Impulse (10 page)

“Well, try not to worry this time. It is a trifle.”

“Hardly that.” Reluctantly Pettigrew withdrew from the bed and walked out past the door that Kate was holding open for him.

Kate followed him, closing the door firmly behind her. Cam shifted a little and winced.

“Are you all right?” Angela asked quickly.

He shook his head. “Not really. My arm feels as if it's on fire. But I don't know of anything that can be done about it.”

“Dr. Hightower's coming. He should be here soon.”

“I can hardly wait,” Cam replied drily.

“Well, at least once he's through, you will begin to feel better.”

“It's the part before he's through that worries me.”

Angela smiled. “You must be feeling somewhat all right, since you are making jests.”

“Whistling in the dark, I'm afraid.”

“I was never able to do even that.”

He made a noise of disbelief. “Don't try to pull that with me, my girl. I know what kind of courage you have. I was the one who saw you take your fences, remember?”

“Oh. On a horse…” Angela shrugged. “That was different.”

“From what?”

“From being brave in real life.”

He looked puzzled by her words, but his mind was too foggy to follow his thought. He closed his eyes, drifting for a moment. “I kept thinking about you today.
When we were riding home, and poor Markham was trying to keep me in the saddle.”

“About me? Why?”

“I'm not sure.” His voice sounded bleary, and he passed a tired hand over his face. “I just kept seeing you in my mind. It hasn't turned out the way I planned.”

“What hasn't?”

“You. Marrying you.” He brought her hand up to his face and cradled it against his cheek. His words came slowly and thickly. “Poor Angela. I have been cruel to you, haven't I? I just wanted to… I thought if I married you, I would have you again. That you would be mine. The way you were mine before—or the way I thought you were. But you aren't mine at all, are you? I've muddled it. All I have done is make you hate me.”

“No! I don't hate you! I could never hate you!” Angela cried, a little surprised as she realized that what she said was true. Tears sprang into her eyes as she gazed down at Cam. He looked so pale and vulnerable, his eyes closed in weariness, his face lined with pain. “I loved you. You were my first love.” She reached out and brushed his hair tenderly off his forehead, adding in a low voice, “My only love.”

He had fallen into unconsciousness again, she realized. She stroked her fingers across his forehead again, then down over his cheek. Her heart felt full of emotion, about to break. His face was so dear, so familiar, yet the years between had made them strangers…worse, enemies. She could not love again, Angela knew. She was ruined for men, any man, for all time. And this hard, bitter Cam was not even the same man she had loved. There was no love between them now, and there never would be. Still, her heart could not help but be stirred by his words of regret. She could not help but wish that
things had been different, that she could be the woman he wanted.

“Oh, Cam.” Tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks as she caressed his face again.

The door opened abruptly, and the doctor bustled in. Angela jumped, startled by the noise, and turned. “Dr. Hightower.”

“My lady.” He took off his hat and set it on the dresser, then advanced purposefully toward the bed. Mr. Pettigrew, with two bright red streaks of color along his cheekbones, trailed in after him, as did Kate. One look at her flashing eyes, and Angela was sure that anger was the reason for Pettigrew's flushed face.

The doctor was a short, stocky man, with a rather bullish look and thick, bristling gray eyebrows. He had a brusque manner to match his looks, but he was quick and competent, with light, skillful hands. He glanced at Angela, then bent to examine the wound, talking to Angela as he worked, but looking only at Cam and his arm. “There now, my lady, it's not so bad as that. You needn't cry. I shall have this one fixed up in no time. I take it this is the fellow you married? Heard about it in the village, you know. Everyone was glad for you.”

“Thank you.” Hastily Angela wiped the telltale tears from her cheeks.

“What happened here? Accident with a gun?”

“Markham thinks it was a poacher. He and Mr. Monroe were looking at the land.”

“I see. Nasty-looking wound. But,” he added cheerfully, “it could be worse. Just a few inches over, and you might have been a widow.”

“Do you think that was what he was aiming at, his heart?” Pettigrew asked, moving closer.

The doctor turned and looked at Cam's assistant,
adjusting his spectacles to peer at him. “Who the devil are you? What are you doing here?”

“I am Mr. Monroe's assistant.”

“Well, good, you can assist me right now. This is going to be something Her Ladyship should not have to see.” He glanced around, and his gaze fell on Kate. “Here, girl, make yourself useful and take Lady Angela out to the garden or down to her grandmother's room for a while.”

Kate nodded and went over to Angela, taking her arm. But Angela did not move. She turned toward the doctor and asked, “Are you going to take out the bullet?”

“Yes. It's not a pretty thing to see.”

“Can I help you in any way?”

“No. This young man looks like he will do fine. Best thing you can do is stay out of the room.”

“All right.” Angela cast a last look at Cam, then walked with Kate out into the hall.

She would not go to her room or the garden, however, and she had not the least desire to sit with her grandmother right now. Instead, she walked over to an uncomfortable carved chair a few feet down the hall and sat down, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe away the vestiges of tears from her face.

“Crying over him, were you?” Kate asked, coming over to stand beside her.

“I suppose. Or maybe just over what might have been. He looked so…I don't know, helpless, lying there like that. So pale and— He blames me, you know, for marrying Dunstan. He thinks I married Dunstan for the money.”

Kate snorted. “Then he is almost as big a fool as the one who works for him.”

A smile escaped Angela. “Did you ring a peal over
his head while you two were out in the hall? Mr. Pettigrew looked like thunder when you came back in.”

“I told him what I think of him and his ideas,” Kate admitted airily. “He's a strange one, that man. Looked like he wanted to strangle me with his bare hands, yet he never raised his voice once, nor pointed out that I'm a servant and haven't the right to talk to him thus— which I am and I haven't, and I know it, so you needn't be telling me that I should have kept my trap shut.”

“I was not about to. What I was going to say is that I think our Mr. Pettigrew has warm feelings for you. That's probably why he was so forbearing.”

“Hah! Strange way he has of showing it, then. He's hardly ever said more than two whole sentences to me. Yesterday I brought him in his shaving water, because poor Ellen had a fearful cold, poor thing, and he was all stiff and formal-like. I thought he was going to report me to Pepper or Mrs. Wilford, he looked so primmed up. It wasn't as if I'd come in on him when he had on no clothes, because I hadn't, and I knocked first. All he was doing was sitting on the bed in his shirtsleeves, with papers spread all over it.”

“And did he report you?”

“No.” Kate shook her head, which set all her dark curls bouncing. “Although he might after today. He didn't look any too fond of me this afternoon, I'll tell you that.”

“Well, I think he is. I can see it in the way he looks at you. If ever you are in the room or pass by, he turns to watch you. And Mrs. Wilford told me he had inquired of Pepper about you. Of course, she thinks that he has evil designs on you.”

“Evil designs? That one? Not likely.”

“Would you rather he did?”

“No. I would rather not have anything to do with him at all. He's too cold for me.”

“Oh, I don't think he's cold. A little formal, perhaps, but mostly, I think, shy around an attractive woman such as yourself—especially since you keep walking in on him when he least suspects it.”

Kate grimaced. “Well, even if he is, there's nothing that can come of it. I mean, he's a clerk. Better than a clerk, really. And I'm a maid. There's only one thing he could want with me, as my mum used to tell me, and it isn't marriage.”

“I don't know. He is an American. They have different views of things.”

“Not that different. Maybe they don't call people Lord This or That, but quality and servants don't mix.”

Like Kate, Angela knew the rigidity of the class system. It had been bred into them since they were children. And Angela had to agree that it was unlikely that even in the United States an assistant to a millionaire would marry a personal maid.

Their conversation dwindled, and after a few minutes of silence, Angela got to her feet and began to pace along the hall, walking down past her room, then back up to Jeremy's. Kate, who could think of nothing more to say to take Angela's mind off what was going on in Cam's bedroom, decided to simply accompany her.

Jeremy, who had ridden over to Leighton Hall to visit a friend, came upstairs not long afterward and found the two women pacing the hall.

“Angela! Pepper just told me what happened.” He came over to his sister and took her hands in his. “How dreadful! Will he be all right?”

“I'm not sure. Dr. Hightower is in with him right now.”

“It cannot be good for you to just fret and wait. Why don't you come downstairs with me, and we'll have Mrs. Wilford bring us a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I feel better here, as if I'm doing something to help.”

“But it's not…life-threatening, is it?”

A cold fist seemed to curl in Angela's chest. “I think not. Dr. Hightower said he would be all right. But, Jeremy, it almost killed him. It came that close to hitting Cam in the heart.”

“Awful business. Dreadfully careless—these damn poachers. I hadn't realized they were a problem. Markham wants to call the law on them, but I don't know how they can prove who it was that fired at Monroe. Markham went back there with some men, he told me, and they weren't able to find a thing, except a bit of trampled earth and leaves. What would that prove?”

Angela shook her head. “I don't know.”

She began to pace again, and Jeremy stayed with her. He offered her his arm and suggested that they occupy their time more pleasantly by walking along the gallery and back.

“At least it would provide a change of scenery,” he pointed out. “And Kate is here. She can bring you news if anything happens.”

“All right.” Angela gave him a small smile and tucked her hand in his arm.

It was pleasanter in the gallery, where the sun flowed freely in through the row of windows, Angela had to admit. She could look out at the landscape or at the pictures and art objects displayed within. They made desultory conversation. Angela's mind was only half on it. They mentioned the weather and touched on Jeremy's ride to Leighton Hall.

“And Chester? How was he?” she inquired about the heir to Leighton, whom Jeremy had gone to see.

Jeremy grimaced. “I didn't even see him. He'd taken it into his head to go to York today, so it was all a wasted trip.”

“How disappointing,” Angela replied automatically, stopping in front of one of the glass-topped cases in the gallery. Inside lay the antique emerald-studded dagger. She stood for a long moment looking down at it.

“What is it?” Jeremy asked, glancing down at the dagger and the other objects beneath the glass.

“Nothing. I was just thinking of something that happened long ago.” One of the emeralds caught the slanting sunlight and burned more brightly. The gold around it glinted. Angela had never been able to look at the small, elegant knife without her stomach starting to churn. “Have you ever thought about how lives are changed in just an instant? How everything can just suddenly disappear or…or go desperately wrong? Have you ever thought what might have happened to you if you had done just one thing differently. Say, if you had not gone to the Hadley party that night and met Rosemary? Or… or what if Grandpapa had not sent you away to school, but had had you tutored here, and you had not met that boy?”

He nodded. “Yes. Sometimes. Unfortunately, I don't think most things would make much difference. If I had not met Rosemary there, I would surely have met her at some other party that Season. And I don't think tutoring instead of school would have changed my…proclivities.” He gave her a wry smile. “If it had not been then and that boy, I think there would have been another time and place, another young man.”

Angela half turned away. “I sometimes think what
might have been if Grandpapa had not found Cam and me that night. If I had not married Dunstan. What if Cam and I had managed to run away to America before Grandpapa ever found out?”

“I don't know,” Jeremy replied softly, and he curled a comforting arm around her shoulders. “But, you know, fate brought him back to you.”

“Yes.” Angela gave a wry smile. “Too late.”

At that moment, Kate came around the corner into the gallery and motioned to Angela. “My lady! Come here. The doctor's out of his room.”

Angela turned and ran down the gallery.

D
R
. H
IGHTOWER
had just rolled down his sleeves and was putting on his coat when Angela came around the corner. Mr. Pettigrew was standing with him, without his suit coat and looking more disheveled than Angela had ever seen him.

“Doctor!” Angela cried, hurrying toward them. The doctor looked up and smiled benignly. Angela sagged with relief. He would not smile that way, she knew, if things had not gone well with Cam.

“It's all right, my lady,” he said when she drew close, confirming her hunch. “No need to fret yourself. I got the bullet out, and your young man made it just fine.”

“Thank God.” Angela took his hand and squeezed it fervently. She felt suddenly light-headed. “Oh, Doctor, thank you so much.”

“I gave him chloroform, so that I could take the bullet out. He is still asleep. Don't expect him to come to for some time. When he does, he may feel rather ill. I left something for the pain, and a tincture in case he starts getting feverish. I'd like someone to sit with him.”

“I will,” Angela assured him.

“Good. I think perhaps this young man has done enough for one day.” He glanced back toward Mr. Pettigrew, whose skin appeared to be a pale shade of green.

The doctor wrote down his instructions for the
medicines, then took his leave of Angela. Jeremy escorted him to the door. Mr. Pettigrew was leaning back against the wall, his face still pale. To Angela's surprise, Kate went to him and took his arm, saying, “Why don't I walk with you back to your room, sir?”

He looked down at her and smiled shakily. “I suppose I could use some help. I think I am not cut out to be a doctor.” He straightened, giving Angela a level look. “I will relieve you later, my lady.”

“That won't be necessary. I will stay with him through the night. You may spell me tomorrow morning, if you wish.”

He hesitated, and Angela knew he would have liked to keep her out of his employer's room altogether, but there was hardly any way he could do so, since she had every legal right to be there, and he, on the other hand, was merely a guest in her brother's house. “Very well,” he replied tightly, and started down the hall, Kate by his side.

Angela turned and walked into Cam's room. It made her heart clutch with fear to see him lying so white and still against his pillow. She went to the side of his bed and looked down at him, then laid her hand upon his chest. The doctor and Pettigrew had removed his coat and shirt to do the surgery upon his arm, so his chest was bare. His skin was warm, the chest hair prickly beneath her fingers. It was reassuring to feel the rise and fall of it as he breathed, the slow but steady beat of his heart. She sat down on the bed, leaving her hand on his chest for the simple comfort of it.

She sat that way for some time, she wasn't sure how long, before Cam began to stir. He shifted, groaning a little at the pain of moving his arm, and turned his head first one way, then the other. Finally his eyelids
opened, and he looked at her vaguely, then closed his eyes again, as if it were too much effort to keep the lids up. He licked his lips, mumbling.

Angela lifted her hand from his chest, but he made a protesting noise and lifted his own hand clumsily to stop her, pressing her hand back against his chest. “No,” he said thickly. “Like it.”

“All right, then.” Angela smiled down at him. It was a relief to hear him speaking again, he had looked so pale and unmoving when she first came in. She brushed his hair back from his forehead gently and laid her hand upon his brow to check for fever. There was no sign of it yet.

He licked his lips again, saying something like “First.”

Angela decided that he probably meant “Thirsty.” She started to give him a glass of water, but hesitated, remembering the doctor's warning that he might feel ill at his stomach at first. She decided to hold off on the water, at least for a while. Cam moved restively, and once again his eyes fluttered open, and he tried to focus on her face.

“Who're you?” he asked, his voice slurred.

“Angela.”

“Angela…” he repeated in a sigh, and a smile curved his lips. He looked suddenly years younger. “Sweetheart.” He curled his hand around hers and raised it to his lips, pressing them against her palm. “How'd you get here?”

“I live here,” she replied, unsure how to deal with him. He seemed to be in a different time and place from where he actually was.

“Yeah?” He seemed to accept her statement, his eyes drifting closed. “Tha's good.”

He kissed her palm again. His lips were warm and velvety against her skin, and the touch sent a strange tingle through her arm. She remembered the way his lips used to feel on hers, so hungry and urgent, hot with passion. Better not to think of that.

His lips were dry. She wet her finger and smoothed it across his lips. He made a small noise of pleasure, his lips curving upward again. He opened his mouth slightly and took her finger gently between his lips, his tongue flicking over her damp skin. Angela drew in a soft gasp. She wet her finger again and repeated the action, and again he greedily sucked up the moisture. Sensation curled through her abdomen, not at all unpleasant, and yet the very feel of it made her uneasy. She knew she should not do this, should not encourage this behavior. She would not like where it led.

Still, she wet his lips several more times, letting herself enjoy the sensations, telling herself that Cam would not even remember this moment. His eyes were closed, and he appeared only half-awake, if that, throughout the whole thing. She wet a washcloth and wrung it out, then wiped it over his face and neck and, because his skin felt dry and hot, trailed it down over his naked shoulders and chest. He stirred, letting out a sigh of pleasure, but still his eyes did not open.

“Angel…” he murmured, and he laid a hand over hers.

She stopped. His hand drifted upward, sliding up her arm and then back down to her hand, moving over her skin in a featherlight touch that sent tingles all over her. Angela shivered. These sensations, too, made her uneasy. Yet she did not move away.

“Glad,” he said thickly. “Think about you…all th' time. I knew…knew you didn't want it. Didn't want
him.” He paused, his hand curling more tightly around her arm, and he moved his head restlessly on the pillow. When he spoke again, his voice was almost plaintive. “Did you?”

“No,” Angela replied softly, putting her other hand over his on her arm. “I didn't want him.”

He relaxed, smiling to himself, and his hand fell away from her. “Knew it.”

Cam let out a little sigh, and in another moment, he was asleep.

 

Jason leaned against Kate perhaps a trifle more than was absolutely necessary. He liked the feel of her shoulders beneath his arm and the faint scent of her hair that teased at his nostrils. For the moment, all thoughts of his employer's condition slipped from his mind. Kate opened the door to his room and walked inside with him. She turned and reached up, pulling his jacket back from his shoulders.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Startled, he glanced at her, heat beginning to rise in his face.

“Just helping you off with your jacket, sir.” She finished removing his coat and expertly folded it, laying it aside on the bed. Without a word, she turned him around and began to undo the buttons of his vest.

“But I, uh, I can do that myself,” he protested feebly. He enjoyed the intimacy of her gestures too much to stop her. However, to his regret, Kate seemed to feel none of the heat or agitation that was rising in him. She treated him as though she were his nursemaid.

She reinforced that image by giving him a little push into the chair and saying firmly, “Here, sit down.”

Much to his surprise, Kate knelt and began to unlace his shoes. Heat surged up in him, and he wanted quite
badly to stroke his hand across her hair. Wisely, however, he refrained. He could well imagine Kate's reaction to that.

He cleared his throat. “You needn't do that. I, uh…”

Kate looked up at him questioningly. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh, no. It is just that I am not accustomed to—well, no one has undressed me since I was a child. I guess I am no longer used to having servants.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and replied primly, “I am merely helping you off with your shoes, sir. I have no intention of valeting you.”

“No. Of course not.” He hadn't really thought that she had, but now he felt even more foolish. Jason was sure that Kate found him provincial and probably rude, as well. He remembered how his stomach had turned at the sight of the doctor removing the bullet from Cam's arm, and he knew that his nausea had probably been reflected in his face when Kate took his arm. So she doubtless thought him weak, too.

Kate stood up. “You ought to get into bed, I imagine. May I bring you anything?”

“No. I'm fine.” He rose to his feet, trying to look both strong and confident. Why was it that this woman made him feel like such a fool? “Thank you very much for your help.”

“You're welcome.” Kate bobbed a little curtsy toward him, smiling at him with a twinkle in her eyes that both enchanted him and made him wonder if she was secretly laughing at him.

He watched her walk out of his room, then sat back down with a sigh. It occurred to him that there must be
a little bit of the witch in the women hereabouts. He was beginning to become obsessed, just like his employer.

 

Cam slept for an hour or so, while Angela sat beside him on the bed, watching him. Slowly his eyes opened, and he gazed at her blankly. He glanced around.

“He gone?” His voice was hoarse and cracked.

“Who?” Angela wondered where his mind was now.

“Th' doctor. 'S he through?”

“Yes.” Apparently he was back in the grasp of reality. Angela was aware of a curious sense of disappointment. “He's done. He left some time ago. He said you should be all right now.”

“He took the bullet out?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, closing his eyes again. “I'm thirsty.”

This time she poured a little water into a glass and held it to his lips, putting her other hand behind his head and helping him to lift it to drink. He swallowed the water greedily and, predictably, it came back up only moments later. Angela held the bowl for him and wiped his face with the wet rag when he was done.

He eased back down, panting, “Sorry…”

“It's not your fault. The doctor warned me. Hopefully you will feel better now.”

He nodded. After a moment, he asked, “Why are you here? Where's Pettigrew?”

Yes, his mind was clearly back to normal. Angela suppressed the pang of hurt, telling herself that it was ridiculous. “It is generally considered a wife's place to be in her husband's sickroom, I believe. The doctor said you needed watching. Mr. Pettigrew looked as if he had
had enough for one day. He helped Dr. Hightower with the operation.”

Cam let out a chuckle. “Poor Pettigrew. A bit outside his field, I would say.”

“I think he could have done without the experience.”

“So could I.” Cam was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and took her hand in his good one, saying, “Thank you.”

“I did very little.”

“More than you had to.” He squeezed her hand lightly and released it. His eyes drifted closed again, and in a moment, his chest was rising and falling in the slow, regular rhythm of sleep.

Angela sat down in the chair to wait.

It was several hours before Cam awakened again. The late-afternoon sun coming in the windows had diminished, and Angela had lit a lamp. By the time Cam's eyes opened again, it was the only light left in the room. Outside the windows it was pitch-black.

Cam awoke with a start, his eyes flying open, and he rose onto his elbows, then winced with pain at the movement and let out an oath. Angela rose to her feet and started toward him. He looked at her with a cloudy gaze.

“Damn,” he said. “I feel like hell.” He lay back, closing his eyes.

Angela reached him and laid a hand upon his forehead. His skin was hot and damp. She suspected that he was running a fever. She wet the cloth and wrung it out, laying it over his forehead.

“You feel feverish. The doctor left a tonic for that. Can you drink a little liquid?”

“I feel as if I could drink a barrel of anything,” he replied. “I'm dry as dust.”

She helped him take a swallow or two of water and waited to see if he would be able to keep it down. When nothing happened, she gave him a little bit more. She poured a spoonful of the medicine the doctor had left into a glass and added water to it. From his expression, it tasted terrible, but he drank it down manfully.

“Are you in a lot of pain? Dr. Hightower also left you laudanum for the pain.”

He grimaced. “Don't like the stuff. I knew someone once who took it all the time, couldn't live without it.”

“I think you could take one dose to help you sleep through the night without suffering any ill effects.”

“Maybe later.” He sighed. “What time is it?” His voice turned rather plaintive. “Why is it so hot in here?”

“It isn't. I told you, I think you have a fever. Hopefully the medicine will help you.”

He nodded and licked his parched lips. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Sitting with me. Giving me medicine.”

“Someone has to. I am the logical choice, since I am your wife.”

“Usually you stay as far away from me as you can.”

Angela shrugged. “Would you like me to leave? I am sure I could get Mrs. Wilford or Kate to sit with you instead.”

“No. I have no desire for you to leave. I am merely surprised.”

“Since my room connects with yours, it seemed easiest for me to keep the night watch. Mr. Pettigrew will relieve me in the morning.”

To Angela's surprise, Cam took her hand in his good one and said, “I would rather have you.”