Again, it was a masculine room.
He had shed his coat and wore only his breeches and fine laced shirt. He pored over correspondence, a frown on his face that faded when he saw her standing there. He laid down the letter he was reading, and waited. He did not invite her in. He didn’t even speak.
For a moment she panicked. She had rushed here, she had torn apart the house, and she wasn’t even sure what she intended to say.
She should have just run, she thought. She should have very sweetly agreed to everything, and when the servants had all disappeared, she should have run for the stables and stolen a horse. She didn’t know the peninsula well, but he had said that it was three hours to Williamsburg. Surely she could find her way!
“Are you coming in? Have you something to say? Or have you come merely to stare at me?”
“No, of course not.”
Skye came in, closing the door behind her. She strode to his desk, then discovered herself tongue-tied. She pushed away from it and paced, then suddenly sat in the leather chair before his desk.
