Impulse (32 page)

 

Major Anthony Dorton's house turned out to be part of a massive stone block of houses on St. James, an old but excellent address. A footman showed them into the drawing room, where the major was sitting with an older woman dressed overpoweringly, all in purple, from the elaborate spray in her iron-gray hair to the tips of her slippers. Anthony jumped up when he saw them and came forward in his friendly manner, holding out his hand to Cam.

“Mr. and Mrs. Monroe! There you are! So good to
see you. Allow me to introduce you to my grandmother, Lady Wincomb.”

Lady Wincomb nodded at them graciously, offering them her hand. She was not an attractive woman, and Angela doubted that she ever had been. She was built along the same grand lines as Anthony himself. Though it was difficult to tell while she was sitting down, Angela suspected that when she stood, she would tower over her. Her shoulders were broad, and her head was large, and when she smiled, she displayed an awesome set of large teeth in a prominent, outthrust jaw. However, she had a quick wit and a certain charm of manner that made one quickly forget her rather odd appearance. She bade Angela sit down beside her, and within five minutes, she had Angela placed in her proper niche in Society.

“Why, Anthony!” she exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell me Mrs. Monroe was Hamilton Stanhope's daughter?”

Anthony merely smiled placidly at his grandmother's scolding. “Because I didn't know it, Grandmother. Unlike you, I do not know the names and families of every person in Society.”

“Oh, not of everyone,” Lady Wincomb demurred, grinning that big, toothy smile that reminded Angela forcibly of a horse. “Just two-thirds or so.” She patted Angela on the hand. “Unfortunately, I don't get out as much as I used to. I don't know you young people nearly as well. Now, forty years ago…there was hardly a bit of gossip that I did not know, nor a person I could not fix in his proper place—title and property, mind you.”

As the evening passed and Lady Wincomb entertained them with stories from her life as one of the premier hostesses of London Society, Angela became convinced that the woman had spoken no less than the truth. An
idea began to grow in Angela's mind, and during dinner, when there was a small lull in the conversation, she said, “Lady Wincomb, I've been wondering…I suppose you knew where all the family seats were, and even things like hunting boxes or summer homes in Scotland.”

Angela felt Cam's sudden, sharpened gaze upon her, and she looked up and smiled at him. Lady Wincomb, at the end of the table, nodded, setting her purple plumes waving.

“Oh, my, yes,” she agreed. “Not anymore, of course, but back before you were born, yes.”

“Do you remember who had cottages in Scotland?”

“Oh, several people did. I presume you aren't talking of Scots themselves, those whose estates are in Scotland.”

“No. I was looking for an English family that might have gone there now and then, for the scenery or the fishing.”

“Well, it wasn't the sort of thing I enjoyed, mind you. Scotland is pleasant only in the summer, I find, and I had no interest in leaving during the height of the Season to go to the wilds to fish. Now, I remember that Lord Marsden used to go there quite a bit. He was quite a fisherman. Family never went with him. I understand his cottage was rather a rustic place. What family are you talking about?”

“I don't know. I am trying to discover their name.”

“Ah, I see. You just know about their cottage? Where was it located?”

“Umm, I'm not sure. In the area of Carnmore or Dunblane or Glynmouthe.”

“None of those names rings a bell. You know, one fellow that went to Scotland a lot was Lord Freestone. The father, William, you understand. I don't think the
present Freestone cares for it overmuch. He is more of a homebody, hardly ever leaves Kent. They had a house near, what was the name of that place? 'Twasn't far from Falkirk. Emburn, I think it was.”

Angela sat up a little straighter. She had done more than her share of staring at the map of Scotland in recent weeks, examining the area that lay between Glasgow and Edinburgh, where Carnmore was. Falkirk was a name she recognized.

“'Course, the Blasenstocks always traveled to Scotland, but I do think that was rather farther north.” Lady Wincomb was plowing ahead. “The Earl of Whitford owned a house there, too, went there late every summer, after he'd run himself aground here. He could never last a Season without running into debt. That reminds me of old Hamerhill. Do you remember him, Anthony?”

She was off on another story, and Angela smiled and listened politely. But inside she was in a fever of impatience to get home and look at her map. When at last they left, the carriage ride seemed impossibly slow, and as soon as they arrived home, she rushed upstairs to dig out her map. Cam, following her more slowly, arrived in their bedroom just as she turned triumphantly, eyes sparkling, a map in her hand. “Falkirk, Cam. I knew it. It's close to Carnmore. And that other name she said, the village of Emburn? It's only ten miles away from Carnmore.”

Cam smiled faintly and went over to kiss her lightly on the lips. “The excitement of the chase. You know, my dear, that this does not mean that it is Freestone who is my father. There are plenty of other towns, other houses, within riding distance of Carnmore.”

“Perhaps. But how many of them housed English gentlemen?”

“And another thing…if you will remember, my aunt said that my mother fell in love with a young man
visiting
a family who had a house there. Not a member of the family itself. Even if we found the right family, there is no saying that they would know which of their visitors in which year might have had a secret affair with a local girl.”

“It's more than we had until now,” Angela pointed out reasonably. “We don't know for sure that it was a visitor to the family. Perhaps the man merely told her that, wanting to conceal his identity.”

“When he was willing to marry her? He is bound to have revealed himself at some point.”

“Or maybe she told your aunt that, for the same reason. After all, she might have been concerned that Janet would tell your mother's family who her lover was. She might not have been entirely truthful. Anyway, even if it is not Lord Freestone, he might remember who visited him that summer. He may even have been privy to the affair. At the very least, who would be better able to tell us what other English families might have had a home in the same general area?”

“Well, you are right about that. So you are suggesting that we pay Lord Freestone a visit?”

“Yes.”

“Then Freestone it shall be.” He kissed her again, this time more deeply, and Angela pushed the map aside. “You were so beautiful tonight,” he murmured, beginning to work on the buttons of her dress.

They undressed each other slowly, kissing and caressing as they did so, gently stirring the embers of their passion into flames. Cam lifted Angela up onto the bed, then smiled and turned away, going to his dresser. When he returned, the familiar narrow golden cords dangled
from his fingers. Angela's loins softened as soon as she saw them, a low fire beginning deep within her.

She glanced up at Cam and saw the same response reflected in his face. His lips were softer, his dark eyes lit from within. She nodded, wetting her lips in anticipation. Cam smiled, letting out a deep, rich chuckle, rife with meaning. He took the tassel of one cord between his fingers and slowly drew it down her cheek, sending shivers straight down through her torso and into her abdomen. She could feel the involuntary dampness coming between her legs.

“This time,” he murmured, in the same rich, sensual voice, “I will put the cords on you.”

A
NGELA WENT STILL
. Her eyes flew to Cam's, wide and searching.

He smiled at her reassuringly and added, “Unless you don't want to.” He kissed her upper lip, then her lower, lingering sweetly on each. “It is your choice. If you trust me.”

Angela realized then what it meant to him. If she was able to put herself into his hands completely, giving him control over her body, it would prove her complete trust and belief in him. He would know that he had wiped out all traces of Dunstan's evil from her mind.

She smiled at him slowly. “I trust you.”

His eyes lit in response, and he sat down on the bed beside her. But he did not tie her yet. Instead, he trailed the tassel across her lips, then down across her chin and onto her throat. He dragged the delicate strands over her skin, arousing her with the featherlight touch, and curled the cord around each breast, moving it in a spiral up one breast until it reached the crest. He brushed the tassel over the nipple, turning it into a hard, engorged bud. Angela sucked in her breath at the delicious sensation, and the thick liquid of desire continued to pool between her legs. With the same slow deliberation, Cam swirled the end of the cord across the other nipple, letting the tiny strands dance delicately over her flesh.
Angela released a soft moan of desire, moving restlessly on the bed.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded eagerly, all traces of doubt pushed aside by the passion he had stirred in her. He smiled and bent to kiss her. He tied the cord around her wrist, making sure that it was not tight enough to bind or hurt her, and tied the other end to the post of the bed. He straddled her and picked up her other wrist, tying it in the same fashion. Angela looked up at him from beneath heavy lids as he loomed over her. She was deeply aware of his strength and masculine power, yet she realized that she felt no fear, only a surge of desire. She wanted to experience his power, to feel him thrust deep within her and carry her to the heights of passion.

When he had finished tying the other cord to the post, he sat back, looking down at her again. Angela was aware of the way her position pulled her breasts up in a different, titillating way; she could see lust darkening Cam's eyes. She smiled sensually at him, enjoying the effect she had on him.

He reached down and laid his hands over her breasts, covering them, then slowly dragged his hands down over her stomach and abdomen and onto her legs. He caressed every inch of her skin, taking his time. He lifted her leg and kissed the inside of her ankle, and as he pressed his lips against her there, his other hand slid slowly up her leg, over her calf and thigh, until he reached the hot, damp juncture of her legs.

“Mmm.” He smiled down at her, letting his fingers glide over the satiny flesh, slick with desire. “It feels like you are already ready for me.”

Angela nodded, her breath coming hard and fast in her throat. But he shook his head at her, smiling.

“Not yet. We have a long way to go before that.” He stretched out between her legs, settling down to work on her breasts.

He kissed the soft flesh and teased it with his tongue, licking and suckling each nipple to a swollen raspberry- colored bud. Angela gasped and moaned, moving her hips and pulling helplessly at the cords that bound her wrists. There was something delicious, she discovered, in the sexual frustration of not being able to use her hands to caress Cam in return. She could not urge him on by stroking her fingers across him, exciting him in return, and she found herself using her body more, arching her hips to rub against his body.

His chuckle was low and rich with pleasure. “Vixen. You are not going to rush me or move me from my purpose. I intend to take this very, very slowly.”

And he did, moving at an agonizing pace down her body. His tongue traced the undercurve of her breasts. Then he kissed his way down her stomach to her navel, which he paused to explore at length. Angela twisted, digging her heels into the bed, as his mouth moved over the flat plane of her abdomen. He pressed her legs apart and slid farther down in the bed and began to kiss the inside of one thigh. He worked his way up her thigh until he was close to the white-hot center of her desire. Angela panted, almost sobbing under the force of her passion. He went to the other leg, kissing and tracing designs on her flesh with his tongue until she thought she would go mad.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Cam, come into me.”

He paused, closing his eyes as he struggled to regain the control her fevered words had almost torn from him. “Oh, no,” he murmured finally. “Not yet, my angel. Not yet.”

Then he lowered his head to the very center of her heat, and she felt his mouth upon her. She jerked in astonishment, letting out a strangled cry. But he slid his hands beneath her buttocks and held her in place, lifting her to fully open her to him. Angela let out a moan as his tongue caressed and explored her. She had never felt anything like this, never dreamed such a thing existed. She quivered at each touch, each new sensation.

He pleasured her, taking his time, teasing the hard little nub between her nether lips until she was mindless and writhing with desire. He brought her almost to the peak time and again, then pulled back and waited a moment before starting to arouse her again. Finally he took her to that shattering moment of pleasure, and she cried out, straining against the bonds that held her. But that was not enough for him, and after a moment, he began to gently tickle her with his tongue, stirring her desire again. She could hardly believe that she could feel passion again so quickly, but before long she was once again hurtling over the edge into the dark void, shuddering and calling out his name.

Cam untied the silken cords that held her, smiling sensually down at her. Angela smiled and opened her arms to him. Only then did he come inside her, filling the aching emptiness. He was huge and hard within her, almost at the breaking point of desire. He thrust powerfully, riding his aching need, and Angela clung to him, amazed to find that desire was building in her once again. He thrust into her again and again, crying out her name, and Angela shuddered as they fell together over the precipice into the sweet oblivion of surrender.

 

The next day Angela and Cam drove into Kent, to Silverhill, the estate of Lord Freestone. It was not a long ride, only a day trip in their luxurious carriage.

When they reached the manor house, Cam dismounted from their carriage and helped Angela down. They turned and gazed up at the house for a moment. Finally Cam said, “It's an odd feeling, knowing that I may be meeting my father in a moment. I am not altogether sure that I want to know the truth.”

Angela glanced up at him. “Do you want to leave?”

He grimaced. “No. It would drive me mad, never knowing. I have to find out.”

They mounted the steps and knocked at the door. It was answered moments later by a smiling, liberally befreckled young maid who curtsied and grinned and showed them to a drawing room. Soon afterward, a man in his sixties came into the room. His smile was almost as broad as the young maid's, and he held out his hand to Cam, saying, “Lord Freestone, at your service.”

He was a genial-looking man of average height, balding from the top of his head down, so that his hair remained only in a fringe all around his head, at about the level of his ears. What remained of his hair was a sandy color, liberally sprinkled with gray. His eyes were a soft, watery blue. He looked, Angela thought, like a very nice, faintly vague man.
Could this man possibly be the sort to marry and abandon a woman and child?
She found herself hoping that it would turn out not to be he.

Cam introduced Angela and himself, and thanked Lord Freestone for agreeing to see them. The older man waved aside his thanks airily and gestured toward a chair.

“Never mind that,” he said heartily. “Have a seat. I'm always glad to have a chance to talk. Don't like to travel much, you see, but it does get tiresome seeing the same old faces all the time. Haha!” He ended his statement with a crack of laughter.

“Still, it was kind of you to agree to talk to us,” Angela assured him, finding herself smiling at his simple good humor.

“Now, what was it you were wanting to know? I have that note you sent me around somewhere, but I couldn't find it this morning. Ever since Mary died, I haven't been able to keep track of things.”

“Mary was your wife?”

“What? Haha!” He let out the same brief shout of laughter. “Oh, no, Mary was the housekeeper. Always took care of everything. Wonderful woman.” His face grew grave for a moment. “Like a mother to me. My wife died, oh, must have been thirty years ago, and I never remarried. I wasn't much good with the ladies.” He smiled apologetically at Angela.

Angela smiled back. “Come now, I cannot imagine that.”

“Thank you, dear lady, but 'tis a sad truth, I'm afraid.” He cocked his head. “Didn't you say you were American? You don't sound American.”

“Oh, no, my husband is. I am British. My father was Hamilton Stanhope.”

“Hamilton Stanhope…” The older man's face brightened. “Why, old Ham, I knew him. We were at Oxford together. I only lasted one year, but I remember him. Elegant chap. Sad, the way he died so young.”

“Yes. But my husband, Mr. Monroe, is the one who was raised in America,” Angela went on, repeating the story they had concocted to explain their interest. “He
is researching his ancestors. They came from Scotland, you see, and when we were discussing it with Lady Wincomb the other day, she said that you might be able to help us. She said your family had summered in Scotland.”

“Lady Wincomb? The terrifying female who always wears purple?” Angela nodded.

“Egad. She knew my mother. Always scared the devil out of me when she came to visit.”

Angela smothered a giggle as their host went on, “Yes, we had a house up in Scotland. Dull sort of place, but Father loved it. I sold it after he died, never cared to go up there myself.” He paused, frowning. “I don't see how I can help you, though. Never knew any of the locals, you see.”

“My mother was Grace Stewart,” Cam said, watching the older man closely.

Lord Freestone had no reaction to the name, other than a faintly puzzled frown. “Grace Stewart,” he repeated. “No… Well, I don't know. It does seem a little familiar.”

Cam glanced toward Angela. Freestone's reaction was hardly that of a guilty man. Either he was an excellent actor, or Cam's mother's name meant almost nothing to the man. Cam also found it difficult to believe that such a genial man could have seduced a young girl, married her, and then abandoned her. It looked very much as if they had reached a dead end.

“When was this?” Freestone asked.

“Well, it would have been around thirty-four years ago.”

“Such a long time. It's hard to remember. That would have been before Millicent and I were married.” He
paused, then delivered his bombshell, “Well, you know, that might have been the name of that girl Arthur was so taken with.”

Cam and Angela froze. Upon meeting Freestone, both of them had pretty well given up hope of getting any pertinent information from the man, who seemed both too innocent to be the man they were seeking and too vague to remember anything about anyone else he knew.

“Arthur?”

“Yes. He came up with Herbie Layton one summer. It was probably about that long ago, thirty-three or thirty- four years. I didn't know Arthur too well. He was older than I, and, well, I was not in his
set.
I never was one for London, and, of course, our family is good, but not the same sort as his, especially after he married. But he was some sort of relation of Herbie's, I think, and he'd gotten into a bit of trouble. Anyway, Father was pleased to have him. We always had a great many guests when we went up there. Helped to pass the time, you see. Anyway, Arthur was quite smitten by this local girl. She didn't come from Emburn. He and Herbie met her one time when they rode over to… What was the name of that village?”

“Carnmore?”

Freestone brightened. “Yes, that might be it. It was something very much like that, I think. Is that where your mother was from?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“Well, that must be it, then!” Freestone looked quite pleased with himself. Then his face fell. “But I never even met the girl, I'm afraid. It was Herbie who told me about it.”

“Well, what about this Arthur you mentioned?
Perhaps he could help us with the information,” Angela suggested, an almost painful anticipation rising in her chest, a mixture of excitement and dread.

“Well, no, I am afraid he's been dead, goodness, these many years now. Took a tumble from his horse, I think, and broke his neck.”

Angela's eyes opened wide, and she was suddenly pale. “He what? Who—who is he?”

Cam's eyes went to her, puzzled, but the old man saw nothing amiss. He replied cheerfully, “Fell from his horse, I said. Only a year or two after he succeeded to the title. Arthur Asquith, he was. Lord Dunstan. The present one's father.” He stopped, his brow creasing in thought. “I say. Isn't he some connection of your family's?”

“No. We are not related,” Angela said through bloodless lips.

“Angela…” Cam was on his feet immediately and coming toward her. “Are you all right?” He bent over her solicitously, then looked up at Lord Freestone. “I am sorry, my lord, I fear that my wife is not feeling well. You have been most kind to talk to us, but I think we must take our leave now.”

“Why, dear girl, I hope there's nothing wrong,” Lord Freestone said, peering at her anxiously.

“I am sure I will be all right. I just need to…to lie down and rest.”

“Ah. Yes, no doubt that will put you right as rain.” He beamed at her and stood to escort them out. “Been a pleasure talking to you,” he told them at the door. “Hope I helped you.”

“Yes, you've been a great help.”