Love Not a Rebel by Heather Graham Page B

since then she has been in South Carolina with relatives. Do you remember my daughter, Lord Cameron?”
    “We met recently, Nigel. At Thomas Mabry’s, in Boston.”
    “What? Oh, so you were at Mabry’s fête that evening, were you?”
    “Yes.” Eric kept his eyes upon Amanda. She was flushed, despite her determination to ignore his knowing smile.
    “Yes, Papa, Lord Cameron was there.”
    Eric took her hand and bowed over it deeply, just brushing the back of it with his lips. He felt the pulse race at her wrist. As he raised his head, he looked into her eyes, those passionate, telltale eyes, and he moved his thumb slowly over the delicate blue veins that he could just see beneath the surface of her porcelain skin.
    “It was a night I shall not forget,” he said pleasantly.
    Her eyes widened slightly. She nearly snatched her hand away, but then she spoke softly and with poise. “Lord Cameron. How nice to see you again.”
    It was anything but nice for her to see him again, he thought, somewhat amused and somewhat sorry. She was even lovelier up close. So much of her beauty lay in herlove for life, something vital and warm that seemed to sweep about her in a golden light. Well, she was passionately against him, he realized.
    “Milady.” He bowed to her. These were passionate times. He was determined in his own course of action, and it was natural that tempers and spirits would soar high.
    “Save a dance for Lord Cameron, my dear,” her father said. “Come, Eric, please, so that I may have my word with you.”
    Eric bowed to Amanda once again, then followed Sterling toward the doorway to his office.
    Cameron! Amanda thought, watching his broad back disappear in the wake of her father. Cameron!
    He had come to taunt her! On this magical night, he had come here! Well, he had nothing on her! If he ever dared to implicate Damien, she would call him a traitor in no uncertain terms! He laughed at her, she saw it in his smile, he dared her with every glance!
    She tightened her jaw, thinking that the man had really changed little. He had always been less than cavalier, supremely confident and assured. So
arrogant
. She would never forget the day of the hunt. Perhaps she
had
been too eager to catch the fox, but he’d had no right to spank her. She hadn’t thought that he would dare, but he would dare anything, she had learned. Perhaps it had been as much his fault. He had been about seventeen, and eager to return to one of Lord Hastings’s pretty chambermaids. She’d already heard his name whispered in various households. His appeal was legendary.
    Oh! Cameron was a traitor. Just two weeks ago he had stood up in the governor’s chambers, a member of the prestigious council, an honor set upon one for life, and he had suggested that perhaps he should resign because he disagreed with various actions being taken. Everyone had been speaking about it. The governor had refused to accept his resignation, demanding that he think it all through. The colony had been abuzz with it! Last night Robert had talked of it, calling the man a fool and a traitor. It was amazing that he hadn’t been arrested on the spot, hanged, boiled in oil, or drawn and quartered.
    Well, perhaps nothing so dramatic. And perhaps it was true that the governor would be hanging men from dawn to dusk if he had to start with the men who had spoken so in the lower house, the House of Burgesses. But Cameron was not a member of that society. He was a lord. His duty was to support his king and his governor.
    It was said that he had given a fine speech with a wonderful elocution—learned at Oxford, so she had heard—and agreed to wait, but suggested that time would make little difference. His heart was with the men who had gone to Bruton Parish Church for their day of prayer—just as his heart was with the men who had dumped the tea into the sea. His heart was not with many of the decisions being made, and therefore he did not think that he could serve the