Behind the Mask (117 page)

“I know,” she said. “It’s not the first time.”

“That I’ve killed a man?” he clarified and she nodded. “No, it’s not. I was raised to be a military leader, Abbi. I went to war at seventeen. Why is this troubling you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m grateful . . . that you’re all right. I know you did what you had to do. The same way Lance did what he had to do when . . .”

Cameron sighed, wondering if this was more about disturbing memories. Either way, he felt the need to define his stand. “Abbi, when it comes to defending my life, the safety and security of those I love, and my country, I have killed and I will kill again if I have to. But don’t be thinking that I enjoy it. What I did today was difficult and disturbing, but it had to be done. And it had to be done in a way that left my position firmly declared and beyond questioning.”

Abbi felt her eyes widen at the implication. As what little she knew settled in, she had to say, “He would have been executed tomorrow for his attempt against your life.”

“That’s right.”

“Then, if the officers had not been so careless, he wouldn’t have gotten away and—”

“Abbi,” he said, hating this conversation. But he knew it was necessary. She needed to understand. “My officers are
not
careless, especially the ones put in place to protect you and me.”

Her eyes widened further. “You
planned
to kill him. It was . . . set up . . . manipulated, so that
you
could kill him.”

“Yes, it was,” he said firmly. “But before you start thinking that your husband has some perverse bloodlust, let me explain something. What happened today was the result of countless hours of analysis and planning by many people who understand the workings of politics very well. Fanatics have a leader. From the way these letters were written, we were able to understand and predict a certain amount of the motivation and attitudes of these people. If this man had been executed according to standard procedure, no one but myself and the military personnel involved would be witness to it. His followers were in that crowd. They would not have missed the glory of seeing me go down.
I
had to be the one to kill him, Abbi, and
they
had to see it happen. The entire thing is distasteful and ugly, but it’s part of my job. And sometimes I just have to do things I hate. I’m grateful it’s over. We can all relax and breathe more easily now.”

“You’re not concerned about others trying the same, then?”

“No. There will always be people who hate me, but such people grumble quietly and go about their business in peace, because I’m doing a damn fine job of running their country. There were a great many people who hated Nikolaus, but they feared him and his power. My power is no less; in fact it’s greater, because it’s earned by respect and honor. The vast majority of the people understand and appreciate that, and they will protect their right to live in peace. The matter is closed.”

Abbi allowed his lesson to soak in and felt selfish for all her whining about the demands of being a duchess. Cameron was comfortable with his position, but that didn’t mean it was always easy. She needed to remember the same about herself. Perhaps she would become more comfortable if she stopped expecting it to be easy.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“That you have to do things you hate.”

“Everyone has to do things they hate, Abbi. It’s life.”
Abbi put her feet on the floor so that she could lean forward enough to take his hand. “I’m grateful . . . that it was him and not you.”

“Yes, so am I,” he said, and kissed her fingers. He was glad to feel his negative emotions slip away, and the tension eased between them. “And I’m grateful that you weren’t hurt.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Since it’s over, perhaps you should know that our criminal analyst now believes your being present is what pressed this man to finally come forward. If you hadn’t gone with me, he believes the issue could have gone on much longer.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t fully understand myself. These people give me their reports, and they usually make sense, but I have trouble repeating what I’ve heard. Mr. Fruberg believes from things written in the letters that some deeper form of avenging Nikolaus’s death would have been made complete by your witnessing the crime.”

Abbi put a hand over her heart. “Oh, that’s horrible.”

“Yes, it is. And once again I regret that you have to be caught in the middle of such things. But you behaved so very much like a duchess today—as you always do.”

Cameron watched her turn away, her eyes filled with the same doubt and discomfort that always showed when any reference to her position or abilities came up. Perhaps he just needed to accept that she would never find peace with it, and he just needed to appreciate what they had and stop hoping for something that would never happen.

Needing a distraction, he impulsively went to his knees and pressed his hands and the side of his face to her well-rounded belly. She looked more pregnant than he believed her tiny body could handle. The time was drawing near, and he couldn’t help but anticipate becoming a father. He reminded himself that every challenge in their lives became insignificant in light of the love they shared and the life they had created together. Nothing was more important than that. Still, the subtle underlying tension between him and his wife was undeniable. He almost wished there was some committee he could consult on how to solve the problem. Perhaps they could cast a vote on whether or not he should be plagued with guilt every hour of the day for his wife’s unhappiness. And perhaps they could analyze the reasons that God would so obviously bring two people together, knowing there were such stark contradictions in their lives. Realizing he was exhausted, he put the matter out of his head, hoping he could actually get some sleep in spite of the other issue that plagued his mind. He’d killed a man today.

Abbi felt an air of relief settle over the castle now that the fear of harm to the royal family had been alleviated. It was nice to know she could go out if she wanted to, but she was far too pregnant and miserable to go anywhere. And the problem was made worse by Cameron’s ongoing obsession with his work. She attempted to focus on her artwork but found it difficult to enjoy when her body ached, and her spirit felt troubled by the distance between her and Cameron. She reminded herself often that she needed to be patient. But when she tallied the facts, it was impossible not to feel angry. Even through the holidays, he hardly spent any private time with her.

When ten o’clock came on a particularly cold evening in January, Abbi couldn’t remember the last time she had fallen asleep in her husband’s arms, and she went to find him. Wearing a wrapper over her nightgown, she ignored the officers standing at the office doorway and went in without knocking.

Cameron looked up from the books in front of him, smiling to see Abbi until he took a moment to absorb her countenance. She closed the door as he pulled off his glasses and glanced at the clock.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re always upset with me?” he asked.

“You must have a guilty conscience.”

Cameron sighed and looked away. “And why wouldn’t I, knowing how unhappy you are?”

“Did I ever say that I was unhappy?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, looking at her hard. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Abbi glanced away, feeling the evidence of her
own
guilty conscience. She’d tried so hard to keep Cameron from knowing how difficult certain aspects of her life were, but he knew anyway. She reminded herself to stick to the issue at hand. “If I ever had any time with my husband, I’d be happy enough. But I feel more like a widow six days a week.”

“You asked me to take Sundays off. I have.”

“And you work every waking moment otherwise. You have meals in your office, or with people you conduct business with. Even Georg goes home to have supper with his wife.”

“Georg is not personally responsible for the state of a country while—”

“You,”
Abbi leaned her palms on the desk and glared at him, “are personally responsible for a wife and the life you created with her. Is it so difficult for you to
want
to be with me? Have you forgotten so quickly what it was like to be forced apart?”

“I have never said that I didn’t want to be with you, Abbi. But I have a job to do that requires—”

“No job requires one hundred percent of a man! You don’t have to work night and day to prove to your father, or anyone else, that you are worthy to hold this position!” Cameron looked stunned by the analogy, but she went on. “Farmers work their farms and go home to spend the evenings with their families. Shopkeepers close up their shops and do the same.
No one
is expecting anything more of
you.
”

“I’m not certain you have any idea what’s expected of me,” he snarled in retaliation. “Like it or not, this is what I am. This is what I
have
to be! You cannot be jealous of the time that I have to put into my work, and—”

“Jealous?” she echoed. “Do you know me so little as to think that I would
compete
with a country for your time and affection? I am more than willing to
share
you with Horstberg, but I will not
sacrifice
you for her sake.”

“Do you have any idea the condition Nikolaus left this country in? The crime? The poverty? The—”

“There will always be needs, Cameron—always. But you cannot see to them all single-handedly. You have to decide where your priorities are. Right now, I don’t feel that I am any priority to you at all. If you spent this much time with Gwen, I don’t wonder why she went elsewhere for—”

“That’s not fair!” he shouted loud enough that she felt certain the officers outside the door must have heard. But she didn’t care. “You have no idea what my relationship was like with her, or why we—”

“Don’t tell me about being fair,
Your Grace
. Fair should be that I get you half the time. I would even settle for a fourth of the time. But I don’t even get you a seventh of the time. On that one day a week, I have to share you with God and your sister. And for the record, I don’t care what kind of husband you were to Gwen. I only care what kind of husband you are to
me
. You might be the Duke of Horstberg, but you are still only one man. And you are
my
husband, and the father of
my
baby.”

“What would you have me do?” he snarled, reeking of the pride and arrogance that she had believed to be dispelled long ago.

“You have a brain, Cameron. You figure it out. You are the most important man in the country, and the wealthiest. You can do anything you want. You have people working for you who can be trusted, who should be earning their keep. If you don’t have enough help, get more. It’s your duchy. You figure it out. All I can tell you is that your life is out of balance, along with your priorities. And when things get off balance, they fall. If you fail as a husband and father, then what kind of ruler does that make you? One like your father, perhaps?”

Cameron bristled at the second mention of his father, but he felt too angry to respond before she left the room.

Abbi went upstairs before he had a chance to hurl more anger at her. She nearly expected him to follow after her, to apologize, to promise that he would try harder. But he didn’t, which made her all the more angry. She had to stop every few steps to breathe deeply, feeling as if the baby consumed every spare inch of breathing space.

Abbi crawled into bed, certain Cameron would appear any minute and they could talk more calmly. But she fell asleep with no sign of him, and woke in the middle of the night to find herself alone. Her anger melted into a deep, aching sorrow as she stared into the darkness and cried. Was his absence an attempt to tell her that he would not bend on this issue? Could this be the reality of her life, a fact she had to accept? Was her husband married to Horstberg, first and foremost? The thought pierced her through, making her long for the days when they had been snowed in together, with no one or nothing to come between them. But they could never go back.

Cameron shot his head up when Georg entered the office, and he realized he’d been asleep, bent over the desk.