Impulse (30 page)

Angela took his hand and looked up earnestly into his face. “We have to look again when we return to Bridbury. If we could find the certificate, it would have his name on it. And if we knew his name, not only would we know who you really are, but we might be able to find his family. To find where you were born, where you lived.”

“All right.” Cam smiled tenderly down at her and
bent to place a kiss upon her brow. “We will look again through Mother's things when we return to the castle. And I will write to the housekeeper in New York and ask her to search Mother's room, and the rest of the house, as well.”

They started walking again, and for some time they were silent. Finally, Cam said softly, “But, you know, I'm not entirely sure I want to find out the truth.”

“What? Why not?”

“At first I thought I did. It was better than not knowing, than always wondering. Even if it was bad, at least it would be settled. But now…I mean, if I was not illegitimate, something really terrible must have happened to make her pretend that I was. I think, what if the truth about my father or his family was horrible, and that was why she hid it from me? To protect me. What if we find out who he is and where they lived, and we go there? And I find him still alive? What if my curiosity leads me to an evil son of a bitch that I would be far happier not knowing was my father?”

“No, Cam. You don't know that for sure. He was honorable enough or loved her enough to marry her. Perhaps it was merely what I suggested a long time ago—that he died and she didn't talk about him because she did not like to be reminded of that.”

“More likely he got tired of playing house after a while and left her to fend for herself.”

Angela sighed. “Perhaps. But not necessarily.” She slipped her hand through his and squeezed it gently.

“You are the kindest of women. Did you know that? You do not even know the man, and yet you try to find a reason to excuse him.”

“Not for his sake, though. For yours. I know it hurts you to think that your father was a wicked man.”

“A little.” He sighed. “Still, I guess I would rather know.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Something will turn up yet,” Angela assured him. “Perhaps in London.”

“I am sure you are right.” Cam smiled down at her. He stopped and turned to her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “And if it does not, it doesn't matter—not as long as you are with me. That is all I care about.”

 

Kate glanced over at Jason almost shyly. The past few weeks he had been walking her down to her mother's cottage every Sunday afternoon off and giving every appearance of a man courting a woman. They had talked at length, and she had come to feel that she knew him well. Yet, now, sitting alone with him, she felt unaccountably shy.

She supposed it was the circumstances, the fact that Cam and Angela had been with them in the compartment until they got off in Beckford-Hollings to see the retired minister. Their departure had left her and Jason alone in the tiny room, sealed off together from the world.

Kate folded her hands together and cast a surreptitious glance toward Jason. He was watching her. When her gaze landed on him, he glanced away. Kate noticed that his hands, too, were clenched together in his lap.

They were silent. The train rattled on noisily. Jason cleared his throat. “Kate…”

“Yes?” She looked up eagerly.

“I—I want to talk to you.”

“All right.”

He straightened his tie, then pulled at his vest. Finally, taking a breath, he said, “You must know of my feelings for you.”

“Must I?”

He looked a little confused, as if she had thrown him off, but went on gamely, “Yes, of course. I—I hold you in the highest regard. You are a woman of great wit and character and beauty, and I cannot think of anything better than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Kate stared. His formal words sounded amazingly like a proposal of marriage.
Surely not!
But her heart picked up its beat. “What are you saying?”

“Miss Harrison.” He startled her even further by suddenly sliding off the seat and going down on one knee on the floor in front of her. She gaped at him numbly as he took her hand in his. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She thought for a moment that her heart had surely stopped. Her lungs seemed incapable of breathing, or her mind of thinking. He was looking steadily into her face, and a small frown of worry began to form on his brow. “I am a man of some prospects. Mr. Monroe values my work and pays me well. I have saved up a respectable amount of money, quite enough to buy us a comfortable house.”

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small box, opening it and holding it out to her. A diamond ring glittered within on a bed of velvet, dazzling her.

“Have you run mad?” Kate asked, finding her voice at last.

“What?” He sat back on his heels. “Kate…what do you mean?”

“Asking me to marry you!”

“Yes. I am asking you to marry me. Why not? Surely you cannot mean that you were not expecting me to.”

“I—I was expecting nothing.”

“After all these weeks that I've been acting like a
besotted fool around you? What did you think was wrong with me?”

“I—I knew that you were interested in me.”

“Interested! I've done everything but carve our initials in the trees.”

“But, Jason…this is impossible. We cannot marry.”

He gaped at her. “But I had thought you…had a fondness for me. Are you saying that you never cared for me?”

“Oh, no!” she cried out, distressed. “It is not that. I have much more than mere fondness for you. But, dearest, don't you see?” She reached out and grasped his hand, clutching it earnestly. “It would never do. We wouldn't suit.”

“I thought we would suit admirably well,” he replied stiffly. He glanced down at himself, as if realizing for the first time that he was kneeling in a train compartment. “Well…I must look a proper fool. I guess that much has not changed.”

He rose to his feet, and Kate jumped up, too, pained by the blank anguish on his features. “Jason, please do not hate me.”

“Of course not. I could not hate you. It is simply that I misread your…your friendliness.”

“No, you did not.” She could not bear for him to think that she did not love him. “It is not that. Please, believe me.”

“Then what is it? What makes our marriage so impossible?”

“You know what. It is the differences in our stations in life. I am not suitable for your wife.”

“Are you on about that again?”

“Jason, it is not something that goes away or changes. You are what you are, and I am what I am.”

“A fool is what you are!”

Kate raised an eyebrow and turned away, saying coolly, “Well, if that is the way you are going to treat me…”

“What other way do you expect me to act?” he cried. “You refuse to marry me and say it is because of my birth? Good God, what difference does it make? You cannot marry me because my father owns a shop?”

“Your family was never in service.”

He let out a wordless noise of exasperation and clutched at his hair with both hands. “Yes, to answer your question, I believe I am mad. And you have driven me there.”

“I am being perfectly reasonable here. You are the one who is acting outlandishly.”

“Asking the woman you love to marry you is acting outlandishly?”

“You know what I mean. You are flying in the face of convention.”

“Damn convention. It doesn't keep me warm at night.”

“Your mother would be appalled if you brought me home as your wife.”

“How do you know? You never even met my mother.”

“I know people. I know the world.”

“
Not
the world. You know England. You know the nobility. But you damn sure don't know a thing about me.” He turned and jerked the door of the compartment open. Frostily, he said to her, “I will spend the remainder of the journey in the club car. No doubt you would prefer to be alone.”

“Yes, I would,” Kate lied around the lump in her throat.

Jason's nostrils flared and he strode out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him. Kate sat down abruptly, her legs no longer able to support her. Tears streamed down her face.

 

Angela had never enjoyed London as she did this trip. Their narrow white Queen Anne–style house was far more pleasant than the enormous and gloomy Bridbury House or the elegantly formal Havercomb, the London residence of Lord Dunstan. Except for a few visits when she was young, most of the time she had spent in London was during her marriage to Dunstan, and her primary memories were of fear and hatred. Whatever pleasure she had had at parties had generally been negated by the fear that her husband would take offense at something she said or did and that she would have to pay for her transgression when they got home.

But now her life was sweet. She attended none of the balls and soirees that she had as Lady Dunstan, since both she and Cam were considered social outcasts, but she found that she did not miss them. They went to museums, to art galleries, to the theater and the opera. Cam insisted that Angela set herself to the task of reducing his fortune by purchasing furniture for their new house and a whole new wardrobe for herself, as well as whatever knickknacks might catch her fancy.

“But, Cam, I already have a whole set of new clothes,” she protested.

“Those were merely a few things to tide you over,” he argued. “Until you could get to London and buy an adequate trousseau. My dear girl, this is the city. You cannot go around in dresses made in York.” He took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, smiling down into her eyes. “Do you think you are going to bankrupt
me? Don't worry—I can't seem to stop my money from multiplying anymore. Jason keeps finding me new investments in England, and he has a golden touch.”

So Angela stopped protesting and gave herself over to the delights of the London modistes and milliners. Accompanied by Kate, she spent many an hour shopping and being fitted, though her enjoyment was spoiled somewhat by the fact that Kate often seemed distracted and out of sorts, not entering into the fun of splurging as she normally would.

One evening at the opera, Cam went out into the corridor to bring back refreshments. Angela, however, stayed in their box. If she ventured out into the corridor, there was too much likelihood of coming face-to-face with someone she had once known. Though she did not care for Society's approval, she did not enjoy the prospect of being directly cut.

The door opened only an instant after Cam left, and Angela turned, smiling, thinking that it was Cam returning. “My, that was qui—” Her words died in her throat.

Dunstan was standing in the doorway. He smiled slowly, his eyes sweeping down her, and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.

A
NGELA STARED AT
Dunstan, unable for a moment to move or even speak. He gazed back at her, fully aware of his effect on her.

“Well, aren't you even going to say hello, my dear?” he asked, his grin broadening, as he walked toward her.

Angela was out of her seat in a flash, but the opera box was small, and he was between her and the door. She quickly found herself backed into the darkest corner. She realized her mistake. At least if she had stayed at the front of the box, everyone in the theater would have been able to see them, and that fact would have kept Dunstan from doing anything to her. Here, no one could see them.

She swallowed hard and met his gaze straight on. She would not let him see her fear. Her hands clenched tightly together in front.

“Get out,” she said tightly, hating how shaky her voice sounded.

“Now, is that any way to speak to a guest?” He raised his finger to her cheek and slid it down it.

“You are no guest of mine,” she responded, pushing his hand away.

He clamped his hand around her wrist and squeezed. “That is true. I am your husband.”

“No longer.”

“I will
always
be your husband. This peasant whom you married has nothing but my leavings, and well he knows it. I put my stamp on you. And when he is gone, you shall be mine again.” He raised his other hand and ran his finger contemptuously down her chest to the fleshy top of her breast, revealed by the low neckline of her dress.

He delved down into her dress, and Angela seized his hand with her free one, trying to pull it out. But he was far stronger than she, and quickly he had both her hands down in front of her, held by one of his, leaving her helpless to fight him off. Gazing straight into her eyes, as if to impress upon her his dominance, he slowly slid his hand down inside her dress and pinched her nipple painfully.

“Release me or I will scream!” Angela hissed, trembling all over with rage and fear.

“And make a spectacle of yourself? Make all the world suspect that your dear husband is a cuckold? I don't think so.”

“Cam will be back here any minute, and if he finds you here, he will kill you.”

“I am not afraid of your stable boy,” Dunstan said, sneering, although he removed his hand from the bodice of her dress.

“He is twice the man you are!”

“Indeed? Then he must be doubly dissatisfied with such a cold bitch as you.”

“I am not cold in
his
arms!” Angela retorted.

A cold anger flared in his pale green eyes, and he raised a hand to slap her. She shrank back. It was at that moment that Cam opened the door and walked in.

He dropped the drinks he held and launched himself across the small space, letting out a low, feral growl
that was all the more frightening for its quietness. He grabbed Dunstan and spun him around, slamming him into the wall. Dunstan's head bounced back as his face hit the wall, and he let out a howl, clutching at his bleeding nose. Cam turned him around and slammed his fist into Dunstan's gut. He doubled over, the air whooshing out of him. Cam swept up with his other fist, connecting sharply with Dunstan's chin, and the other man crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Cam bent over him, grabbing him by the lapels and lifting his head a few inches. Dunstan was bleeding from his mouth and nose, and his eyes wavered in his head.

“Listen to me, you slimy piece of garbage. I know what you did to Angela, and, believe me, you and your friends are going to pay for it. Angela convinced me not to kill you. She said you weren't worth breaking the law for, and she was right. But that doesn't mean I am letting you off. Every time something bad happens to one of you, think about me, because I'll be the one who caused it. And if you ever touch Angela again, I
will
kill you. I promise it.”

Cam let go of him, his face stamped with contempt, and Dunstan's head hit the floor with an audible thunk. Cam turned to Angela. “Are you all right?” She nodded, wide-eyed, and he took her hand. “Come on, then. Let's go home. I think I've had enough British culture for one night.”

His arm encircled her as they left the building, and inside the carriage he pulled her close and held her the whole ride home, mentally cursing Lord Dunstan. Angela had come so far, lost so much of her fear. If Dunstan had frightened her back into her shell, Cam thought he might go back and deliver a few more punches. Thinking about it, he wished he had hurt the scoundrel more
than he had. He had wanted to get it over with quickly, for Angela's sake, but the brief fight had not dispelled all the rage surging inside him.

The carriage pulled up in front of their house, and Cam whisked Angela inside. He turned to her, wanting to reassure her, to comfort her, but she took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. He followed, puzzled, as she led him quickly up the stairs and into their bedroom.

“What is it?” he asked, as she closed the door behind them.

In answer, her arms went around his neck and she pressed her lips fervently against his. He was so startled that for a moment he did not respond, but then his arms went around her, too, and his lips melded into hers. He was even more surprised when her hands went to his trousers, unbuttoning them as they kissed. He was immediately, surgingly, aroused.

He raised his head, gazing down at her in wonder. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She began to walk backward toward the bed, pulling Cam with her as she continued to unbutton his trousers. When she reached the edge of the bed, she stopped, shoving the trousers down over his hips so that they fell to the floor. Quickly he kicked them aside. He had expected Angela to start on the buttons of her dress, but she did not bother. Instead she took off her slippers, then hiked up her skirts to untie her petticoats and pantalets and send them cascading to the floor in a froth of lace and cotton. She was utterly bare then beneath her skirt, except for the titillating presence of stockings and garters. Cam's shaft was as hard as a board at the glimpse of flesh before her skirts fell over her legs again.

“Take me,” Angela whispered, slipping her hands
beneath his shirt and smoothing them up over his chest. “Please. Quickly.” She kissed his ear and nibbled at the lobe. “I want you inside me now.”

He would have taken her gently and slowly, as he usually did, but he understood now that she wanted it fast and urgent, that she wanted to feel his power. She was not scared of him, despite Dunstan's visit; she wanted, rather, to wipe out the memory of Dunstan by making love with Cam.

He did not need to be asked again. He lifted her, arms under her buttocks, and tossed her onto the bed. She smiled, holding out her arms to him invitingly, as he rucked up her skirts to expose her naked flesh. He slid his hands up over her stockings onto the bare flesh of her thighs. He had not thought it possible to be any harder than he was, but his manhood continued to grow and throb. He slipped his fingers up to the juncture of her legs and found her already wet and heated, ready for him.

Cam groaned and moved between her legs, thrusting deep within her, as if he could pierce her soul with his shaft. She moaned, her legs clamping tightly around him, and her hips began to move insistently. He pulled back and plunged deep within her again, slamming into her with hard, searching strokes, moving faster and faster. Angela dug her nails into his buttocks, urging him on, and together they rode the wild crest of desire until at last it exploded within them, hurling them into the shattering, blissful void.

 

Angela glanced over at her maid as they strolled through the park. Kate had not been herself lately. Despite the delights of London, she had seemed cast into gloom ever since they had arrived.

Making her voice deliberately casual, Angela asked, “How is the estimable Mr. Pettigrew these days?”

“What?” Kate looked up from the sidewalk, where her attention had been centered.

Angela repeated her question.

“Oh.” Kate's brow drew together darkly. “All right, I suppose.”

“You suppose? Are you telling me you don't converse with him?”

“Not recently.”

Angela was alarmed to see tears spring into her maid's eyes. “Kate! My goodness, what is the matter?” She drew Kate over to one of the benches and sat down, pulling Kate down beside her. “Now,” she said firmly, “tell me what is going on. Has Mr. Pettigrew been unkind to you? I'll make sure Cam has his hide, if he has been playing with your affections.”

“Oh, no!” Kate looked dismayed, and she reached out to take Angela's arm. “Truly, my lady, he has not. Ju—just the opposite, in fact. He wants to marry me!” Tears began to run down her face in earnest, and she fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief.

Angela stared at her, dumbfounded. “Marriage?” she repeated. “He asked you to marry him?”

Kate nodded. “Yes, and it was ever so sweet—he even got down on one knee, and he gave me a ring. Oh, it was beautiful. I've never owned anything worth half as much.”

“Then why are you so blue-deviled?”

“I cannot marry him! He's, well, he's a gentleman, and I'm just a lady's maid. He says he doesn't understand. I cannot make him see that it wouldn't do. He says that I don't want to be with him, and he's been cool and
distant ever since, as if he hardly knows me. It tears my heart out!”

“Of course it does. Oh, my, what a dilemma.” Angela frowned. She understood, as Mr. Pettigrew did not, the rigid caste structure of British society. Jason, while not a member of the gentry, was of a social class far above Kate's—in birth, education and occupation.

“He says it doesn't matter, but it does. His family and friends will think I'm ignorant, and…and…”

“Now, hush! You are not ignorant. And you
are
good enough for him,” Angela told her stoutly. “Who cares if you were a maid? You won't be once he married you. You would be Mrs. Jason Pettigrew, a lady of leisure.”

Kate began to cry harder. “Oh, no, my lady, don't tease me.”

“I'm not! Why shouldn't you marry him? Look at
me.
I married Cam, and he used to be a servant. I am gloriously happy, and I don't care if people talk about us.”

“Y-yes, but I didn't come back from America a millionaire, like Cam did. I don't have anything to offer Jason.”

“You have yourself, and that's all Mr. Pettigrew wants. I think he is a very perceptive individual.”

“He's wonderful!” Kate looked up, her eyes glowing, her tears stopping, as she considered her beloved's admirable qualities. “He is so kind and so—so gentlemanly. He has never tried to do more than kiss me. He wouldn't take advantage! And he tells me I'm beautiful. He even thinks I'm smart. He told me so.”

“I told you he was a very perceptive man.”

“But ever since we came to London, he has been so cold to me. He looks at me as though—oh, I wish he
had never asked me! Why couldn't things go on as they were?”

“Look…” Angela took the other woman's hands in hers and looked her straight in the eye. “Things can't remain the same. Maybe he's right. Maybe in America it
is
different. Anyway, what do you care what anyone else thinks, as long as Jason thinks that you are the perfect woman for him? You are just afraid, Kate Harrison, and I never thought to see the day I would say that. But it's the truth. You're just hiding behind all this talk of stations and rank because you are afraid to believe him. Trust him, Kate. He loves you. Marry the man and be happy and forget all the rest. That is all that matters, that you love each other.”

“I'm afraid he will regret it.” Kate sniffed, dabbing at her eyes.

“I am sure he will not. Mr. Pettigrew does not strike me as a man who changes his mind often. I think he has found precisely the woman for him, and if you don't marry him, he will probably spend the rest of his life being miserable.”

Kate appeared much struck by this notion. “Do you really think so?”

“I am certain of it.”

Kate continued to gaze at her for a moment, her brow knit in thought. Then she grinned her quick, elfin smile and reached over to hug Angela quickly. “You are right, my lady. I am being a coward. I love him, and he loves me, and I'm just making us both miserable. Thank you, my lady. Thank you.”

She jumped to her feet and almost ran from the little park. Angela, watching her go, smiled to herself.

 

“Are you ready yet, my love?” Cam asked with some amusement, folding his arms across his chest and
watching his wife put on a set of earrings. “I think that's the third pair of earbobs you've put on since I've been watching—not to mention the three times you changed gowns.”

Angela cast him a speaking glance, then studied herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side to catch every nuance of the emerald drops. “You don't think these are too big?”

“Of course they are. You will be the envy of every woman there. Now, if we don't get started soon, we will be so fashionably late to Jeremy's ball that it will be over by the time we arrive.”

“Nonsense. Rosemary's parties never end before three or four in the morning. She's famous for them.” Angela stood up, smoothing down her skirts, and turned to look at Cam seriously. “Are you sure you want to go to this?”

“What? Do you mean you would actually consider missing your own brother's party?”

She nodded. “We are likely to be cut by an absolute horde of people, even if I am the host's sister. And everyone will stare and whisper.”

“I don't care. I just want them to see how beautiful you are, and how utterly elegant and grand you look in that dress and those earrings. And I want to dance with my beautiful wife.” He paused for a moment. “Would you rather stay home? I don't want you to go, if you will be embarrassed.”

Angela smiled and went up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “No. I want to dance with you, too. That will make up for it. And, you know, I don't think I care anymore if they stare and whisper. I'm too happy. I feel rather like spitting in their eye.”