Impulse (4 page)

“You, of all people, must know that there are such men,” Jeremy blurted out.

“Sweet heaven, you are right.” Angela passed a suddenly trembling hand over her face. “Doubtless Dunstan would have done the same if he had lacked position in Society.”

“No. I should not have said that.” Jeremy swung around to face her. “This man is not necessarily like Dunstan.”

“Someone who wields a club like that over your head? Someone that ruthless? That unfeeling? What else would he be like?”

“It does not mean that he would be the—the same sort of husband. That he would…would…”

“Beat me?” Angela supplied, when Jeremy could not get the words out. “Make my life unbearable? Of
course he would. Do you think such a man would brook disagreement in a wife? Or refrain from taking it out on me when he is in a bad temper? Jeremy…” Angela felt panic rising up inside her. “You said when I ran to you that I would never have to marry again. You promised me!”

“Oh, God! Don't, Angela. I won't make you. I could not force you, anyway.”

“I am dependent upon you.”

“You think that I would turn you out if you refused to marry him? Is that the sort of man you think I am?”

“No.” Angela sighed. “I think you are a very good man. A kind one.”

It was that very fact that made her hate to refuse him. Jeremy had been kind and loyal to her. When she ran away from Dunstan, he had taken her in and given her his support and protection. She was certain that Dunstan had brought pressure to bear on Jeremy, but he had not crumpled. He had not given her up. He had stood by her through the horrid mess of the divorce, through the rumors and snide gossip, through the awful, damning testimony. He had passed through a crucible, too, during that time, suffering the snubs of some of his peers and the whispers of most of them. Yet he had supported her, both emotionally and financially. He still did. She lived in his house, on his land, ate food at his table. He even brought her the news and gossip from London periodically to enliven her days. He had allowed her to heal, and had never asked anything from her in return. Indeed, she did not know of any way she could have repaid him…until now.

If she married this man, this loathsome, coercive
bastard
of a man, then she would be giving back, in full measure, what Jeremy had done for her. He had saved
her life, despite the loss of money and face he had endured. Now, she would be giving him the money he so desperately needed and saving his name from the stigma of bankruptcy—at the price of the rest of her life.

“I can't. Oh, Jeremy, I cannot,” she moaned, hating herself for her cowardice even as she said it.

“I won't ask you to marry him. I just want you to consider it. Please, could you not do that? Could you not meet him and see for yourself what he is like? You do not know that he is a man such as Dunstan. Not every man is that way, even one who is ruthless. This one is interested in a business arrangement. Perhaps that will be enough to satisfy him. He might be well pleased to be connected to the Stanhopes, and not ask anything further of you. Perhaps you could even live in separate houses. You could stay here, say, and he could live in London—or he might even go back to the United States.”

Angela's hands twisted together. She felt as if she were being torn apart. How could she refuse Jeremy anything, after he had done so much for her? On the other hand, the mere thought of marrying again sent cold chills through her.

“I am sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I want to help you. Honestly, I do. But I am so scared…. I know you think me a terrible coward. No doubt I am. But, oh, Jeremy, is there no other way?”

“I don't know of one,” he replied leadenly. “Do you think I would have come to you with this proposal if I knew another way? I realize what I am asking of you, how selfish I am.”

“Don't say that. You are not selfish. It is
I
who am selfish—to refuse to help you, after everything you have
done for me. I know that I am the reason we are in such dire straits. If I had not left Dunstan—”

He shook his head. “No. Do not blame yourself. Generations of Stanhopes have contributed their bit to this mess we find ourselves in—and I am one of their number. I have not put anything into the mines or the estates. I have not exercised proper restraint. No, I have done precisely what I wanted and spent however much I pleased. I was foolish in the extreme. Now I will simply have to pay the price.”

His resignation tore at Angela's heart. She loved Jeremy dearly, and she owed him so much. Why did what he asked of her have to entail so much sacrifice? She could not—simply could not—marry again.

Angela spent the rest of the day in her room, lost in thought, but she could find no solution that did not sacrifice either herself or Jeremy. She thought of the unknown man who had forced this decision upon her, and she hated him with all her heart.

She expected her mother and grandmother to visit her, her grandmother to harangue her into accepting the marriage and her mother to sigh and wheedle and moan until Angela gave in. However, neither lady came to her room, which could only mean, Angela thought, that Jeremy had not revealed the dilemma to them. His kindness in not turning the Ladies Bridbury upon her to change her mind only made Angela feel lower and more guilty for not coming to his rescue.

The next morning, Jeremy came to her bedroom, looking nervous. He closed the door behind him and started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat and began again.

“Ah, Mr. Pettigrew wired London last night. It, uh, seems that his employer is in London. I assumed he was
still in the United States, but, in fact, he was merely letting Mr. Pettigrew handle the…the…arrangements.”

“The dirty work,” Angela corrected.

“Yes, I suppose so. But that augurs well, I think.” Jeremy brightened. “Don't you see? If he was truly ruthless, without feeling, he would not
care
how he appeared to us. I think his not wanting to negotiate himself shows that he wants to have an amicable relationship with us. Don't you think?”

“I suppose. But we both know that it is he who pulls the strings. Poor Mr. Pettigrew is merely a puppet.”

“Well, it does not signify, anyway. The point is that Mr. Pettigrew informed his employer of our decision, and the man wired back. He caught a train last night to York and will hire a post chaise there for the rest of the journey. It seems that he is on his way to visit us.”

“What?” Fear clenched Angela's stomach. She did not want to have to face this ruthless man.

“Mr. Pettigrew says that his employer, ah, wants to press his suit in person.”

“You mean he wants to badger and bully me into accepting!” Angela put a hand to her stomach, as if she could control the turmoil there. “Oh, Jeremy, I cannot! Please don't ask me to face him.”

“I— Well, we must. There's nothing else we can do. Don't you see? Perhaps if you meet him, you will find out that he's not so bad. You might even like him.”

“Jeremy!”

“All right, all right. Most likely you will not. But at least we would be able to plead our case in person to this man. We might be able to make him see how absurd the whole thing is, and he will drop the idea. Surely he cannot want a reluctant wife.”

“I cannot face him.”

“I will be there with you. It won't be so bad.”

Angela suspected that it would be excruciating. However, Jeremy was right when he said that there was little else they could do. She refused to hide in her room like a scared rabbit the whole time he was here. She had had the courage to escape from Dunstan, and she had sworn that she would never again let a man terrorize her. That included, she thought, letting him make her a virtual prisoner in her room.

He did not arrive until that evening, after supper. Mr. Pettigrew had taken up a post outside the front door, pacing and smoking a small cigar. Angela sat with her grandmother and Jeremy in the formal drawing room, a large and elegantly furnished room chosen in the hopes that it would in some measure intimidate the man. Laura, Angela's mother, had retired to her bedroom with a book after supper, saying that the waiting had wrecked her nerves.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, and Mr. Pettigrew came into the room. His face was a trifle flushed, and his usual impassivity was replaced by excitement.

“He has arrived at last.” He turned back toward the door. At that moment, a black-haired man strode through the doorway. He glanced about the room, his dark eyes moving from one person to another until they settled on Angela. Angela simply stood there, staring at him, her heart skipping a beat. She pressed her hand to her chest; suddenly it seemed terribly hard to breathe.
It could not be….

“May I present to you my employer,” Pettigrew
was saying proudly, “and the president of Tremont Incorporated, Mr. Cameron Monroe.”

Angela's eyes rolled up in her head, and she slid quietly to the ground.

W
HEN
A
NGELA OPENED
her eyes, the first thing she saw was her maid's face. Kate was kneeling on the floor beside the couch on which Angela lay, frowning down worriedly at her as she waved smelling salts beneath Angela's nose. Angela coughed at the acrid scent and feebly pushed Kate's arm away.

“There, now. She's coming round,” Kate declared triumphantly.

For a moment, Angela could not remember what had happened or why she was lying on a sofa. She was aware only of a ferocious pain in her head and a certain queasiness in her stomach. She blinked and looked up from her maid's face to the people behind Kate.

Jeremy and Mr. Pettigrew were standing back and to either side, flanking a frowning, dark stranger. Angela remembered now what had happened. “Cam…”

“Yes, my lady. I beg your pardon. I am usually not so fearsome as to drive young women to collapse.”

“I am not usually a young woman who collapses,” Angela retorted, pride compelling her to sit up.

She regretted it immediately, for her head swam, and Kate reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Take it slow, my lady. No need to be getting up yet, now, is there?”

Kate then rounded on their visitor, setting her hands on her hips pugnaciously. “Cam Monroe, what do you
mean coming in like this, never giving a soul a hint of it? I would have thought you'd have better sense. It's no wonder Her Ladyship fainted.”

Jeremy colored and said in a quelling voice, “Kate… Mr. Monroe is our guest.”

On the other side of Monroe, Pettigrew gazed at her with a mixture of awe and amazement. Kate dipped a curtsy toward Jeremy, murmuring a faint “Sorry, sir,” but she did not apologize to Cam. She had grown up next door to him, and she had no fear of him.

“What the devil is going on?” the dowager countess snapped, banging her cane once on the floor for emphasis. “Angela, what's the matter with you? And who is this man?”

Jeremy turned toward the old lady. “Angela was a trifle startled, Grandmama,” he assured her. “We have not seen Mr. Monroe in several years.”

“Monroe?” The countess frowned fiercely. “I don't know any Monroes.”

“My mother and I used to live in the village, my lady,” Cam told her easily. “Grace Monroe.”

The old lady gazed at him blankly for a moment. Then her brow cleared. “The seamstress?” she asked, her voice vaulting upward. “You are the seamstress's son?”

“Yes, my lady. I am.” He stared back at her stonily.

The countess's eyebrows vaulted upward, and she turned a sharp gaze upon her grandson. “Jeremy?”

“Yes, Grandmama. Mr. Monroe is our guest.” He moved forward to her chair, dropping his voice a little. “I am sure you will welcome him. He has come here all the way from the United States. He is Mr. Pettigrew's employer.”

She shot a dark look at Mr. Pettigrew. “I've yet to
determine what this Pettigrew is doing here. What are you about, Jeremy?”

“'Tis business, Grandmama. Perhaps you remember that Cameron Monroe moved to the United States several years ago. He is the head of a company that, ah, I have been dealing with.”

“What he is saying, Grandmama,” Angela said crisply, “is that Mr. Monroe is apparently quite wealthy now, so we must be pleasant to him. Isn't that right, Jeremy?”

She cast a sardonic look up at her brother, then at Cam, who was still standing in front of the couch, gazing down at her. Cam raised a quizzical eyebrow at her words, but his expression was more amused than offended.

“Angela!” Jeremy whispered, sending Monroe an apologetic glance. “I must apologize for the women of the family. They are used to a solitary life here at Bridbury.”

“That's right. We don't get out much, so we don't know how to act,” Angela went on with false sweetness. “I am afraid that I have never before been called upon to meet a suitor who holds a gun to my head as he asks for my hand.”

“What?” Lady Margaret's mouth dropped open in shock.

“Angela…” Jeremy groaned.

Mr. Pettigrew blushed to his hairline and looked away. Only Cam remained seemingly unaffected, still gazing at Angela with that cool half smile on his lips.

“A trifle dramatic, don't you think, Angela?”

“Perhaps. But the drama is not of
my
making.” She stood up. “Grandmama, if you will excuse me, I believe that I will go up to my room now. I am feeling a trifle under the weather. Kate?”

Her maid moved quickly to her side, and the two women walked out of the room together, leaving a dead silence behind them.

 

Angela strode faster and faster, until by the time they reached her bedroom, Kate was almost having to run to keep up with her. “My lady…wait. Slow down.”

Angela swept into her room, but even then she could not seem to stop. She marched across it to the window, then swung back and looked around, as if trying to find somewhere else to go.

“What is going on?” Kate asked with all the familiarity of a friend, as well as a lifelong servant. “Why is Cam Monroe here? And what is he doing dressed up as a gentleman?”

“He is the one,” Angela replied tersely. “The man I told you about, the American who is trying to marry into the nobility.”

“Cam?” Kate had heard all about the Earl's request that Angela marry a rich American to save the family, but she had a little trouble connecting the fearsome American with her former neighbor and the Stanhopes' stable boy.

“Apparently. That Pettigrew man said his employer had arrived, and the next thing I knew, there was Cam marching into the room. And I realized that
he
was the one behind it all. The man trying to force me to marry him.”

“'Tis no wonder you fainted.”

“I thought for a moment that I had lost my mind. I couldn't imagine—Cam! It's been so long—I never thought I would see him again. It's been years since I even thought about him.”

Her grandfather had made sure that she was married
before she could change her mind, whisking her away to London and getting a special license so that she could marry Lord Dunstan without having to wait for the banns to be read. When she returned to Bridbury, newly married, she had gone to Cam, hoping to explain what she had done and to give him money so that he could, at least, get away to America and the new life they both had dreamed about. But he had been too wounded and furious to allow any explanation from her.

“Do you think I don't know why you married him?” he had roared, his dark eyes spitting fire at her. “Because he is a lord, and one of the wealthiest in the land, as well! I was too stupid to realize that you were just toying with me, amusing yourself until your nobleman came up to scratch!”

“No! No, please, Cam, that's not—”

“Damn you! I don't want to hear it!” He had hurled the purse she had offered him down at her feet, and the bright gold coins had spilled out onto the floor of his cottage. “I don't want your whore's money, either. I shall make it to America on my own.”

Then he had wheeled and torn out of his house, ignoring her pleas. She had not seen him again.

She had thought about him enough, God knew. At first she had been able to think of little else—missing him, aching for him, crying for him, that pain so great that it for a while somewhat masked the pain of her marriage. What had a blow mattered, when inside she had felt as if she had already died?

Later, when the fresh pain of losing Cam sealed over, and the realization of the lifelong despair and pain that her marriage would be settled in upon her, she had often dreamed that somehow Cam would return and rescue her. That he would find out, all the way across the ocean,
what was happening to her, and he would come back and sweep her away from Dunstan. But she had known, even as she hoped and prayed, that Cam would not come back. Even if he had known her fate, he would no longer have cared. He hated her.

Finally she had accepted that her dreams were nothing but that, and that no one could save her from her fate. And, gradually, she had ceased to feel at all, either loss or the memory of love, all emotions ground into sand under the millstone of her marriage.

“So he got rich in America,” Kate mused, following her own thoughts. “He always was a smart one—and hardworking. If anyone could do it, I guess he could.” She paused, then continued, “And now he's wanting to marry you again. He must never have forgotten you.”

Angela let out an inelegant snort. “Don't wax romantic on me, Kate. I can usually count on your good sense.”

Kate allowed a little smile. “Hard head is more like it, my lady. But even I can see that if a man's still wanting to marry you after, what, thirteen years…?”

“I don't think it is romance that is on his mind. I think it's revenge. It was my family that hurt him thirteen years ago, and now he has come back to extract his vengeance on us. He has already taken over control of our mines and acquired much of our land, not to mention buying up practically all Jeremy's debts. The Stanhope family virtually belongs to him. And I, the one who hurt him the most, well, he can bring me permanently under his thumb by marrying me. What exquisite revenge—to have all of us subject to him, applying to him for whatever we might need, currying his favor, obeying him. I cast him off, and he wants to repay me for that. What better way than to make me do what I
did not thirteen years ago—marry him! He will have the rest of my life to make me suffer, too, for now even Jeremy would not dare take me in against his wishes. Cam owns Jeremy.”

“Oh, no, my lady! Cam would not treat you ill,” Kate protested. “He is a good man.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “How can you know that? He seemed so, I know, years ago. Gentle and good and—” Her voice caught for an instant, then she went on. “But how can you know what is really inside a man's heart? And after so many years, with all the bitterness he felt about my marriage, with whatever he has had to do to make all the money he has, well, he is bound to have changed. He is obviously a very different man now. The Cam I knew would not have set out to wreck a family, as he has done with us. He would not have tried to force a woman to marry him.”

Kate shrugged. “Still…it does not mean he is a devil like Lord Dunstan. My pa, he was a strict one, and I've seen him madder than fire, but he never raised a hand against Ma. You know your brother is not like that. Why, even his old lordship wouldn't have struck his wife.”

Angela cast her a speaking look. “Strike Grandmama? He would not have dared.” She sighed. “I know. You are right. Not all men are like Dunstan. Maybe Cam would not actually hurt me. He was never rough…before. But, oh, Kate, I could not. I could not marry him.”

She tightened her hands into fists, her stomach beginning to roil with the old, familiar fear. “To be under a man's complete power again. Just to know that he could—” She broke off and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her fists beneath her arms. “To have him in my bed.” Her voice came out a horrified whisper. “I cannot.”

Her maid gazed at her with profound sympathy, wishing, not for the first time, that she could somehow wipe Angela's prior marriage from her mind. But even that would not be enough, she suspected. The lady's scars were burned into her soul, as well.

“You need not, my lady,” she reassured her softly. “Your brother cannot make you. He would not, even if he could.”

“I know he could not force me. But I am dependent on him. He has done so much for me. I feel terribly guilty not to, when it would help him so much. I don't know what he will do if Cam calls in those notes or closes down the mine. Or both. Jeremy will be destroyed.”

“Then you must convince Cam not to do it.”

“I? You jest. Cam hates me.”

“Hates you? A man who is asking for your hand in marriage?”

“I told you, that is only for revenge. It does not mean he has any feeling for me. I am sure he only wants to make me suffer for how I hurt him.”

“He may say that is what it's for. He may even believe it. But deep inside, I don't think so. I cannot believe a man would want to tie himself to a woman for the rest of his life—for any reason—knowing that he despised her. If you went to him, explained to him—”

“Never!” Angela looked even more horrified. “Tell Cam about Dunstan and our marriage?”

“No. I did not mean you had to explain everything. Just tell him you cannot marry again, for…for personal reasons. Explain how you feel about marrying. Remind him that it isn't Jeremy's fault and ask him not to punish Jeremy and your family.”

“I don't think Cam is overflowing with sympathy for my family.”

“He will listen to you. It at least warrants a try, don't you think?”

“Yes. I suppose you are right. It is just—oh, Kate, it scares me. I don't want to have to talk to him. Just seeing him tonight made me feel so strange. It was him, my Cam, and yet he seemed so different. And
I
am different, not the same person I was back then. I was foolish and naive and…and…so emotional.”

Kate smiled sadly. “Yes. I remember how you were. Always full of spirit.”

Angela frowned, uneasy. It made her feel unsettled even to remember those feelings, let alone to think of talking to Cam. However, she knew she could not hide from everything. She had spent many years forcing herself to do things that frightened her. Unconsciously, she stiffened her spine. “You are right. I
will
talk to Cam.”

 

Angela was sorry to find out that the occasion to talk to Cam alone presented itself to her the very next morning. She went down to breakfast early, as she was accustomed to doing. Generally she did so alone, since Jeremy kept town hours even when at Bridbury, and her mother and grandmother were wont to breakfast in their rooms. This morning, however, as she stepped into the dining room, she found Cam Monroe and Mr. Pettigrew already seated at the table.