Impulse (21 page)

“No, no. I was not wanting to complain to the rector. I simply thought that perhaps he might have been here at the time. He might remember something about things that happened. Or he might know what had happened to the missing page.”

“Oh. Well…he's terribly busy, of course, but let me
see if he will see you.” He carefully put the parish register back up in its cabinet and locked the door, then left the room. He returned a few minutes later, with a mild-looking man with thinning hair who wore a clerical collar. He was slender and ascetic, with a lugubrious expression, which the lines in his face suggested was not an uncommon look for him.

Cam introduced himself and Angela, and explained what he wished to know. Even before he began to speak, however, Angela suspected that the rector would be of little help. His thinning hair was premature; the face beneath the hair looked far too young for him to know anything about events that had taken place thirty-four years earlier.

“I am so sorry,” the rector said, confirming Angela's suspicions. “But I am afraid that was many years before I was at Saint Andrew's. Everson tells me that the page from that year is missing, as well. Terrible business. And most puzzling. I cannot imagine what could have become of it. We are always very careful with our records. Of course, before I came here, things were a little more—shall we say, loose? Reverend Cunningham was getting a wee bit on in years, as was his clerk.”

“Reverend Cunningham?” Angela asked. “Was he the rector here then?”

“Yes. He was here for years and years—oh, I would say for thirty-five years—and he retired three years ago. Yes, he would definitely have been here then.” The rector gave her a tight smile. “Very beloved by the parishioners, of course.”

“Of course. Is, ah, the old gentleman still alive?”

“Oh, quite. He went to live with his daughter in England. Let me see, I believe it was in Buckinghamshire.
Would you like to have his address? I have it in the office.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be very nice.”

“What about the clerk?” Cam asked. “You said that the clerk was getting up in years, too.”

If possible, the rector's face pulled into even more somber lines. “I regret to say that Mr. MacEwan passed on last year. A chill in the lungs, I believe.”

He left and returned a few moments later with a slip of paper on which he had written Reverend Cunningham's address. Angela took it with a smile, thanking the minister, and she and Cam took their leave.

“Well, that was odd enough,” Cam commented as they strolled back toward the Black Swan.

“Yes. Do you think that that page was taken because it had your birth date in it?”

“It seems absurd.”

“Yes, I suppose so. And yet…”

When she did not go on, Cam prompted her. “And yet?”

“I don't know. It is just so odd that that particular page was missing. “It's awfully coincidental, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “There are coincidences in life. And we don't know that that is the only page missing. We didn't go through the whole register, searching. Perhaps lots of people have torn out pages. There may be several of them missing.”

“Frankly, I don't see how anyone could have taken a page, not with that gimlet-eyed creature watching them.”

“Probably happened years ago, while the other one was still there. He was old, they said, and possibly he wasn't as suspicious as this one.”

Cam looked over at Angela. She was deep in thought,
a little crease of worry lining her forehead in a way that he found utterly appealing. He continued to study her. She was his favorite thing to watch, and he found himself looking at her time after time throughout the day.

She had not tried to fix his affection. She was plainer and older, much of her former fire quenched. And she had done her best to keep him away from her. Despite all that, he had grown more and more fascinated by her every day. When he found out that she had not betrayed him all those years ago but had married a man she did not love, a man she hardly knew, in order to save him, his heart had slipped even more into her keeping. He was falling in love with her all over again—or perhaps he had never really stopped, had only fooled himself into thinking he was cured of her for the past several years.

But there was a wall between them as well, a barrier that he was beginning to despair of crossing. No matter how warm she seemed toward him, no matter how sweetly she smiled or how animatedly she talked, there was always a part of her that was cut off from him. If he touched her or kissed her, she stiffened. She would not let him make love to her, seemed repulsed, in fact, by the idea. He was beginning to think that her aversion to him was simply too strong, that he would never be able to make her love him again. That he was doomed to live forever as her husband, but not as her lover.

These past two weeks had been a strange mixture of heaven and hell. The time had been sweet. There had been moments when it almost seemed the same as it had once been between them. They had talked and laughed, had lived more as husband and wife than they had at any time since their wedding. However, he had sworn
to her that he would not push her, would not touch her, would not even try to seduce her. If he broke his vow, she would lose all faith in him, all trust. But being with her all the time and unable to take her into his arms, to kiss her and caress her as he wanted to, was driving him mad. He wanted her constantly, frustration making his desire even keener and more demanding.

Angela glanced up at him and smiled. “What are you going to do now? About finding out about your birth, I mean?”

Cam smiled back down at her. Finding out about his birth had assumed a far less important role in his calculations than changing his relationship with his wife.

“Probably very little,” he answered her. “I think we've done almost all we can. I suppose I could look through Mother's things again. Perhaps this time, knowing more about what happened, I might notice something new.”

“I will help you, if you like. A different perspective might be what's needed. I might see something that you would not because you were close to her.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“We can write the old minister. If it seems as if he might know anything, we could even go visit him, talk to him.”

“Yes. And I would like to visit my other uncle in Edinburgh. I don't think I will learn much from him, since he was younger than my mother. She would not have taken him into her confidence. But it will be good to be able to claim some family.”

“We are your family,” Angela surprised him by saying. “The Stanhopes. You are one of us now.”

He glanced at her a little skeptically. “Me? A seamstress's son? Somehow I find it hard to believe that your grandmother has gathered me to her bosom.”

“Well, that is a sight I would like to see,” Angela retorted. “I cannot recall anyone whom Grandmama ever ‘gathered to her bosom.' But she regards you as a Stanhope by marriage, and even, which is grander in her mind, a Grey.”

Cam raised an eyebrow in amusement. “The family she came from, I presume?”

“Of course. For while her own father was a mere baron, her family claims kinship with Lady Jane Grey.”

So, chatting in this light way, they continued back to the Black Swan. There was little left for them to do in Carnmore, so they hired a coach to take them to Edinburgh. There they went to the address that Mrs. Stewart had given them for Cam's uncle William.

A smiling young woman answered the door, gazing at them with undisguised curiosity. She showed them into the parlor and a moment later, a short, stockily built, middle-aged man came into the room.

“I'm William Stewart,” he said with a faint question in his tone.

Cam introduced Angela and himself, then went on. “My mother was named Grace.”

“Grace!” The older man stared at him in astonishment. “Not—not Grace Stewart!”

“Yes. I believe she was.”

“My God! I have a nephew!” He let out a whoop and clasped Cam's arms, staring at him intently. “Aye, you have the Stewart look about you, even if you are a tall one.”

He called to his wife and children and introduced the large brood to them. All of them insisted that Cam and Angela stay for a visit. They spent a lively afternoon
with them and shared their evening meal, and it was with some reluctance that Cam parted from them.

However, they had tickets for the night train to York, so at last they had to pull themselves away and take a hack to the train station. They boarded the train, and soon after it left the city, they started toward the dining car to eat.

As they stepped out onto the connecting platform between one car and the next, the door behind them bounced open, and a man burst out. Startled by the sudden noise, they turned toward the door. The stranger, who wore a dark suit and a hat pulled low on his forehead, barreled across the platform. Just as he passed Cam, he lurched suddenly to the side and knocked into Cam.

Caught by surprise, Cam stumbled and came up sharply against the low metal railing. He would have caught himself there had it not been for the stranger, who, as he fell, grabbed for Cam for support. His movement shoved Cam sideways along the railing and he fell against the gate in the center of the railing. Normally the gate was closed and fastened while the train was in motion, then opened for the passengers to embark and disembark at the station. However, now, when Cam hit the gate, the latch popped up under the force of the blow, the gate swung open, and Cam fell backward through the opening.

Angela shrieked, her arms reaching out futilely toward him. The stranger did not pause or even look back. As soon as he hit Cam, he barged forward again and was through the door into the next car. Angela darted across the platform to the other side and looked out.

Cam had not fallen completely off the train. As he
fell, he had grabbed the railing, and now he was clinging to it for dear life. Angela reached out, bracing herself against the railing, and grabbed two fistfuls of Cam's coat. She held on with all her strength, leaning back and pulling desperately. He managed to throw a leg up and catch his foot on the folded-up step. He struggled to rise, while Angela strained to pull him up, but the force of the wind against the speeding train was too great. All he could do was cling, fighting to keep his purchase.

Angela screamed for help, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the train and the wind. She knew she was not strong enough to hold him long, and she was afraid that his arm, still weakened from the bullet wound, would give way. Panicked, she dug her fingers in even tighter, sobbing. She could feel him slipping gradually out of her grasp.

“I
SAY!” A VOICE
boomed behind Angela, and suddenly two huge hands reached down and clamped on Cam's upper arms. Angela glanced up, astonished, and saw a very large gentleman with a great sandy-colored walrus mustache leaning over the railing behind her.

“I've got him, miss!” he shouted cheerfully. “You just move aside now!”

Angela's logic told her that she was merely in the large man's way now, but she was terrified to let go of Cam. She continued to cling to his coat, even after the man started pulling him up. With the extra lift from the stranger, Cam used the leverage of his feet against the step to push himself up. The stranger gave a mighty yank, and suddenly Cam was up and over the railing. All three of them went tumbling in a heap on the floor.

Angela threw her arms around Cam, heedless of the stranger or their undignified sprawl on the floor or anything else. “Cam, oh, Cam, thank God!”

She was trembling all over. He wrapped his arms around her just as tightly, burying his face in her neck and knocking her bonnet askew.

“I thought you were dead!” Angela began to cry. “I saw you go flying off, and I thought I'd never see you again!”

“I thought so, too.”

“Devil of a thing!” The stranger's voice boomed as
he struggled to his feet, drawing Cam's and Angela's attention back to him.

They scrambled to their feet, too. Cam shook the other man's hand fervently, thanking him.

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Angela added, giving the stranger an impulsive hug. “I don't know what I would have done if you had not come out.”

“Oh, no need to thank me.” The big man looked acutely embarrassed. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not just ‘anyone' would have been able to.”

“Oh, well, suppose not. We Dortons tend to run on the large side. Oh, Major Anthony Dorton, at your service.”

“Cameron Monroe. And this is my wife, Angela.”

“Mrs. Monroe.” The big man bowed to her.

“We are so lucky you came along,” Angela told him. She did not even notice that she had snuggled up against Cam's side or that his arm had gone protectively around her shoulders. She was merely aware of his warmth, for she was shivering all over.

“I guess it's one time my vice of smoking cigars came in handy, what?” Dorton let out a hearty chuckle. “But what happened here, anyway?” He looked toward the gap, where the gate hung loose and was clanging against the railing. “Gate come loose?”

“Yes. Someone bumped against me, and I fell against the gate. I guess it wasn't properly latched, because it came flying open, and I fell out.”

The major shook his head. “Dreadful accident.”

“It wasn't an accident,” Angela said stonily.

Cam turned toward her, his eyes searching her face, but he said nothing.

The major looked astonished. “I say…not an accident? What do you mean? What else could it be?”

“Murder.”

Dorton's jaw dropped.

“Why do you think it wasn't an accident?” Cam asked.

“It just—it wasn't
right.
” She paused, thinking back to the brief moment. “First of all, the train didn't make any sudden movement when he fell against you. Neither you nor I moved. I suppose he could have twisted his ankle or something, but it didn't really look like it. It looked contrived. When he hit you, he didn't pull back or straighten up. He shoved you down the railing, right into the gate. And afterward, he charged off without a word of apology or concern or even a glance to see if you were all right.”

“Mmm… Bad form,” the major commented, frowning.

“It's more than that. You know, when you are surprised, you stop. You're immobilized. But he moved right along. I don't think he was surprised at all. Besides, one minute, he was terribly clumsy, lurching into Cam that way, and the next he'd nimbly recovered and was darting through the door.”

“It does sound suspicious,” the major agreed. He strolled over to the railing, where the gate still hung open, and bent to examine the latch. “Well.” He poked at the latch and pulled out something, holding it up for them to see. “Look at this.”

Angela and Cam leaned closer. Dorton was holding a very small block of wood between his forefinger and thumb. “This was jammed into the latch. That is why it wouldn't close.”

Cam took the piece of wood from him and examined it. “Looks damned suspicious, doesn't it?”

“I have to admit, it does.” The major shook his head. “Obviously someone would have had to put that little piece in there, so that the gate looked closed, but would fly open under the slightest pressure. Anyone might have leaned against that thing and fallen off.”

Cam nodded. “Yes. However, I have the feeling that it was meant for me.”

“Good God, why?”

“It's happened before,” Angela said flatly. “Someone took a shot at him when he was riding on our estate. I thought it was a poacher, but it seems unlikely now.”

“Bad business.” Dorton looked nonplussed.

Cam smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, the danger's over now. I guess I shall simply have to be on my guard in the future. We were just going in to dinner, Major. Won't you join us?”

The major made a slight protest, but went into the dining car with them. He was an interesting dinner companion, with little of the rigidity of thinking or the provincialism that Angela had found in many military men. He had served in India, but he had left the army, and since then he had traveled the world, exploring. He told them about Africa and India and the Far East.

“Next trip will be to Brazil,” he said, with a grin. “I've always wanted to explore the Amazon.”

He was equally interested in Cam and Angela. He asked Cam numerous questions about the United States, and he determined that he was remotely connected to Angela's sister-in-law, Rosemary, through one of his cousins. By the time they were through with their meal, they felt as if they were old friends.

“You shall have to come visit me if you are ever in
London,” he told them heartily. “Meet my grandmother. Splendid old girl, full of vim and vinegar. Doesn't get out much anymore, though. That's why I was in Scotland. Her brother died, and I had to take care of things for her.”

They promised him that they would indeed look him up whenever they were in London, and then they separated, going to their respective compartments. Angela, who had managed to forget somewhat during the dinner conversation about the fright they had had earlier, remembered it vividly as they walked across the platform to their car. The major had reported the broken gate to the conductor when they went to dinner, and Angela saw that it had been tied shut. Still, it made her shiver, and she hurried across the platform.

When they were back in their compartment, she turned to Cam. “What are we going to do?”

“Well,” he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it up, “I am planning on lying down and getting some sleep.”

Angela grimaced. “You know what I mean. About that man who tried to kill you earlier.”

“Not much I
can
do. I have no idea what he looks like. Do you?”

“No. He had his face hidden with that hat and his coat collar.”

“So I can hardly prowl through the entire train looking for him. Nor can we describe him to the authorities.”

“But what if he tries again?”

“I shall simply have to be very careful from here on.”

“You seem awfully calm about the fact that someone is trying to murder you.”

“What should I do? Run about in a tizzy? It would hardly help the situation.”

“It's the slyness of it that worries me.” Angela sat down on the berth, which was already made out into a bed, and began to unbutton her shoes. “You have no idea where it's going to come from or what shape it is going to take.” She paused, then went on. “Am I still your prime suspect?”

Cam grinned crookedly and knelt in front of her, propping her foot on his knee and taking over the task of unbuttoning her shoes. “It seems unlikely, given the fact that you grabbed my coat and held on to keep me from falling.”

“Then you trust me?”

“Why would you hire someone to kill me, then try to save me? Of course, it could have been for show, but there was no one there to see it.”

“Until the major came out.”

“Yes.” He pulled off the shoe, his hand gliding caressingly over her foot. He knew it was foolish of him to touch even her feet this way; it took almost nothing to put a flame to his desire these days. But he could not resist the opportunity to do so. “However, if you had not held on,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal, “I would probably have been long gone by the time he did come out, and you could have thrown yourself on him hysterically. Besides, what kind of a fool would hire someone to get rid of her husband, then have him attack the husband when she was with him and had no alibi to show that she did not do it herself? No, I think we have to acquit you of the crime.”

He started on the other foot.

“But not my family,” Angela said.

“No. They still have the same reasons to get rid of me, and none of the excuses you do.”

“But in one way, at least, the same thing applies to them. Why would any of them hire someone to kill you while I am with you? I might very well receive the blame.”

“True. I am sure that neither Jeremy nor your mother nor grandmother would wish that. Of course, I guess they might not have thought of that, or perhaps the assassin did not understand, or disobeyed his orders.” He sighed. “But it makes it unlikely enough that I have to consider others who might be behind the ‘accidents.'”

He slipped the second shoe from her foot, too, holding her slender ankle just a moment too long before he set her foot down and stood up.

“Thank goodness. But then who do you suppose it might be?” Angela felt a little odd and breathless. Even though Cam had not done anything sexual when he took off her shoes, she had found that it did odd things to her stomach. Just the heat of his hand on her ankle, the caress of his fingers through her stockings as he slipped the shoe off, had stirred sensations in her that she would rather not think about.

“That's the problem,” Cam admitted. “I can't think of anyone else it could be. There is no one in the United States who dislikes me enough to have me murdered, at least not that I know of. I am not so universally disliked as you might suppose. And if there was someone, why did he not do it there, rather than following me over here? It makes no sense. I don't even know anyone in England except your family. Of course, I suppose it could be Mr. Pettigrew….”

Angela made a face at his mild joke. “Perhaps you ought to tell the authorities.”

“The authorities?” His eyebrows rose. “I don't think so.”

“Why? Because you think it will turn out to be someone in my family?”

“As long as there is that possibility, it seems a rash thing to do.” He sat down beside her. There was an intimate feeling to sitting with her on the bed, especially in this tiny room. Cam felt a familiar flicker of heat in his loins.

“It just can't be,” Angela protested. “I know Jeremy. And the idea of my mother doing it is absurd.”

“I will excuse Lady Laura from the list of suspects,” he conceded. “Though I'm not so sure about your grandmother.”

“Oh, Grandmama is much more capable of murder,” Angela admitted calmly. “At least as far as temperament is concerned. But the means and opportunity—I don't think so. I have seen no stranger visiting her recently, and I doubt very seriously if she could persuade the butler to contact an assassin for her. But it could not be Jeremy, Cam.”

“Well, we won't settle this right now. And you need to change.” He reached for his jacket and put it back on. However delightful it was to be with Angela like this, it was too painful to do it for long. Already desire was rising in him like sap, and he was having difficulty keeping his mind on the conversation. “I think I will take the opportunity to step out and smoke a cigar.”

Angela nodded. She appreciated his thoughtfulness in creating a chance for her to undress alone. But tonight she was as worried about him as she was modest. “Wait! What if that man comes back? You might get hurt.”

“I doubt he'll try again this soon. He's probably sit-
ting on the train somewhere, thinking that I am dead. I'll be fine.”

“No. I—I can change with you in here. You could just turn your back to me.”

Cam realized the trust she was showing in him, but he felt as if she were putting him on the rack. He turned away from her, staring at the closed door. Behind him, less than a foot away, she began to undress. He closed his eyes, listening to the rustle of clothing as she unfastened her dress and slipped out of it. He imagined her standing there in only her petticoats and chemise. He thought of her breasts pressing against the thin cloth of the chemise, the large pinkish-brown nipples visible through the material. He could hear the petticoats swishing to the floor one by one, and he pictured her in only her pantalets and chemise. The stockings would probably come next, he thought, aware that his manhood was straining against his trousers.

He knew he should put his mind on something else, but he could not. All he could think of was Angela pulling off her garters and rolling each stocking down her leg. He ached to be the one doing it, to glide his hands down her leg as he removed the stocking. He imagined her pulling off the chemise and pantalets, standing naked there before she dropped the nightgown over her head. Sweat stood out on his forehead; the room seemed suddenly stifling. He braced his hands against the door to keep from turning and reaching out for her. He wondered how he was going to make it through the night now, with this kind of start. He would probably lie awake all night, thinking of her soft body in the berth below him.