Impulse

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

1872

H
E WAS WAITING
for her, as she had known he would be. Waiting in the same fever of impatience that had gripped her for the past hour while she sought her chance to escape from the house unnoticed.

He whirled around when she came in, his dark gaze shooting across the room to her. “Angela!”

He was young, just turned twenty, and he had the slim, lithe build of youth, all muscle and bone. His black hair, still damp from a ruthless dunking earlier under the pump, was pushed back and fell to the nape of his neck, curling over the collar of his rough shirt. Just looking at him made Angela's heart squeeze in her chest.

They ran to each other, impelled by a hunger that had been building all day, until now they were almost consumed by it. His arms went around her, pulling her hard against him, and he pressed his lips on hers. Angela threw her arms around his neck.

They clung together, mouths and bodies molded as if they would get even closer if they could. He shoved back the hood of her cloak, revealing the glorious copper tangle of her hair. It had been up earlier, but it had, as usual, managed to escape from half its pins already. Now he completed its disarray by plunging his hands into its softness.

Need throbbed in him, a desperate, clawing thing that never went away, was only subdued now and then into a low ache. He pulled his mouth away and rained kisses over her face and neck. His hands, clumsy with desire, went to the ribbon that tied her cloak and tugged at it. It came loose, and her cloak slid off her shoulders to the floor. Beneath it she wore an evening dress of pale blue satin, cinched in tightly to reduce her waist to nothingness and pressing her breasts upward to swell above the low-cut neckline.

He sucked in his breath at the sight of her, passion rushing through him like wildfire. “Good God…” he breathed. “Your grandparents let you wear that in public?”

Angela giggled, enjoying the glitter in his eyes and the fact that she could arouse him to feel that way. “Oh, Cam, 'tis no worse than what anyone else is wearing. It was one of Cee-Cee's dresses. She wore it two years ago.”

“It did not look on her as it does on you,” he answered fervently.

“Anyway, Grandmama is hoping it will inspire Jeremy's friend Lord Dunstan to offer for me. He's terribly wealthy, you see, as well as coming from an ‘unexceptionable' family.”

Cam's upper lip curled in a sneer of contempt. “They are as good as selling you to the highest bidder.”

“The Stanhopes need an advantageous marriage,” she pointed out reasonably. “Anyway, what does it matter, since I have no intention of marrying any of the men they are pushing me at?” She linked her hands behind her back, emphasizing the thrust of her bosom. “I was happy to wear it because I knew
you
would be seeing it. Well…would it encourage
you
to bid high?”

His mouth widened sensually. “Aye. I would give all that I had to have you.” He reached out boldly and cupped her breasts.

“You have already given me what I want.” She gazed up at him with her clear blue eyes, as trusting as a child, but with all the desires of a woman. She had loved Cam Monroe for as long as she could remember, ever since he first came to work for her family in the stables, and it had seemed a miracle to her this summer when she returned from Miss Mapling's School for Young Ladies that Cam at last saw her for a woman. It had been even more astonishing when he broke down two weeks ago and admitted that he loved her.

“The Earl would have my head for being with you like this,” Cam told her. “And rightly so. You're no more than a babe. 'Tis wrong of me to take advantage of you.”

But even as he said the words, he could not stop himself from bending and placing a tender kiss on the top of each quivering breast. Angela closed her eyes in pleasure and put her hands on his shoulders, caressing the powerful muscles that lay beneath his rough shirt.

“Hush!” she whispered fiercely. “Don't say such things. 'Tis
not
wrong! I love you.”

He let out a groan, lifting her up and burying his face between her breasts. “And I love you. Angel, oh, Angel. You truly are my angel, my beautiful red-haired angel. I think about you all the time. Sometimes I think I'll never make it through the day, I want you so much. Today, when you went out riding with that insufferable toad Dunstan and I had to watch him flirting with you, eyeing you…I wanted to murder him.”

His mouth moved back up the smooth expanse of her throat, and he let her slide slowly down until her
feet were once again on the floor. He kissed her lips, opening her mouth to his, and his tongue plunged inside, exploring, caressing, arousing. Angela trembled under the onset of pleasure.

“Angela!” Her grandfather's voice roared through the stables.

They sprang apart and whirled around. Angela's grandfather stood just inside the stable door, flanked by her brother Jeremy and Lord Dunstan, the very gentleman her grandfather and grandmother had been pursuing so assiduously.

The Earl rushed toward them, his white hair flying, his face mottled with fury. “Goddamn you, you young jackanapes! How dare you put your filthy hands on a Stanhope!”

He wielded his cane like a club, bringing it down with all his strength on Cam's head. Luckily, Cam was young and quick enough to move, so that it did not strike him full on the head, but glanced off the side. Still, the force of it was enough to stun him and split his skin. He dropped dazedly to his knees, and blood welled up out of the cut beside his eye.

“Grandpapa!” Angela shrieked, and threw herself at her grandfather as he raised his arm to strike again. “Stop! No! Don't hurt him!”

At all the commotion, Wicker, the head groom, came pounding down the stairs at the far end of the stables, where the grooms lived, and ran toward them, followed by two of the other grooms. “My lord, my lord, what is it? What's the matter?”

The men stopped short at the sight of the scene before them. Wicker's mouth dropped open, and one of the lads murmured, “Blimey!”

The Earl of Bridbury let loose a string of curses.
Grabbing Angela's arm, he thrust her at Jeremy. “Take your sister back to the house. I'll deal with this young devil.”

Jeremy grasped his sister's arm tightly, but she struggled, trying to wrench her arm away. “No! I won't go! Let go of me! Cam!”

She turned toward Cam, who had lurched to his feet and stood facing her grandfather defiantly. At her cry, Cam started forward, but the Earl made a gesture with his cane, and Wicker and the other grooms seized Cam before he could reach Jeremy and Angela and dragged him back.

“Stop!” Angela shrieked. “No, don't hurt him! Let go of me!” She twisted and fought to get away, but Jeremy wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her bodily from the floor, starting toward the door. She screamed, and her brother clamped his hand over her mouth.

“For God's sake, Angie, will you stop it?” he exclaimed. “You'll have everyone in the house out here to witness this. It's bad enough as it is.”

“Angela!” Behind them, Cam lunged and struggled, fighting to get away from his captors, but the three grooms held on tightly.

Angela turned her head for one last glimpse of him. Then Dunstan opened the door for Jeremy, and he staggered outside with her. Dunstan followed them, closing the door after him and cutting off her view of Cam. Angela began to cry. Jeremy carried her determinedly toward the house, and as he walked, Angela's struggles gradually subsided. She realized the futility of it; Jeremy was stronger than she, and she hadn't a hope of getting away from him, not with the iron grip he had on her now. And having Lord Dunstan witness her vain struggles was humiliating. When they reached the door into the
kitchens, Jeremy took his hand from her mouth and set her on her feet.

“I'm going to take you up to your room,” he told her. “We'll go up the back staircase, so no one will see you, but if you start screaming, I shall have to put my hand over your mouth again. And you can't get away. Here, Dunstan, take her other arm.”

“No!” Angela drew as far away from the other man as she could. “I won't try to get away or scream. I promise.” It would be too awful to have this stranger holding her arm as if she were a prisoner.

“Good.” Jeremy opened the door and propelled her into the enormous kitchen, past the gazes of the interested servants and up the back staircase. “Honestly, Angela, whatever has gotten into you? Hanging about the stables with one of the grooms? Your reputation will be ruined if word of this gets out.”

“I don't care! I love Cam, and I'm going to marry him!”

Jeremy's mouth dropped open, and Dunstan let out a crack of laughter.

“Marry a stable boy?” he repeated caustically. “Oh, I say, that is rich.”

“Angela, be serious. You could not possibly marry one of the grooms. That's absurd.”

“I love him.” Her voice gave a betraying quaver as she went on. “Do you think Grandpapa will hurt him? He hasn't done anything wrong.”

“I'd say you have an odd idea of right and wrong, then, if you don't think it wrong for one of the servants to be taking the sixteen-year-old daughter of the house out to the stables and making love to her!”

“He didn't!” she cried fiercely. “I mean, we never…”

“Well, thank God for that, at least, though it would still mean your reputation if anyone found out.”

They reached her room, and Jeremy opened the door and pushed her inside. He reached around and took the key from the inside of the lock.

“I'm sorry,” he told Angela, looking shamefaced. “But I can't let you get out and go running back down to the stables.”

Angela shot him a stony look. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of forgiveness. He tried another smile, then backed out of the room and closed the door. Angela heard the key turn in the lock. She turned, looking around her room. It had been her home for her entire life, but now it looked like a prison to her. She threw herself down on her bed and gave way to a storm of tears.

It was two hours before the key turned again in the lock of her door. Angela slid off the bed and faced the door, smoothing her skirts down around her. She had been waiting and dreading and wondering so much that it was a relief to finally face her grandfather. She waited tensely as the door swung inward and her grandfather came in, closing the door after him.

He was by himself, which relieved her further. She had expected him to bring her grandmother and perhaps even her mother with him, to lend their tears and arguments to his, and she had dreaded the prospect of fighting them all. It was bad enough to have to face him. His face was somber and creased with worry. He looked at her for a long moment, letting her see the depth of his disappointment and disapproval. Angela straightened her back and waited him out. Her father had died young, and her grandfather had stood in the role of father, as well as grandfather, to her and Jeremy. She knew that
she owed him loyalty, as well as love, and guilt burned in her at the thought of causing him disappointment, even pain. But she was determined to have the man she loved as well, and she knew she must stand fast if she hoped to grasp the happiness she wanted.

Finally, the Earl began, “He's off the land. You won't be seeing Cameron Monroe again.”

Fear rose up in her, choking off her breath. “What did you do? Did you hurt him?”

“No.” He shrugged. “No more than was necessary to send him packing. But I told him that if he ever shows his face on my land again, I'll give orders to shoot him for trespassing.”

“Grandpapa! I'll never forgive you if you've harmed him!”

“There's no question here of what you will or will not forgive,” he replied harshly. “It's you who should be worrying about earning my forgiveness. You've disgraced the family. It must be your mother's blood in you—running off to tumble in the hay with a stable boy!”

“I am sorry that you feel that way,” Angela replied stiffly.

“How else should I feel? How else
could
I feel? You've betrayed us, thrown everything your grandmother and I have done for you right back in our faces. You're an ungrateful, lecherous wretch of a girl!”

“Then I must suppose you will be happy to be rid of me,” Angela retorted, stiffening her spine against the hurt his words aroused in her.

“You tempt me.” He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “But that young fool Dunstan is still willing to have you. You've fair dazzled him, though God knows he doesn't seem the type to let a girl make him lose his good sense.
After what you've done, I would not expect you to make a decent marriage, let alone one this good. You know it's the connection Lady Margaret and I want—and 'twill save your reputation, as well.”

Angela stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Finally she said, “You think—you actually think that I will agree to marry Lord Dunstan?”

“You will.”

“I won't.” She looked back at him, her face as implacably set as his. “I love Cam. I'll have no one else, least of all that cold fish Dunstan.”

The Earl made a disgusted noise and waved his hand, as if to push aside her sentiments. “Don't give me any of that mawkish drivel about love. Love has nothing to do with marriage, not among our class. Perhaps it's all right for farmers or merchants or mill workers. But a Stanhope marries for family considerations.”

“Sells themself for money, you mean,” Angela shot back. “Well, I refuse to do that. I am going to marry Cameron.”

“You don't
marry
servants. I don't know what maggot's gotten into your head, but you'd best be rid of it quickly. You will marry Lord Dunstan.”

“You cannot force me to marry him—any more than you can stop me from marrying Cam,” Angela pointed out. “You may lock me up, but I can promise that someday, somehow, I will get out of here. Cam will find a way to get me out. We are going to be married, and we will go to America to live, where nobody cares about things like rank. There's nothing you can do to stop our love.”