“I’m sorry that you were hurt. I’m afraid that Lord Tarryton’s engagement has been common knowledge for quite some time now,” he told her. “I suppose you hadn’t heard the news at your aunt’s.”
“I am not hurt, Lord Cameron,” she lied. She wanted to die on the spot from the humiliation and the pain she was experiencing. She hated him. She hated him more than she hated Robert, because he’d witnessed her humiliation.
“Lady Sterling—”
She did not want his help or his compassion. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to rage and cry in private. “Get away from me, sir, for you are far more heinous a man than he. You’ve no right here, you’ve no business here—”
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Sterling.” Now he sounded cool and dangerous. “I did not intend to spy upon you, but I heard your cries of distress and assumed that you wanted assistance.”
“Assumed—”
He sat down on the bench before the Venus statue, idly watching her. “Tell me, did I interrupt you rather than rescue you?”
It took several seconds for the meaning of his words to sink into her mind. And when she grasped their full meaning, she was furious. In a sudden rage, she flew at him, but he stood immediately, catching her arms, securing them behind her back and pulling her very close. She struggled against him wildly, determined to free herself at any cost. Desperate, she tried to kick him. He slipped a foot against her ankle and she started falling. He deftly preceded her to the ground, rolling beneath her so that when she fell, his body took the brunt of the force. Then he rolled swiftly, and she was caught beneath him again, staring up at him exhausted but ever more furious, yet her breath coming so quickly that she could not speak. She gritted her teeth and he laughed, but there was an edge about the sound and she wondered just how amused he was. “I warned you,” he told her quietly. “You struck me once. I will not allow you to strike again.”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
“Why, milady, I wouldn’t dream of doing so.”
“Let me go!”
“Are we understood?”
“Lord Cameron, I am quite certain that I shall never understand you!”
“Perhaps you should make an effort to do so.”
“Get off me.”
“Milady, your every wish is my command.”
He leapt to his feet, but she found no freedom, for his hands were upon her own, drawing her up against him.
She tossed back her head, staring up him, longing to do serious battle again, yet painfully aware that she could not win. Praying for composure, she held still with her chin high, her hair tumbling and rippling down her back and seeming to burn like a slow flame in the moonlight. Her eyes sizzled and she spoke as softly as he, with every bit as much of an edge.
“I’m demanding, Lord Cameron, that you let me go. Or perhaps you imagine that I’m really dying to remain in your arms too? Can I dare hope that some other man is otherwise engaged elsewhere in this maze and will come to my rescue?”
He laughed, and it was an open, honest sound. It brought back strange feelings to her, causing a cascade of warmth to rush through her. Geneva’s words came back to her. The most arresting man in the colonies. And she felt his arms acutely. They were strong arms, well muscled, like the steel of a blade. His body was hard and vital, and his thigh was pressed tightly against her own. Her breath came quickly, and she longed to escape him.
“Milady,” he told her, “you have not lost one bit of your aristocratic hauteur. You had quite an abundance of it as a child, you know.”
“And you were a very rude child, and now you are a very rude adult, Lord Cameron. You’re not only a traitor, you’re a brute.”
“This is a subject, mam’selle, with which I think that you should take extreme care.”
“Your activities—”
“I am no traitor but a man of convictions. And a brute, milady? For seeking to save myself from your very tender touch? Alas, I should stand still, and allow those feminine claws of yours to draw blood. That is what you seek tonight, isn’t it? Blood, milady?”
“You’re sadly mistaken. I seek no vengeance upon anyone.”
Still, he held her close. His fingers wound tight around her wrists, and his words whispered like the breeze against her lips. She could almost feel the brush of his lips. The lace of his shirt and the satin of his surcoat lay against her bare flesh where the mounds of her breasts rose daringly above her bodice, and she was uncomfortably aware of the feel and texture of the fabric and of the warmth of the man beneath it.
“Tarryton is a fool.”
“How dare you judge him!”
“Any man who would cast aside such exquisite beauty for mere wealth is a fool.”
“You’ve no right to judge him!”
“Ah, but he didn’t exactly cast you aside. He meant to have love and money.”
She tried to kick him again. He dragged her down upon the bench, laughing again. “Careful, milady! I’m striving not to be a brute, but the role of knight is difficult to play when you are so determined to cause me pain.”
“You are causing me great pain!” she retorted. Drawn upon his lap, she was in a very awkward position. He held her hands still, and though his touch was easy, she was still his prisoner. There was no doubting that.
“I’m so sorry. As I said, my wish is really only to fulfill your desires.”
“Oh, you lie!”
“But I don’t lie, milady!”
“I’ll never, never marry you, so any point you wish to make between us is quite moot.”
“Alas! You crush me!” he said with mock despair.
He was not in the least crushed or broken, but every bit amused. Things had not changed at all. He still viewed himself the adult, the master of the world, and her but a child playing willfully within his realm.
Except that now he touched her differently. He held her tightly. And she was all too aware of that hold. The scent of flowers was all around them and the moonlight played over his striking face, which reminded her of the fine statues in the Venus garden. His features were like those of Mars, or Apollo, hard cast and striking, as was his smile. She wanted to wrench away from him, and then again, she was struck with the startling and dizzying desire to learn more about him. She trembled already. If he touched her lips with his own the way that Robert had done, just what was it that she would feel?
“Let me go,” she said swiftly. “Now.”
His smile deepened. He knew, she thought with sudden panic. He knew exactly what she was thinking, and he was both amused and challenged. He was holding her ever closer, but now just one of his hands secured her wrists and the other moved upward to her cheek.
“I could scream!” she threatened in a whisper.
“Scream,” he suggested.
But she did not. The softest little whimper escaped her as his lips touched hers. They brought with them an incredible heat that consumed her. There was no hesitance about him, just sweeping determination and power. He offered no subtlety, he asked nothing, but demanded, his tongue plunging against the crevice of her lips with an intimate surge, breaking through the barrier of her teeth and sweeping her mouth with deep and sensual effrontery. She felt the breath of him and the scent of him, and she was filled with everything that was intimate about the man. She freed her hand to fight him, and found that her palm fell against the breast of his frock coat, and she was achingly aware of even the feel of the material there. She was trembling. She should be fighting now for dear life and honor, yet she was locked in his embrace, and could not begin to find the power to pull away. His kiss was an invasion, a subtle rape of her mouth, and yet his touch was so overwhelming that she could do nothing but absorb the sensations. Tears stung her eyes, for she was somehow aware that the magic of the night was over. Innocence was gone. She had fallen in love, she had believed in a man, and she had believed in love. And she had been spurned. And now she was discovering that she could still be touched, that she could feel,
that she could rage and despise a stranger and still fall prey to the demand of a kiss, to tremble and shake in the arms of the enemy.…
She pulled away from him at last, gasping and horrified. Her fingers flew to her swollen lips, her arms wrapped protectively about her chest. “St-stop!” she charged him. She rose and backed away, hating him and hating Robert with all of her heart. She would never, never love anyone again, she vowed silently. And certainly not this man who now watched her with such striking curiosity in his silver eyes. He did not breathe hard, he did not shake or tremble. He was, at least, no longer amused, for his gaze was hard and grave upon her.
“Stop!” she repeated, still shaking. “You are in truth no better than he!”
“Ah, but I am, you see,” he said softly as he stood. “I can offer you an honest proposal of marriage, and he cannot.”
“Marriage!”
“Yes, marriage. The legal type of arrangement.”
She ignored the taunt. “You are a rebel, a rogue, and a backwoods adventurer, sir, and I cannot begin to take such an idea even remotely seriously. You are the last man that I should ever wish to marry. You thought that you could frighten me and bully me in Boston; well, you cannot do so here! You must know what I feel for you, and I cannot begin to wonder what it is that you can possibly feel for me.”
He laughed. “Your father took my offer very seriously. And as for my feelings, why, I am enchanted.”
She flushed and stared up at the stars. “You are no better than Robert. You are ruled by lust.”
She saw the hint of his smile. “Lust? Your word, milady, and so I will admit to a fair amount of it. But perhaps I see more. A heart that drums a different beat, eyes that dare the very devil.”
“And are you the devil? So goes your reputation, Lord Cameron.”
“No devil, lady. Just a man in lust.”
Amanda moved back, hugging her arms more tightly about herself, wondering if his agreement with her father could possibly be true. All of Virginia’s society, or their society at least, was up in arms against Lord Cameron. Although Cameron Hall was a magnificent estate, and he owned endless acres of cotton and tobacco and produce, and had a pedigree that went back to the Dark Ages, dissension was in the air, and he was turning his back on his own kind to join up with rebels.
“I don’t believe you!” she whispered again, but she said it more quietly. “My father did not—agree to a marriage!”
“Milady, I do not lie,” he told her. He walked toward her, and she wanted to turn and run. She hated to be a coward, but at that moment she wanted to run, and still she could not. It was not courage at all that kept her still, it was something about the way he looked at her.
He stopped several feet before her and reached out gently. She thought that he was going to sweep her into his arms again, but he did not, and for the life of her, she did not know if she was relieved or disappointed. She could not breathe properly, and it seemed that the very masculine scent of him was not just around her, but part of her, and that she would never forget it or forget his power. He touched just her cheek, his knuckles running over the softness of it, his hand then falling to his side. “But neither shall I force the issue. If you are adamantly opposed to me, milady, then the matter is solved. However, I do suggest that you think carefully before accepting Lord Tarryton’s … proposition.”
Heedlessly she tried to strike him again. He was quick, catching her hand before it could land upon him. He turned her wrist slowly, drawing a finger over the valley of her palm, then pressing his lips against it. Her breath came in a rush and her heart pounded and again. She wanted nothing more than to escape him and the sensations of his touch.
“I told you, milady, you may not strike me again.”
She smiled very sweetly. “Being a loyalist’s mistress might be preferable to a life as a traitor’s wife.”
“Really? I think that you’re sadly mistaken. About yourself, Lady Sterling, if nothing else. Young Tarryton is a boy, playing at a man’s games. He isn’t for you. He’ll never be for you. He desires you, perhaps he even loves you. But he hasn’t the courage to fight for you, milady, and in the end you would be sadly disappointed.”
“Oh, I see. I’d never be disappointed in you, I presume?” she challenged him sarcastically.
“No,” he said. “You would not be disappointed in me. Had I set out to seduce you, milady, it would never have come to attempted rape, and in the outcome, I promise that you’d have been mine.”
She opened her mouth to protest with outrage, but she never spoke. He did touch her again then, hard and sure. He drew her against him and his lips found hers. She whimpered and pounded furiously against his chest, but he paid her no heed, and he gave her no quarter. His mouth closed upon hers with swift, searing hunger and his tongue penetrated deeply against her protest, filling her with a warmth that consumed all thought and reason. She whimpered and pressed herself against him, feeling dizzy and almost falling. But it didn’t matter, for as he continued to kiss her, he held her weight with ease. She thought briefly that he would never let her fall, and she realized that the overpowering heat that exploded throughout her emanated from some searing center of her being that had come alive tonight. It was unlike anything she had ever imagined before, this hot excitement that stirred her blood and swept from her lips to her breasts, and from her breasts to some secret place within her, near the juncture of her thighs, wickedly deep within her.
And then, abruptly, he released her, a negligent smile upon his lips. “You should marry me, milady, because I do believe that I could promise never to disappoint you.”
“I would fight you all of my life!” she exclaimed out, and then realized that it was she who still clung to him. She needed the support.
“You would fight me, but you would not be disappointed by me. Now, milady, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you to your own devices, since you are so capable.” He let her hand fall and bowed deeply to her, turning about to leave the maze.
Shaking, Amanda determined to have the last word. “You are a traitor, Lord Cameron! A traitor to the king, a traitor to your own kind!”
He turned back around, bowing deeply. “As you would have it, milady. Far be it that I should argue with your gentle tongue.”
He turned again and was gone.
Amanda sank down upon the bench, feeling the pressure of her tears come rushing to her eyes. She pressed her hands against them, determined not to cry. She was trembling still. He had awakened things inside of her, things she had never dared to dream of.…
And things she now despised.
She hated him. She had hated him in Boston, and she hated him now! How dare he come upon her so highhandedly again. He had known about Robert—dear God, all the world had known about Robert, all the world but she!
She touched her swollen lips, and all that she could remember was Eric Cameron’s touch. Yet it was true, the magic was gone, love was gone, and her belief in things beautiful and good and right was gone. Innocence had been cruelly slain, she thought, and then, despite her best intentions, tears did start to fall down her cheeks. Robert! How could he? How could he speak of his longing and desire for her and then tell her that yes, he did intend to marry the Duchess of Owenfield?
How could he suggest that she become his mistress?
Amanda wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced herself to stand and smooth down her gown. She dusted bits of leaves from her skirt and swallowed hard and touched her fingers to her hair.
She had to go back. She had to lift her head and smile and return to the house and be her father’s most gracious hostess, and she had to laugh and dance and be certain that no one ever knew what had taken place in the Venus garden.
“Amanda!”
Hearing her name called, she leapt to her feet and forced a smile to her lips.
“Damien!” she called in response to that well-loved voice. She knew her cousin would quickly be upon her, for he knew the maze as thoroughly as she di
d. They had often played there as children. “Damien!”
He came through the last row of hedges, bewigged and handsome, looking fabulously elegant. He knew his appearance was quite proper and perfect, and he paused by the Venus statue to pose for her quickly. “The ultimate gentleman, the lord of leisure!” he said, then he laughed and raced toward her, and she threw herself into his arms.
“Damien! You’re back. I thought that you were staying in Philadelphia with your brother and that the two of you had been larking about from Boston to New York. And it frightens me when you and he are apart for I am ever afraid of what trouble you will find!”
He shook his head, and it seemed for a moment that sober thoughts clouded his dark handsome eyes. “I am ever quick to avoid trouble!” he vowed to her, then laughed. “I heard that Lord Sterling was hosting a ball, and I came quickly, thinking that my dear sweet cousin might need me.”
Amanda pulled away from him, watching his eyes. Then she sighed softly. “So you knew too. All the world knew about Robert and this Duchess of Owenfield except for me, and, therefore, I made the most horrible fool of myself.” If she wasn’t careful, she’d start crying again.
“Amanda, he’s not worthy of you,” Damien told her swiftly. Setting an arm about her shoulder, he led her to sit down on the bench.
She smiled up at him lovingly. “Perhaps not, but I loved him, Damien. So what do I do now?”
“Forget him. There will be other men to offer for you, to love you—”
“Well, I’ve had the offer!” she said, and laughed bitterly. “But not the love. It was quite astounding. Lord Cameron appeared on the scene and offered himself.”
“Cameron!” Damien repeated, startled.
“Aye, the traitor. My night is beset by betrayal, so it seems, for Father had told him yes!”
Damien stood, hooking his thumbs into his waistband as he paced before her. He swung around and looked at her. “He’s been quite the bachelor, Mandy. You know that. Mamas have thrown their daughters at him for some time now, and he has never shown the least interest. You are deeply honored, you know.”