Behind the Mask (102 page)

A
bbi wondered why she found it so difficult to believe him. She didn’t feel like a queen. She felt inadequate, and unworthy, and completely incapable. Not knowing how to explain, and not wanting to, she hurried up the stairs and closed the bedroom door.

Cameron sat for several minutes while his admiration for her courage and dignity battled with the horror of what Nikolaus had done to her. He fought to push away his own anger and sickness over the matter, and tried to figure how all of this might be perceived by a tender woman’s heart. Then he had to accept that he could never possibly know any such thing. He could only try to understand. And he’d never accomplish that by just sitting there. He opened the bedroom door to find her lying on the bed, her back to him. He lay on the bed behind her, and pushed her hair back from her face enough to be assured that she was wide awake, staring at nothing with dazed eyes. He eased closer and gently put his arm around her, relaxing his head on the pillow close to hers.

“Abbi,” he said softly, and felt her flinch.

Abbi squeezed her eyes closed against the images in her mind, but they only became more clear. More than anything, she hated the way Nikolaus had tainted the most simple, tender moments she shared with her husband. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

“Talk to me,” he said and put a hand into her hair. Even
that
reminded her of Nikolaus.

Cameron sensed her resistance to discuss the problem, but far worse, he sensed her resistance to his touch. But he wasn’t going to let Nikolaus come between him and his wife. Surely they were stronger than that. “Please tell me what happened,” he urged. Then he remembered words she’d once said to him that had helped him cross a painful bridge. “Give me the pain in your heart, my love,” he said. “Let me hold it for you . . . as you have done for me, over and over.” She said nothing. He lowered his voice. “Tell me what happened, Abbi. I need to know, and then we can put it behind us.” Still nothing. “You just told me yourself that we need to come to terms with this and move on. We can’t allow him to destroy our happiness.”

“I know,” she said. “And I know you’re right, but . . . I don’t want to say it.”

“Better that you say it than to let it roll around in your mind with nowhere to go.” Mildly facetious, he added, “I have a certain amount of experience with that.”

He allowed her some silence and was relieved when she began, even though the first four words tightened his stomach. “He sounds like you.” She sighed. “I never would have noticed had I not already known that you were brothers, but the similarities were evident.” She rolled deeper into the bed, putting some distance between them. “After you left, I got ready for bed and fell asleep.” She took a sharp breath. “When I woke up, he was lying beside me.” Cameron winced at the very idea, but steeled himself to stay calm and let her say what needed to be said. “I’d found the papers from my father, and had opened them. I knew he’d killed Gwen, and I thought he was going to kill
me.”

Cameron eased her into his arms, and listened with growing abhorrence to the details of what his brother had done to Abbi, and the vile, cruel things he’d said. She spoke without emotion until it came to the way he had touched her, and the betrayal and loathing she’d felt. She sobbed without restraint, and cursed Nikolaus’s soul to rot in hell while he silently echoed her, holding her tightly in his arms, crying silent tears. And for all that she confessed, he felt most deeply wounded by her admittance that she’d told him she would consider giving what Nikolaus asked of her if she had believed he would keep his side of the bargain. After all that she had been through, everything she had suffered for his sake, Cameron was most amazed of all that she would even consider giving all she had to give for the sake of her husband’s duty to his country, a duty she had not even begun to understand. She had only known what it meant to
him,
and how he had fought to honor it. And she was willing to stand beside him in that, at the expense of all that was most precious.

When her crying quieted and her words ran out, he whispered close to her ear, “Is there anything else, Abbi? Anything at all?”

“No,” she murmured.

He rolled her onto her back so that he could look into her eyes as he touched the faint bruise on the side of her face. “And when did he give you
this?”

“This I earned,” she said with not even a hint of oppression. It was the Duchess of Horstberg who declared boldly, with fire in her eyes, “I slapped him hard, and I spit in his face, and I told him to address me as ‘Your Grace.’ So he hit me. But it was worth it, just to see the look on his face.”

Cameron smiled as his admiration for her soothed all else. “That is the moment we will remember, my love. Whenever the memories make me angry, I will think of you spitting in his face.”

A hint of serenity crept into her eyes. “And I will think of you breaking his nose,” she said. “Is it wicked of me to admit I found great pleasure watching you hurt him like that? There was a gun pressed to my head, and I felt sure the last thing I would see before I died was you hitting him, and I
reveled
in it.”

“If such feelings are wicked, then surely I am most wicked of all. I wanted to believe that it was justice, not vengeance, fueling my rage. But I still feel rage. More than ever. And it’s going to take time for both of us to understand it and know what to do with it.” He pressed a hand into her hair. “Right now it doesn’t matter. He is dead, and we are together and free. There can be no greater justice than that for me.”

Cameron placed a careful, tentative kiss to her lips, not wanting to cause her physical pain or to press boundaries that might still be too fragile. He was willing to give her all the time she needed to heal in every physical and emotional way, but she pushed both her hands into his hair as if to hold him within her reach, responding to his kiss with an emotional fervor that was not detracted by her physical reticence. The delicacy she used to avoid pain only further enhanced an intimacy that bridged every chasm.

Abbi drew in a contented sigh as Cameron spread tender kisses over her face and throat, rummaging his hands through her hair as if his privilege to touch it was more honorable than that of wearing the crown. She eased him closer and melted into his embrace. “Hold me,” she murmured. “Touch me, love me. Replace the memories.” He looked into her eyes as if to be certain she meant it. “Heal me,” she whispered, and lifted her lips to his.

Abbi succumbed to his familiar caress and lost herself in the comfort of his love. Never had she felt so safe, so utterly secure. With his love and perfect acceptance, he gave back all that Nikolaus had taken from her. He traded away the ugliness with an immovable beauty that was anchored by everything they had ever shared, and all that they ever would with the commitment of a lifetime. And everything fell unequivocally into perspective. Nikolaus could have
never
truly stolen what she gave to Cameron, simply because she gave it of her own free will, and with a loving heart.

They lay together for endless minutes in silence, until Cameron felt compelled to express his thoughts. At the risk of spoiling the mood between them, he leaned up on one elbow and looked into her eyes. “Abbi,” he said, touching her face, “I love you with all the pieces of my heart. Forgive me, but I just have to say . . .” his voice broke, “how truly sorry I am . . . for all that you have suffered for my sake. I know I can’t take away what you’ve endured, but I want you to know that I love you more for enduring it, and for loving me the way you do in spite of it.”

She only smiled and kissed him, but he knew her love for him was firm, as his was for her. And with all they’d been through, that was no insignificant matter.

For Abbi, being alone with Cameron in the lodge made the realities they’d left behind feel distant and unimportant. Every hour that passed without any mention of life in Horstberg felt blissful, even though she knew that inevitably all they had gone through—and the changes that lay ahead—would have to be faced. The very thought provoked disquiet and anxiety inside of her, but she forced such thoughts away and tried to enjoy the present. Just being with her husband in such simplicity was worth savoring. They worked together the way they once had, excepting there were no cows to milk or eggs to gather. Georg had left them well supplied with plenty to eat for a few days, and he would be bringing more of all they would need in order to stay at least two weeks.

Two days following their arrival, they shared a simple breakfast before Abbi went back to bed, finding that her pregnancy was prone to bringing on bouts of exhaustion. Cameron left her to rest while he took care of the horses. She was surprised at how quickly she felt relaxed, and sleep overtook her with no effort. Peace and serenity surrounded her as she looked into Cameron’s eyes. He peered at her through the mask, his eyes sparkling with adoration and mischief. He took her hand and led her into a heavy mist, but she didn’t feel afraid. His grip was tight and firm. He knew where he was going, and he guided her carefully along. As the mist cleared, they stood in the center of the market square. It was like the day of the fair. They were surrounded by people on every side who were oblivious to them, dancing and reveling and full of laughter. It was only her and Cameron; their eyes connected, while nothing else mattered. Then the mask was gone, and their surroundings became eerily quiet. All who were present went to their knees. Cameron disappeared into the mist, leaving her alone in the crowd, the only one standing. Whispers began to stir around her.
Who is she to be a duchess? She’s not got a drop of royal blood in her veins. Look at her! Never could she be a lady. She’s too wild. Too naive. She has no comprehension of the name she bears or the crown he’s given her. What was he thinking? His years away have driven him mad to marry such a nymph. It’s an embarrassment to all good society, and especially to His Grace.

Abbi saw Cameron coming toward her. He wore the crown, the robe, the mask. He stood before her, and she begged him to take her away from the cruel taunting of these people. “Abbi, my sweet,” he said. “Don’t you realize how valuable you are?” He pulled away the mask and it was Nikolaus. She tried to run but couldn’t move. He slapped her hard and snarled, “Wear
that
with the crown,
Your Grace.”

Abbi came awake with a gasp, heart pounding, cold with sweat.
While the memory of her dream threatened to turn her inside out, the horrifying reality was the undeniable truth in what she’d heard in the echoes of her sleep. Her mind frantically pieced together every memory she’d shared with Cameron, everything he’d ever said and done, trying to fit what she knew into the reality that he was the Duke of Horstberg. She felt completely inadequate to stand beside him. He’d been raised to be a sovereign; she’d been raised naive and inept. Anxiety reached her every nerve. She wondered why a man like Cameron du Woernig would commit his entire life to a woman such as herself. And like a bolt of lightning, the reality she’d been suppressing in order to simply cope rushed forward, refusing to be denied any longer.
She
had been crowned Duchess of Horstberg. What
was
he thinking? Her chest tightened painfully and her stomach hardened.
She couldn’t do it!

Cameron entered the lodge and hurried up the stairs, wondering if Abbi was still asleep. He had the urge to take her riding in the high meadow. Pushing open the bedroom door, he saw her sitting in the center of the bed, clutching the bedding tightly in her fists, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Abbi,” he said and she jumped. Her eyes snapped toward him like a frightened animal. “Abbi,” he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did you have a dream or—”

“Yes,” she said.

He sat beside her and said gently, “Tell me.”

She repeated the dream to him in detail, her voice trembling.

“That’s no premonition,” he said firmly. “It’s a nightmare. It’s not true; none of it.”

“It
is
true! I can’t do it. If it’s not a premonition, it’s certainly an expression of everything I’ve been feeling but couldn’t say.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, wishing his alarm hadn’t come out so sharply.

Abbi shook her head frantically and murmured in a barely audible voice, “I can’t do it, Cameron. I can’t.”

“What are you talking about, Abbi?”

“I can’t . . . be a . . . duchess, Cameron. I can’t!”

Cameron made a dubious noise, stunned by her intensity. “You
can,
Abbi. I
know
you can.”

“I can’t!” she insisted. “Not that; anything but that.”

“Abbi,” he took her hands into his, “you’re shaking.”

“Yes, I’m shaking!” she shouted. “I just realized what I’ve gotten myself into, and I . . . I can’t do it!”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted gently.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do! You were raised to this. You grew up with it. I’m nothing but a senseless . . . unsophisticated . . . girl who grew up in the stable. Women with such positions as this should be trained and raised to it. Like your sisters. Like
Gwendolyn.”