Impulse (15 page)

“I don't know. Perhaps. But I was very busy, and—I don't know, I liked to think that it did not matter to me.
I was too strong, I thought, too old, to need to know those things. They were things children wanted to know. I was who I was, and what did it matter who my father was? After she got sick, I knew it did matter. I realized that when she died, I would have no family at all, that I would never be able to learn the truth about myself. So I asked her, but she got horribly upset.” He winced at the memory. “I couldn't bear to do that to her. If you could have seen her, you would understand. She grew thin and sallow, and she was in constant pain. I simply could not put another burden on her.”

“Of course not.” Angela was silent for a moment, her brow creased in thought. “There must be some way for you to find out all those things yourself.”

“How? I haven't the slightest idea where she came from. Well, no, that's not true. She had an accent.”

“That's true.” Angela brightened. “She didn't talk like everyone else. She sounded Scottish.”

“And Monroe is a Scottish name, too. But, still, all of Scotland is a pretty big area to search, particularly when you have no idea what you are looking for.”

“I have it!” Angela put her hand on his arm in her excitement. “Mrs. Harrison! Kate's mother. She lived next door to you for years and years and years.”

“That's true. She and Mum were friends.”

“If ever there was a person who could weasel a secret out of anyone, it's Mrs. Harrison. She knows everything about everybody in that village. Your mother may have hidden it from you, but I can't imagine that she could have kept everything from
her.
I dare swear she knows something about you or Grace that would at least get you started.”

“No doubt you are right.” He smiled down at her and raised his hand to her cheek, brushing gently down it
with his knuckles. “We shall have to pay Mrs. Harrison a visit one of these days.”

“You want me to come?” Angela asked uncertainly. She did not know how to respond to him, to either his words or his affectionate gesture. She wanted to step away from him, to remove herself from the possibility of his touching her, and yet she could not quite bring herself to do it. She remembered the other night when she had kissed him; ever since, she had wondered if he remembered it, too. Angela knew that she did not want another kiss; it had disturbed her, frightened her. Yet she could not forget the feeling that had impelled her to do it, either, the longing from the past that had moved through her.

Cam opened his hand and smoothed his palm back across her cheek, fingers delving into Angela's hair. His movement was easy and slow, yet Angela tightened involuntarily. He bent toward her. Angela gazed up into his eyes, as transfixed as a wild animal in the sudden light of a lantern. He came closer and closer, and then his lips were on hers, brushing lightly at first, then deepening the kiss.

The taste of his mouth was hauntingly familiar, just as it had been the other night, and the velvet touch of his lips sent a quiver through her. She was not sure what she felt, only that it was intense, a sharp mingling of memories and sensation and uneasiness. Cam made a soft noise of desire and shifted, changing the angle of his mouth on hers and sliding his arms around her. As soon as his arms went around her, imprisoning her, Angela went stiff. Confusion fled, replaced by the sharp stab of fear.

She jerked away from him and was surprised when his arms opened to let her go. She felt a little foolish,
but she backed up another step to be farther away from him. He watched her go silently.

“Is this why you brought the dressmaker here?” she asked tightly. “Well, you can cancel your order. I don't want them.”

“What?” Cam looked puzzled, then his eyebrows rushed together. “You mean— You're saying that I—that I tried to buy your favors? That I bought you clothes so you would allow me to kiss you?”

“More than that. I do not think you would want to stop with only kisses.”

Angela was shaking inside, but she nerved herself to stand and face him. This was, after all, her room, and she had nowhere else to run. There was some hopeless part of her that told her she would never win,
could
never win, that if Cam wanted her, he would take her, and what she said or did would not matter. But another part of her, the will that had brought her from the depths of despair to leave Dunstan, that had taken root and grown within her since her leaving him, that part told her that she could not back down, no matter what the outcome.

“Am I so repugnant to you?” he growled, his dark eyes flashing fire. “Is my touch so low and baseborn that it dirties you? Once, you could not wait to be in my arms.”

Angela pressed her lips together and looked away. She did not like to have him think that she had rejected him because his birth was inferior. But neither could she bring herself to tell him the truth. His dislike was preferable to his being in her bed, she told herself, but as his eyes raked down her, she was not so sure.

“You promised me” was all she said.

“Yes. I said I would not force you. I would not demand
my rights as your husband. I had thought that you might come to…to want me, as you once did. That after you grew used to the idea of our marriage, when you stopped resenting me for forcing myself into your family, you would begin to want me again. That if I kissed you, you would respond.”

Angela's eyes flashed. “So you married me under false pretenses, fully planning to seduce me or bribe me or wear me down until I let you into my bed?”

“No! God, how you twist all my words around! I did not try to wear you down. Do you think I actually want a woman to lie with me simply because she is too tired and defeated to do anything else? Particularly the woman I—” he broke off abruptly, then continued in a more moderate voice “—the woman I chose to be my wife? And I did not attempt to bribe you. I did not bring Mrs. Hester here as payment for your services ‘to be rendered.' I brought her here because I wanted to see you dress as befits you, as becomes you. I did not want to see you looking like someone's governess. You are my wife. You are the mistress of the house.”

“Not really. That is Rosemary's, Jeremy's wife's, position.”

“Do not quibble.” He paused, then said, “And I did not come in here tonight thinking you would accept me because I had bought you a number of dresses this afternoon. I did not think at all. I came here simply because you looked so lovely tonight at dinner, almost happy and—and the way you used to look. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to be with you. That is why I came in here, and that is why I kissed you. And, yes, I did hope that one day I could seduce you, that I could bring you to want me again. Is it such a sin to tempt you?”

“You do not tempt me!” Angela cried. His words had moved her, and somehow that frightened her even more than his kisses and caresses had. She wanted him to stop; she did not want to feel. She did not want to hurt again. “Don't you understand? I do not want you! I want you to leave me alone!”

Cam's lips thinned. His eyes turned cold and blank. He gave her a stiff little formal bow. “Then I must apologize. I will refrain from bothering you in the future. Good night, my lady.”

He turned and strode from the room, closing the door between their rooms with a soft and final click. Angela threw herself on her bed and gave way to a storm of tears.

 

A few days later, when Cam pronounced himself feeling fit to sit a horse, he and Angela rode down to the village to visit Kate's mother. As they trotted down the driveway and onto the road, Angela glanced over at Cam. It felt strange to be with him. They had avoided each other ever since that night when he came to her room.

Now, riding beside him, she was reminded strongly of the old days. She could not count the number of times she and he had ridden out of the stable yard together, both when they were in love and before. It felt natural to be beside him again, yet at the same time, it was like being with a stranger.

His thoughts must have been running along the same lines, for Cam looked over at her with a smile and said, “Not quite the way we used to go, is it?”

Angela had to smile back. They had been accustomed to heading out across the fields, the shortest way to reach the village or any other destination—as long as
one did not need to take hedges or fences or walls into account.

“There's no need to jar your arm,” Angela pointed out, “even if you are almost healed.”

“I am
fully
healed,” he replied. “I still think I could have managed a few low walls and hedges.”

“No doubt. But I am not at all sure I could have. Old Nestor here is hardly the jumper that Satin was.” Angela leaned forward to pat the horse's neck, as though to take the sting out of her words.

“You're right about that.” Cam cast a critical eye over the aging horse. “Nestor looks like he would be more at home pulling a buggy than carrying a rider.”

“He does that, as well,” Angela admitted, patting him again and reassuring the animal. “He's a good old horse, is Nestor.”

“Why don't you have a better riding horse?”

“Satin died. And I never got another one.” Angela shrugged. “I don't ride as much as I used to.”

“I should think not. You might as well be on a boat as on that one.”

“Hush. I didn't want to be a charge on Jeremy. Since the divorce, I have been almost completely dependent on him, and it rankles, no matter how kind he is about it. I know he is always deeply in debt. A riding horse is hardly a necessary expense.”

There was a moment of silence, then Cam reminded her tersely, “You are not dependent on him now.”

“No,” Angela retorted wryly. “Instead, I am dependent on you.”

“You are my wife.”

Angela did not look at him, but kept her gaze straight ahead. Her chin jutted out a little farther as she said,
“It does not make it any less galling to have to beg for money.”

Cam's jaw clenched. “You do not have to beg. You are entitled to it.” He paused, then said, “Is that what you thought? That I wanted you to have to come to me and wheedle money for whatever you needed from me?”

A flush rose up Angela's throat. She would not tell him that it had been her experience with Dunstan to have to do so. She had quickly learned how much she could do without, rather than have to endure the humiliation of begging. And even if she had not had to beg Cam for it, merely asking seemed to her to be soul searing.

When Angela made no response, Cam growled, “I am your husband. And I have more money than I will ever need. Whatever you think of me, it was never my intent to punish you, Angela. I know I have forced my will upon you in the matter of marriage. No doubt I was clumsy and crass about it. And I am sorry for that. I am no gentleman. I have never pretended to be. I wanted something, and I did what I thought I had to do to get it. But I did not want the marriage so that I could tyrannize you.”

They rode along in silence for a moment. Then Cam said stiffly, “I shall instruct Jason to meet with you and set up your account for clothing and pin money, whatever you choose. Would you wish to receive and distribute the household money, as well? It is certainly your prerogative. At the present, Pettigrew is dealing with the housekeeper.”

“No. No, of course not. Mrs. Wilford is more than capable to handling the household money.”

“I shall look into acquiring a mount for you, also. In future, if you need an extra sum of money for some larger purchase, then tell Pettigrew how much you need,
if you do not like to come to me. He will get it for you. You do not have to ask, much less beg.”

They were silent for much of the remainder of the ride, for neither of them knew quite how to break the awkward moment. Angela remembered how once they had never been at a loss for words around each other. Now they were often as stiff and formal as strangers, though every once in a while there were flashes of their old ease, a moment of camaraderie or shared amusement. Just the other evening, at the dinner table, Angela had glanced over at Cam during one of her grandmother's long-winded diatribes about something or other that was no longer the same as it had been when she was young. Cam had raised an eyebrow at Angela, his eyes dancing with amusement, and for an instant they had been connected and close, and something had warmed inside her. In the next moment, however, it had been gone.

They had scarcely pulled up in front of Kate's mother's house before Mrs. Harrison was hurrying out the door toward them. Her face was flushed with excitement, and she beamed at them. “My lady! It is so good to see you. So kind of you to come and visit me. When Kate told me you were coming, you could have knocked me over with a feather!”

She bent her knee in a little curtsy to Angela, then turned to look at Cam. “And Cameron Monroe. What a grand one you've turned into.” She shook her head. “When you were growing up next door, I never would have thought that someday I'd see you come back here like the lord of the manor, married to Lady Angela and all.”

It was difficult from her tone to tell whether Mrs. Harrison held his return and marriage to be a good thing
or a bad. But Cam smiled at her and held out his arms. “Come now, Mrs. Harrison, are you going to stand there and not give me a hug?”

The woman blushed with pleasure and flung her arms around Cam, giving him a hard squeeze. She stepped back, saying, “Somehow it don't seem right, you being so fine now.”

“I am the same boy who used to raid your apple tree.”

“Aye, that you did!” Mrs. Harrison swatted him playfully on the arm, obviously not upset by the memories of his boyish mischief.

Cameron looked over at the cottage beside Mrs. Harrison's. Its garden was no longer as tidy as it had been when he and his mother lived there, and the roof looked to be in need of rethatching.