Love Not a Rebel by Heather Graham Page A

had she had occasion to learn much about humility.
    She had been looking for a man, Eric thought with amusement. And most obviously he was not that man. Tarryton. She did not know that she been cast aside for riches.
    He bowed to her deeply. When she barely acknowledged him, he realized that she was still furious about the night in Boston. He hadn’t had much choice about his actions, but it was unlikely that she would ever understand or forgive him. She arched a delicate brow, caught up her skirts, and hurried on down the stairway. The perfect hostess, she began to greet her guests. She offered her cheek for the most delicate of kisses, she regally offered her hand to those she knew less well, and men and women flocked to her, eager to greet her.
    “Why, Mandy, Mandy, dearest! Don’t you look just heavenly!” someone gushed to her. Eric looked through the crowd. It was Lady Geneva Norman, one of the richest heiresses in the area with countless estates in England.She was a beauty in her own right, but Eric had never found her any more than amusing and he was careful to keep his distance from her—she was a cunning witch who delighted in trouble and in dangling her worth before her suitors. She would, Eric thought, acquire a husband, for not many a man could forget that life was a harsh game that must be played well.
    He was grateful then for his own position, for he was not dependent upon making a fortunate marriage. His forefathers had acquired some of the finest land in Tidewater Virginia, and he retained estates in England he had seen but once. He could play Geneva’s game. He could delight in her bald humor and her coquetry and laughter, and he did not need to feel the sting of her temper at all, for he had nothing at stake. He could enjoy her beauty and walk away.
    His land in the colonies and his estates in England gave him so very much.
    Of course, those estates might not remain his for long, he realized solemnly. Not if he continued with his present course of action. Ever since Boston, he had become more and more deeply involved with men whom the Crown would call questionable associates.
    Some of his friends were calling it suicide, but he could not turn back. He believed in what he was doing.
    “Lord Cameron!” a voice bellowed, and Eric saw that his host, Lord Nigel Sterling, had come up before him, reaching for his hand. He thought briefly of the things that Anne Marie had told him about the man. Still, Amanda did not seem to show any signs of abuse.
    “Eric, my man, I’ve been most anxious to talk to you. I’ve been hearing the most fearful rumors.”
    Eric took Lord Sterling’s profferred hand and smiled. “Rumors? How intriguing. I shall be interested in hearing them.”
    “Come with me, and we’ll take a brandy into my office. I would have a word with you in private,” Sterling said.
    Eric shrugged and smiled, looking over his host. He was a squat man with heavy jowls and beady brown eyes. How he could have taken part in the creation of the thing ofbeauty upon the stairs, Eric did not know. Nor was he particularly fond of the man’s personality. He was forceful, rude, and often abrasive, a great believer in his own nobility. Still, he was Eric’s host this evening, and if they had been prone to great dissent when they had sat together in the Governor’s Council, by every rule of polite behavior, Eric owed him a moment of his time.
    “As you wish, Nigel. But I warn you, it will not change anything.”
    “Come, I’ll take my chances.”
    They moved through the room. Eric nodded to some of his male friends and acquaintances and bowed to the ladies as he followed. He could already hear whispers as he did so. He smiled more deeply. So much for polite society. He had become a black sheep already.
    “Ah, my dear! Amanda, there you are. Have you met Lord Cameron? Ah … yes, of course, you have, but that was years ago. Amanda was in a young ladies’ school in England for several years, and