Impulse (5 page)

“Miss Stanhope.” Mr. Pettigrew jumped to his feet. “That is, my lady. Forgive me, I am quite useless with these titles.”

Cam, whose back had been to her, turned at his employee's words and also rose to his feet. He looked at her without expression and gave her a small bow. “My lady.”

Angela, who had stopped dead when she saw them, realized that she could not turn now and flee, as had been her first thought. She forced a small smile onto her face. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

The footman came forward to pour a cup of coffee for her at her usual place. Unfortunately, this place was beside Cam's chair. The thought of sitting next to him made Angela's lungs feel as if all the air were being crushed from them. But it would be rudely obvious if she was to change places after the servant had already placed her there. So she walked stiffly over to her chair and sat down, avoiding Cam's eyes. She wished she could avoid his very presence, as well, but that was impossible. He filled up too much space and was entirely too close to her. She was aware of the heat of his skin, of his size, his breath, the faint lingering scent of his shaving soap.

She took a sip of her coffee, hoping that the trembling in her hands did not betray her too much, and glanced surreptitiously down at the men's plates. Their plates were full; they had obviously just sat down, and they would just as obviously be here awhile. Angela considered getting herself only toast, so that she could eat quickly and leave. After all, the way her stomach felt right now, she could not eat anything, anyway.

However, when she got up and went to the breakfront, she found herself filling her plate like a trencherman, just to delay her return to the table. But when she sat down again, she could eat little, and merely toyed with it.

There was a gaping silence. Finally, Mr. Pettigrew cleared his throat and began, “I find the weather here more pleasant than I had expected. Is it always like this?”

“Usually it rains more this time of year,” Angela replied.

“I see.”

Again quiet lay upon them like a weight. Pettigrew tried again. “My compliments to your cook, Mi—I mean, my lady. The food is excellent.”

“Thank you. I will be sure to let Mrs. Fletcher know.”

Mr. Pettigrew seemed to have run out of conversational topics, for the silence stretched again. This time it was Angela who was pushed by the awkward atmosphere into attempting to make conversation. “How is your mother, Cam? Does she enjoy living in America?”

“She died a year and a half ago.”

“Oh. I'm so sorry.”

The last exchange seemed to end all hopes of polite conversation. Pettigrew ate swiftly and silently, and after a few moments, he rose to his feet, saying, “Excuse me, sir, ma'am, uh, my lady. I, ah, I am afraid I must excuse myself from the table. It was most delicious, but I have quite a bit of work to do.”

“Of course.” Angela smiled at him graciously, and Cameron gave him a short nod. Pettigrew left the room, and the servant cleared his plates. At a gesture from Cam, he, too, exited, leaving Cam and Angela alone together.

Angela pushed her eggs around, keeping her eyes on her plate, but she kept glancing at Cam out of the corner of her eye. He looked different—older, larger, harder— and yet so much the same that it made her heart skip a little in her chest. Over the years, she had forgotten exactly how thick and long his lashes grew, how fiercely dark his eyes were, and how angular his face was.

“Have I changed so much?” Cam asked finally.

Angela colored, aware of how she had been studying him. “I—I am sorry for staring. No. You have changed but little.” She turned back to her food. She did not expect him to say the same thing about her; she knew if he did, it would not be the truth. She saw herself in the mirror every day, and she knew that though her hair was the same texture and her eyes the same color, though her body was only a little less slender and more rounded, no one could think she looked the same as she had at sixteen. The spark that had once lit her face was gone, and her drabness was only emphasized by the plain, dark gowns she wore and the severe knot into which she wound her hair at the nape of her neck. Her skin, albeit still soft and white, no longer held a glow.

“I cannot say the same about you,” Cam told her bluntly.

Angela gave him a cool, measured look. “How kind of you to say so.”

“I did not mean,” Cam said stiffly, “that you are not still beautiful.”

“I am well aware what you meant. I have not aged well, shall we say? It does not matter to me.”

“I
meant,
” Cam went on stubbornly, “that you did not used to be so quiet. You were never timid.”

“Timid? You make me sound like a mouse.” Angela straightened her shoulders and fixed him with a firm, clear gaze. Once, she had looked at people in that way with ease; in recent years, she had learned to do it again. She could force herself to regard a man with no fear, though inside her stomach might coil. “I am hardly that,

Mr. Monroe.”

“
Mr.
Monroe?” He looked at her quizzically. “I hardly think I am that unfamiliar to you.”

His words reminded her forcibly of exactly how close
they had been years ago, and color flooded her face. She tilted up her chin, as if he had insulted her.

“I am sorry,” he told her quickly. “I did not mean— Well, I did not intend that as it sounded. I was talking about the fact that you had called me Cam since you were eight years old.”

“We are hardly in the same positions, however. You are a grown man, and one, moreover, who holds the future of Bridbury in his hands. I can hardly address you as a child does a groom.”

“I am still Cam.”

“All right, then. Cam.” She looked away as she said it, unable any longer to meet his gaze.

There was a moment's silence while he studied her. Finally he said, “I think 'tis time we talked. No more intermediaries. What do you say?”

“All right.” She turned back to face him. “However, I am afraid that we have little to say. My answer to you is the same as it was the other day. I will not marry you.”

“Indeed? I had thought you were a woman of greater common sense.”

“Common sense? Is that what you call giving in to coercion? I know some who would call it cowardice.”

“'Tis common sense to marry where there is money. Look at it logically. You are facing living in genteel poverty. If you marry me, you shall be living in luxury. You married for money before. Why balk at it now?”

Angela blanched. His casually cruel words were like a slap in the face. She stood up abruptly, pushing back her chair. Her hands tightened into fists. “I did not marry Dunstan for money. However, I know that you will think what you will, no matter what I say. You always have.
I thought I had good reasons for marrying him, but despite that, I regretted it bitterly.”

“So I have heard.” He looked at her levelly.

“I will not make that mistake again. I will not sacrifice myself, even for Jeremy.”

“Would marrying me be such a sacrifice?” His face tightened, and he rose to face her. “Once you were willing enough to come to my bed.”

Angela gasped. “How dare you! I never—”

“No. But can you say that you stayed away of your own volition?” His voice was as hard as steel.

Angela could say nothing. He spoke no less than the truth. She had been like wax in his hands back then; he could have done anything with her that he wanted, and she would never have said him nay. When Cam kissed her, her body had thrummed with desire. Her skin had been like flame to his touch. Even now, remembering that time, she could almost feel a stirring of warmth.

“No,” she admitted in a low voice. “To my shame, I cannot say that it was my virtue that kept me from your bed.”

“Nor from any other man's, apparently.”

Angela stiffened as if a red-hot poker had been laid against her skin. She struggled to keep her voice neutral. “You have heard, then, of the allegations of my divorce.”

“Yes. I read a report about the proceedings. I read on what grounds your husband sued for divorcement, and I read the testimony of the three men.”

Angela hated the surge of anger and hurt that poured through her, hated most of all that it should hurt for Cam to think her promiscuous. But she had endured worse things without showing the pain. She had borne the testimony of Dunstan's friends, knowing that with it she
got what she wanted, freedom from him. And now, in the same way, she would use it again to help herself.

She shrugged elaborately. “I should wonder, then, that you would want to marry a woman such as I am. Hardly the unblemished wife most men seek.”

“I am not looking for a virgin. There are an ample number of them around. I could have found many in the United States.”

“You do not care if your wife is unfaithful to you?”

“I know you married a man you did not love. 'Tis not unusual to seek passion outside a loveless marriage. I also know that it would not happen in this marriage.”

“You are very sure of yourself.” Angela's voice was laced with sarcasm.

Her tone cut him to the quick, and he moved forward so that he stood only inches from her, his coal-black eyes boring down into hers. He wrapped his hand around her wrist. “I am sure of one thing. You were a very passionate woman, and you responded to me. I don't think you can have changed that much over the last few years.”

Suddenly, before she realized what was happening, Cam pulled her up against him, and his other arm went around her, holding her to him. He bent and took her mouth with his. His lips were warm and firm, moving insistently against hers. It had been many years, but his kiss sparked a memory of that earlier passion. For just an instant Angela was the girl she had been, felt again the desire and the eagerness, and she swayed against him. Then the much more familiar coldness rushed through her, driving out the momentary response, and she stiffened, pulling away from him.

He let her go easily, but the faint smile on his face let her know he thought he had proved his point.

“That is what you have returned for?” she asked. “You are forcing me to marry you because of lust?”

“Hardly. I could have sex with any number of women. At far less cost than what I have given for that mine and the land. Mr. Pettigrew is beginning to question my business judgment.”

“
I
question your sanity. Why are you so eager to marry me, a woman you have not seen in thirteen years?”

“It is part of a vow I made when I left this place. When your grandfather tossed me off the estate and you married a nobleman, a man of wealth, I vowed that someday I would have that wealth. I would move among your people as an equal. My children would have noble blood in their veins. I swore that I would return here, and I would own the Stanhopes. And I would have you.”

She stared at him. “That is at the bottom of this? The angry words of a twenty-year-old lad?”

“It was more than that. It was a vow, a promise to myself. It is what drove me, the reward I would have. I would live in this house, own this land, and you would be my wife. It would be bad luck, I think, to deviate from that plan now.”

“But surely you cannot claim to love me still, after all these years!”

His lip curled. “Hardly.” He moved away from her, saying, “I rid myself of the curse of loving you long ago. I am not seeking your love. Only the fact of marrying you.”

“But why?” Angela cried, exasperated. “What satisfaction does it give you now? What pleasure?”

“The pleasure of having proved myself to those who despised me. Of having won over my enemies. Of having conquered, finally, that old son of a bitch.”

“My grandfather?”

“Yes. That night, with every blow he dealt me, all the time telling me how you were playing with me, using me, how no Stanhope could truly love a mere stable boy, that was what I kept thinking. That I would prove him wrong. That I would marry you, that I would have more money than the Stanhopes ever dreamed of having, that I would make that blue-blooded bastard sorry.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, he died before I could do it, so I had to use Jeremy as a substitute.”

“A little unfair to Jeremy, don't you think?” Angela snapped. She looked at him, thinking about his words. After a moment, she went on, “What did you mean, ‘with every blow'? Did he—did Grandpapa hit you? He told me he did not.”

Cam let out a snort of disbelief. “And you believed him? Of course he beat me. What did you think happened after you left the stables? The other grooms held me, and the old Earl laid into me with his cane. The Earl of Bridbury could hardly let a groom go with a tongue- lashing after he had dared to touch a Stanhope. When the grooms threw me down on my mother's doorstep, I had three broken ribs and a concussion. That is why I did not sneak into the castle and try to get you out that night, for I was still foolish enough that I thought you would want to leave with me.”

Angela's stomach twisted as she thought of what he had endured. She swallowed. “I—I am sorry. I did not know.”

“It was hardly unexpected. I knew what would happen if we were caught. I took the risk. At the time, I thought it was worth it.”

Angela turned and walked away. It was strange how, after all this time and all the other things that had
happened to her, his bitter words had the power to hurt her. She had thought herself numb to pain, as well as to joy, for years now. She was not sure she liked finding out that she was not.

She turned around resolutely. “I did not deal with you unfaithfully.” When his eyebrow rose sardonically, she raised her hand, saying, “No, there is no need to protest. I realize that you do not believe me. You did not even then, when you still loved me. I did what I thought was necessary, and it…pained me to hurt you. I wanted that least of all. My family wronged you. Because of me, you were dealt with cruelly. It would have been far better if we had never…felt what we did. But all that is in the past, and we cannot do anything to change it. You must see that. No matter what you force me to do now or how badly you ruin Jeremy, you cannot make the whole thing come out any better. You cannot change my grandfather's words or wipe out his blows. The only thing you will accomplish is to tie yourself to a woman who does not wish to marry you, and that hardly seems the way to lead a happy life. Why don't you find someone you love, someone who will love you back? Then you could have a good life.”