Impulse (17 page)

Kate whirled and stalked out the door.

C
AM WAS OUT
of his chair and after her in an instant. He grabbed Kate's arm before she could reach the door and spun her around. “To save me!” he growled. “What are you talking about? She did not marry for
my
sake. She wanted the name and the money.”

“She wanted to save
you,
” Kate reiterated.

“How?” Cam's eyes pierced her. “How could her marrying Lord Dunstan have saved me?”

“It was what the Earl told her she must do. If she did not, he said that he would accuse you of stealing that gold dagger they're so proud of, the one that sits in the gallery. A great emerald on the hilt, and smaller jewels marching down the scabbard. Worth a fortune, it is, and he said he would claim it turned up missing when he kicked you off the estate. More than that, he said he would have it put in your cottage somewhere, hidden, so that when the constable came to check on it, he would find it there. They wouldn't need more proof than that, though he was willing to pay for a witness to your stealing it, too, if that was necessary. If Angela had not married that fiend of Satan, Dunstan, you would not have been in the United States the last thirteen years, getting rich. You would have been rotting away in prison! That is what you owe to Angela—everything, including your very freedom. And that's the sacrifice she made for you, giving away her own life to a monster!”

“You are lying.” Cam's words were barely a whisper.

“May the Lord strike me dead if I am,” Kate retorted. “I have always been Her Ladyship's friend—the
only
friend she had, most of the time. Her grandfather locked her in her room that night he found her with you. I couldn't get in to help her, but I was in the room on the other side of hers,
your
bedroom now, when the old man came into her room. I heard it all through the keyhole, plain as if I'd been in the room with them. I will swear to you on the Bible, if you wish it. That is what he told her, and that is why she married Lord Dunstan. Because if she had not married him, your life would have been ruined. It was
you
whose love had no faith, not my lady. You believed the worst of her. And
now—
now you've come back and punished her for saving your life.”

Cam stared at her, dazed, trying to absorb what she had just said. Everything he had believed for the past thirteen years, all that he had built upon, was suddenly revealed as false. And the ache of a pain he had thought long since dead was melting inside him.

“My God,” he breathed.
Angela had never betrayed him.
He felt as if he had had the breath knocked out of him. He felt as if he had been reborn. “Why did she not tell me?”

“Would you have listened to her?”

He remembered the way Angela had come to him when she first returned from her wedding trip with Lord Dunstan, tearful and pleading, begging him to understand. He had turned her away, refusing even to listen to her. He had been so hurt and embittered that he did not allow her to explain what she had done. Now, so many years later, with so much between them, so many irretrievable things done, he had at last listened and understood.

“Angela… Oh, my God. Angela…”

He strode past Kate as if she were not even there, going out of the study and down the hall toward the stairs. With each step, his pace picked up, until by the time he reached the staircase he was running. He took the stairs two at a time and hurried straight to Angela's door, turning the knob and bursting into the room.

Angela was lying in bed, though a low light still burned on the table beside her. She was curled up on her side, her thick flame of hair spread out on the pillow. At Cam's sudden entrance, she shot straight up in bed, her face turning as white as the sheets of her bed. Her fingers curled together.

“Angela,” he began thickly, then stopped, too filled with conflicting emotions to be coherent. She waited tensely, watching him.

He crossed the room to her, and Angela shrank back against the headboard. His eyes were wild and his steps a bit unsteady. As he drew closer, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Fear sizzled along her nerves. She told herself that he had never hurt her, but she knew, too, that she had never seen him drunk before. Dunstan had always been worse when he was drunk.

To her surprise, he dropped to his knees beside the bed, onto the two-step stool she used to climb into her high bed. He reached out and took both her hands in his. His eyes glittered with emotion, and his face was etched with pain.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked. “When I came back, acting like such an idiot, demanding, commanding, treating you as if you had done something wicked… why didn't you tell me how wrong I was? What a fool I had been?”

Angela simply stared at him in amazement.

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing first the back, then the palm, and pressed it against his cheek. Moisture welled in his eyes, astounding her even more.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I have been an idiot. Worse than that. I have been cruel and obstinate and so, so wrong. I have ruined everything. Oh, God, Angel, forgive me.” He laid his head in her lap, wrapping his arms around her, murmuring soft words of endearment and regret.

Touched, Angela laid her hand on his head and stroked it down his hair. “Cam? What are you talking about?”

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Kate told me. She told me about the old Earl making you marry Dunstan. About your sacrificing yourself to save me. Angela, my sweet girl.” He ran a hand down her cheek, caressing her silken skin. “And instead of thanking you, I railed at you. I called you mercenary and wicked.”

He brought up his other hand to cup her face between his hands. “You saved me, and I reviled you. I was the one who didn't have enough trust, enough faith, enough guts.” He rose from the stool and sat down beside her on the bed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead tenderly. “You were tougher, firmer, more courageous, than I.” With each word, he planted another soft kiss upon her brow, her cheeks, her eyes. “I am sorry, Angela, terribly, terribly sorry.”

Angela sat still under his kisses, feeling strangely heavy and boneless. The soft touch of his lips and breath upon her skin stirred her, sending tiny frissons of pleasure shivering through her. His hands slid down her neck
and arms, and his touch was so gentle and undemanding that she did not recoil or even tighten up.

“Then, after I came back, I was cruel. Heartless. Forcing you to marry me, making
you
pay for what your grandfather did to me…when all the time he had done the same or worse to you. It's no wonder you turn away from me. You must hate me now.”

Angela shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “I could never hate you.”

His mouth found hers, and he kissed her deeply. Heat shot through Angela like a flash fire, and she clung to him, her lips pressing back into his. She felt an eagerness, a hunger, she had not experienced for years. Her lips opened beneath his, and Cam's tongue swept into her mouth, igniting her. Angela trembled, lost for the moment in an unaccustomed maelstrom of desire. Cam's skin flamed at her response, and his hand came up to cup her breast through her nightgown. He caressed her breast, rousing the nipple to hardness and sending sparkling, fluttering sensations down through Angela to her abdomen, where they gathered in a pool of heat. A little moan escaped her lips, arousing him even more.

He thrust his hand down the front of her nightgown, taking one luscious white globe in it. He squeezed gently, caressing the nipple with his thumb. Moisture gathered between Angela's legs, and she felt restless and hot, almost out of control. She stirred in his arms.

“Angela…” He moaned her name, and his mouth left hers, trailing hot kisses down the column of her throat and onto her chest. His lips touched the quivering softness of her breast, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He shoved down the front of her gown, exposing her breast, and his mouth moved over it greedily, exploring the
exquisite softness and finding the fleshy button of her nipple. He fastened onto her nipple, enclosing it in the soft, damp heat of his mouth. His tongue moved lazily over the bud, making it harden and lengthen.

Angela gasped at the delightful sensation, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Cam straightened suddenly, and his hands went to the fastening of her gown, undoing the ribbon at the top with one swift jerk, so that the wide neckline sagged open. He shoved the chemise and the bodice back and down off her arms, gazing all the while at her breasts as he exposed them. His eyes glittered with passion, and his face was slack and flushed, hungry. He reached out and covered her breasts with his hands.

Angela stiffened. Suddenly the realization of her nakedness rushed in on her, and the hot, pleasurable sensations that had been pulsing through her body vanished. She felt cold and humiliated at being before Cam with her bosom exposed. She let out a strangled little cry and scrambled off the bed, grabbing the nightgown and pulling it back up over her.

“Angela!” Cam followed her, still too lost in his own passion to realize what she was doing, his hands reaching out to take her arms.

When he grasped her, Angela went completely stiff and looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “No! Don't! Don't touch me!”

His hands dropped away. “Oh, God. You're scared of me. I've ruined it, haven't I?”

He swung away, shoving his hands back into his hair. “The things I did, the way I've treated you—you
do
hate me.”

“No! No, Cam, it's not your fault that I cannot—”
Angela stopped, tears welling in her eyes. She swallowed and looked down. “It is I. I am cold.”

“Cold? You? Never. I cannot believe that. You were always so full of life, so full of passion. It was marrying a man you did not love. It was me turning away from you, punishing you for saving me….”

He came over to her and took her hands. Earnestly he said, “Let me make it up to you, Angela. Let me take care of you, make you happy. Let me try to win you back. I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. But I want this chance— Come to Scotland with me. It will be our honeymoon.”

Her eyes widened, and he hurriedly added, “No, no, I will not press you to sleep with me. I swear it. I will do nothing you do not want me to. I just want to be with you. We can spend a couple of weeks in the Highlands. It is supposed to be lovely there. You can sketch and take long walks, and we'll just relax and try to get to know one another again.”

Angela gazed at him. The notion of leaving the castle was a little frightening to her. She had not been away from Bridbury since her divorce; she felt safe and secure here. The thought of going off alone with Cam, without family or friends and in unfamiliar surroundings, made her stomach clench. And yet…the idea intrigued her. Dear and familiar as Bridbury was, it had been four years since she had left it, four years since she had seen or done anything different. The idea of going somewhere new, of seeing and doing new things, was exciting, as well.

“Please, Angela,” he urged her. “Just give me this chance.”

“All right.” She smiled at him tremulously. “All right. Let's go to Scotland.”

 

Cam set out to woo Angela. She knew that was what he was doing, and she tried to steel herself against it, but she found that she could not. It was simply much too enjoyable being around Cam when he was charming. They went riding together and spent quiet evenings by the fire, talking. He had one of the servants bring a vase of freshly cut flowers to her room every morning. He made friends with her dogs and even managed to bring the cats to tolerate him.

But he never tried to kiss her or touch her, except to take her arm politely. Even when they set out on their honeymoon, he was scrupulously careful to have separate hotel rooms in York and Edinburgh. Aboard the train between the two cities, they shared a cabin, and at first Angela was alarmed by the small size of the compartment and the closeness of the two berths. However, Cam politely managed to absent himself for a period of time in the evening and the morning so that she could dress and perform her toilette in private, and he made no advances toward her, merely slept in his berth, as if they were not husband and wife, but only friends.

Angela found herself relaxing and enjoying the trip. They spent two days in Edinburgh, sightseeing. Although she had been born and reared in the North of England, she had never visited Scotland. She gave herself up to the joys of exploring a new city; it was fun to do with Cam, who seemed perfectly willing to track down whatever church or historical site caught her fancy in the guidebook.

The next two weeks at a lodge in the Highlands were idyllic. It was a picturesque place, nestled beside a loch at the foot of a craggy hill, and their host was a voluble Scotsman named McGregor who was never without a
story to tell. They had a suite of rooms, with a small sitting area as well as two bedrooms. Angela was grateful for Cam's consideration in reserving it. Though they had had separate rooms in the hotels, she had been afraid that they would be expected to share a room in the more intimate and rustic lodge.

Their days were long and lazy. Cam went fishing once or twice with one of the other guests, a mill owner from Manchester, and Angela went shopping for fine Scottish wools down in the village with his wife. But most of the time, they spent the hours together—walking, climbing the hill behind the lodge, riding sturdy Shetland ponies through the glens, or just sitting in peaceful lassitude in one of the public rooms of the lodge. The other guests, who had been told by their hosts that Cam and Angela were honeymooning, typically left them to their own devices.

Angela spent much of her time, wherever they went, making sketches in her pad. At first she was a little reluctant to draw with Cam around, but as he did not press her to show him what she drew and never took the pad from her hand to study and critique her work, she soon grew at ease with him and sketched to her heart's content.