Impulse (24 page)

His words took her breath away. She wanted to say the same words back to him, but she could not. They stuck in her throat. Tears sparkled in her eyes, but she said only “When you first saw me? I was eight years old.”

“Yes, and the most beautiful child I had ever seen. I didn't love you the way I love you now. But I loved you. Why else would I have put up with your antics all those years?”

She made a face at him, and he chuckled, cuddling her to him.

“It's strange,” Cam went on. “I hurt for you. I hate Dunstan for what he did to you. But I—I feel a kind of
relief, knowing what happened. Does that make any sense? There was always a wall between us. I could sense it there, but I didn't know what it was. But now I know. At last I understand. The barrier is gone. And I know it isn't me.”

“No! Never. It was never you.” She hugged him tightly, saying, “You are the best of men.”

He chuckled. “Remember that the next time I make you furious.” He hugged her back, and for a long moment, they sat that way in silence, tightly holding each other. Then, as if by some unspoken mutual consent, their arms loosened, and they pulled back a little. “Now,” Cam said in a practical voice, “what would you like to do today? I have to spend the morning with Jason, going over business matters. I promised him that I would—he said they couldn't wait. But this afternoon I thought we might go for a ride. Would you like that?”

“Yes, I would.” Angela smiled, pleased to find that their time together was not going to stop now that they had returned to Bridbury.

There was a light knock on the door, and Kate breezed in, saying cheerfully, “Good morning, my la—” She stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open, and stared at Angela and Cam. Then she turned brick-red. “Oh! Oh, my lady! I am so sorry. I—I will come back. Just ring for me.”

“It's all right, Kate. Come in.” Cam released Angela and rose to his feet. “I have to get dressed, anyway.” He took one of Angela's hands and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss upon it. “I shall see you at breakfast, my lady.”

“Yes.” Angela felt flustered again in front of Kate, and she hardly knew which way to look.

When Cam had gone into his bedroom and closed
the door behind him, Kate rushed across the room to Angela, her eyes bright with interest. “My lady!”

“Hush, Kate. It isn't what you think.”

“I'm not sure
what
I think.”

“I told him about Dunstan last night.”

“What?” Kate stared at her in astonishment.

Angela nodded. “I had a nightmare—you know, the one about Dunstan—and Cam came in to wake me, and…I told him. Everything.”

“Angela!” All formality was forgotten as Kate reached out and grasped Angela's hands tightly. “Did you really?”

Angela nodded. “Yes. He was very kind, very understanding. Oh, Kate, he truly is a good man.”

Kate gave her an enthusiastic hug. “I knew he was. This is wonderful.”

“I don't know. I don't know what can come of it.”

“Don't worry about that. How do you feel right now?”

“I have a headache. My eyes hurt.” A little grin escaped her. “And I feel quite happy.”

Kate grinned back. “Good. That's all that's important.”

Later, after Kate laid a cool compress over Angela's eyes to take down the swelling and redness, Angela dressed and went down to breakfast with Cam. Neither her grandmother nor her mother was there, and since Jeremy had returned to London, they were able to share a small, intimate meal, like any other newlyweds.

After breakfast, Cam retired to his library with some reluctance to discuss business, and Angela occupied herself with taking her clamoring dogs for a walk. That afternoon, she put on her riding habit and walked down to the stables to meet Cam. To her surprise, the groom
led out a trim gray mare that she had never seen before. She stared at it, eyes widening, then turned to Cam.

“What is this?”

“I believe it is a horse, my lady. Do you suspect it of being something else?”

“But where…who…why?”

Cam chuckled. “Don't you remember that I said we would have to get you a better horse to ride? Well, Pettigrew and Wicker visited the sales at York while we were gone, and this is what they brought home.”

“Oh, Cam, she's lovely!” Angela went to the mare, murmuring soft words of greeting. “My goodness, aren't you a pretty one? If only I had known, I would have brought you something.”

“How about this?” Cam offered, pressing a carrot in her hand.

Angela flashed him a smile bright enough to lighten a gray day and held out the carrot on her palm to the horse. “Here you go, pretty girl. Would you like a little bite?”

It did not take long before the bright-eyed mare was letting Angela rub her head on the spot she liked most and giving Angela little pushes in the chest in a search for more goodies. Angela was so pleased with the animal that when they rode out, she almost forgot to keep a sharp eye for someone intent on harming Cameron. The mare had spirit and speed, and it was not long before Angela was testing her over a low fence and a hedge or two. Her hat fell off during one of the jumps, pulling some of her hair undone, but she scarcely noticed.

Laughing, her face flushed with excitement and her hair half tumbling down, she looked remarkably like the girl Cam had once known. It made his heart squeeze in his chest to look at her. Words of love had tumbled
out of him without thought this morning. It was something he had not quite admitted to himself before now. But he knew it was true. He did not think he had ever stopped loving her. There had never been a woman he was seriously interested in in the United States in all the years he was there, no other woman he really considered marrying. Angela had always been the most important, even when he hated her.

Of course, then, he knew now, he had not really known what hate was. True hatred was what had seared through him when Angela told him of what Dunstan had done to her. Had Lord Dunstan been anywhere close at hand at that moment, Cam was certain that he would have killed him with his bare fists—and felt nothing but satisfaction at doing so. He had already set Pettigrew to finding out all he could about Dunstan and the three men who had testified at the divorce hearings. He knew that Dunstan was a wealthy man, but he was sure that he would find some way to get to him, some chink in his armor. The man would pay for what he had done to Angela.

More important than that, however, was making certain that Angela recovered from what Dunstan had done to her. She thought she was dead to desire and love, that her first husband had ruined her for lovemaking, but Cam was determined to prove her wrong.

That night, he came to her room as she was getting ready for bed. He knocked at the door between their rooms and did not enter until she called to him to do so. She had been reading, and she rose from her chair, smiling, and laid aside the book as he crossed the room to her. The sight of her made his heart skip a beat in his chest. Her hair was down, tumbling like a fiery waterfall across her shoulders and down her back. She wore her
nightgown, high-necked and plain white, with only a ruffle around the neck and sleeves for decoration, and, over that, a dressing gown, but just the intimacy of her attire was alluring to him. He had to struggle not to let his desire show in his eyes.

Cam took her hands in his and raised them to his lips, kissing first one and then the other. “I came,” he said, “to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course. What?”

“Don't promise so quickly. You may not wish to.” He paused, then went on. “Let me sleep with you again tonight.”

He could see her stiffen, feel it in her hands, and he went on quickly. “I do not mean make love to you. I am speaking only of sleeping together. I promise I won't harm you or try to do anything at all. I just want to hold you, as I did last night, and wake up beside you in the morning.”

“Cameron…”

“I know. I understand why you don't want a man in your bed. But I was with you last night. I didn't make love to you, did I?”

“No.”

“I will not tonight, either. I want to be with you, Angela. I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to lie in my arms and know that I will not hurt you. That I will not allow anyone else to, either. It felt good, didn't it, last night—to be held, to be cherished?”

She glanced away, then back at him. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “It did feel good. I liked it, and I liked waking up this morning in your arms.”
Liking
was not the word, but she could not describe the feeling of security and warmth she had known when she awoke. “But how can I ask that of you? I have nothing to give you.”

“I am not asking you for anything. I am offering.”

“But, Cam, surely that can't be pleasant for you. Surely you cannot want only that.”

“No. That is not all I want. But it is all I can have at the present. And it is what I can give you.” He stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “You have known nothing but the pain a man can give a woman. Let me show you the sweetness, the happiness.”

The thought of it was a little frightening to Angela, and yet it was tempting, as well. It had felt so good last night to lie in his arms.

She smiled at him a little uncertainly. “All right.”

She blew out the lamp. She shed her dressing gown in the dark and climbed into bed, as did Cam. He slid his arm beneath her head and snuggled up against her back, curling both arms around her. Angela felt a moment's panic, and she stiffened. It was different from last night, lying this way and feeling his whole body against hers.

But he made no move of any kind, and his arms were loose around her. Angela was aware that she could pull away from him if she chose. Gradually she began to relax, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

 

Cam was gone the next morning, when Angela awoke. She could see from the sunlight coming through the crack in the drapes that it was much later than she usually awoke. She got up and breakfasted, and later in the morning she wrote a note to the minister whose name and address had been given to them by the rector in Carnmore. She explained that Cam was Grace Stewart's son and that he would like to talk to the retired rector about Grace, if the rector would allow it. Cam had been telling her that he needed to go to London on business in
a few weeks, and he wanted her to go with him. It would not be difficult for them to stop off in Buckinghamshire on the way and visit the minister.

Later that afternoon, Cam found Angela among her pets in the garden, cutting roses to put in the entryway. Each dog found it necessary to walk over to inspect him and wait, tail wagging, to be petted. The cats, of course, merely raised their heads to stare at him through slitted eyes. The huge gray Persian then went back to sleep, but Mignon stalked off, tail twitching, casting a baleful look back at Cam for disturbing her sleep.

“Is it possible to find you anywhere without these animals?” Cam asked, bending over to patiently scratch each dog behind the ears.

Angela shrugged, grinning. “Only Pearl usually sleeps in my room.”

“She'd sleep on your bed if it was any lower.”

“She did when she was younger and could jump higher.”

“I have come to lure you away from your task,” Cam told her, reaching out to take the small shears and the basket of roses. “I have made my escape from Pettigrew, and I thought we might look through Mother's trunk now. I sent one of the footmen up to haul it down from the attic.”

They went upstairs to Cam's room, where a small camelback trunk sat in the middle of the room. Cam squatted down before it and inserted a key. Angela sat down beside him on the floor as he unlocked the trunk and opened the lid. On top lay an afghan, which Cam lifted out and set aside. “When Mother was sick, she used to sit with this over her knees. She was always so cold.”

Next he pulled out a shawl of elegant Indian paisley,
wrapped around a smallish rectangular object. He unwrapped the shawl, revealing a lovely rosewood jewelry box. It opened with a tiny key, revealing a strand of pearls and matching earrings, as well as an elegant diamond necklace and several other earrings of jet or jewels, and a lovely ivory cameo.

“These should be yours,” Cam told Angela, handing the opened box to her. “Mother would have wanted my wife to have them.”

“They're beautiful,” Angela breathed, taking the box. “But, really, I wouldn't feel right taking them. They are your mother's.”

He shrugged. “That is the way it is with jewelry, is it not? Passed down from generation to generation. I'll warrant your mother and grandmother possess a few pieces that once belonged to someone else. Besides, what else should I do with them? Leave them in this box for eternity?”

“No, of course not. You're right. When you put it that way, it does sound foolish. It is just that I cannot rid myself of the idea that
I
am not the bride your mother would have wished for you.”

“Nonsense. Mother liked you. She once told me that you were a very pretty girl, and warmhearted, too. She was just scared for me.” He turned and gave her a level look. “But she also wanted me to be happy.”

“And are you?” Angela shot back. “Being pushed off trains and shot at? Having a wife who does not share your bed? These things make you happy?”

A smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Well, not those things, precisely. But I shared your bed last night.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I have you as my wife, and that is what I wanted.”

“Getting what you want does not always make you happy.”

“No. But I have also found that happiness is a relative thing. I am content with what I have.”

Angela regarded him skeptically. There were lines of strain around his eyes, and his face was thinner, his eyes smudged with shadows beneath them. Angela knew that for weeks Cam had had trouble sleeping, kept awake by sexual frustration. The past two nights, she was sure, had not helped any—lying in bed with her, holding her, but not making love to her. She knew that it was not for lack of wanting to; she had felt the rigid evidence of his need against her last night, once when she had awakened. He was exercising tremendous control—and at great cost to himself.