Impulse (33 page)

“Good. Good.” He nodded and smiled as Cam whisked Angela out of the house and into the carriage.

The carriage moved smoothly forward. Cam slipped his arm around Angela, pulling her close to his side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It was just such a shock that for a minute I felt dizzy.” Angela swiveled to look Cam in the face. “Cam…”

“Yes, I know. My father is the same as Dunstan's. I am the
brother
of that fiend you married.” A fierce emotion blazed in his eyes. “Their blood runs in my veins!”

“Cam, we don't know for sure that he is the man your mother fell in love with.”

“It all fits. An English gentleman, staying at a nearby summer house. Lord Freestone's house was not far from Carnmore, and he thinks Arthur, the future Lord Dunstan, was smitten with a girl from that town, a girl whose name he thinks was Grace Stewart. How much more evidence do we need? And if we need some, try this—I obviously got my coloring from my mother's family, but not my height. You notice, I trust, that both my uncles were short. But Lord Dunstan is much the same height as I.”

“Yes.” Angela nodded reluctantly. She looked at Cam. She had never thought about it before, but his build was much the same as Dunstan, except more muscled.

“We were looking for a rotter, a man who would seduce a woman and then abandon her and their child. I have no doubt that the older Lord Dunstan would fit that part, given the wickedness of his son. They say the apple does not fall far from the tree.” His voice was laced with bitterness.

“But that does not apply to you!” Angela cried softly, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. His muscles were as hard as iron under her fingers.

“Why not? I am his son, too. God, Angela, how can you even bear to sit beside me, knowing that I am Dunstan's brother?”

“You are only his half brother. You had a mother as well, not just a father, and it was she who raised you. You were not influenced by your father every day of your life, as Dunstan was. Your mother brought you up to be good and decent, and you are. You are not the same kind of man as they, just because their blood runs in your veins.”

“I wish I had never set out to learn who my father was. I should have left it alone. My mother obviously had good reason for keeping it hidden from me. I understood that he was not a good man, but I told myself that it did not matter. I just had to know who he was, who
I
was. But now…I suppose that was not all I wanted. I wanted, I guess, to find out that there had been some mistake. That he had not been a bad man, that he had loved her, loved me. I hoped that you were right, that he had died or that they had somehow been torn apart. When the rector told us that he had actually married her, I started to hope that maybe those things were true, that he had loved her enough to marry her, that he was a man of honor. But obviously not. He was married to Dunstan's mother already, and he used my mother most abominably, pretending to marry her, letting her think she was his lawful wife. No wonder she does not have the marriage certificate. She must have found out that it was worthless. I would rather be anyone's son than his.”

“None of us choose his or her parents. It is not something that is a fault of yours.”

“Perhaps not. But it is scarcely something that I can be proud of, either.” He sighed. “What if those tendencies
are inside me, waiting to come out? I was not good or kind when I forced you to marry me. It was not Christian forgiveness I felt for your grandfather. I wanted revenge, and I got it, even though it meant taking it out on your brother and you. What if those things are an indication of what I truly am?”

“Those are indications that you are human,” Angela retorted, sliding up against him as close as she could and linking her arm through his. She leaned her head against his arm. “I love you, Cam, and I know that you are a good man. You haven't always been kind, but you were hurt yourself, and you did not know the facts of the matter.”

“I am not sure that is an adequate excuse.”

“My dearest, darling idiot—trust me. I know you, and I know Dunstan, and the two of you are nothing alike, except in your height. It would never even occur to Dunstan to wonder if something that he had done was wicked. Evil means nothing to him. All he cares about is getting what he wants, and he does not find it strange that he receives pleasure out of hurting other people. That is what a truly wicked person is like. They don't even realize that goodness exists. If they see it, they laugh at it or try to destroy it. You are not that kind of man, and I see no reason to think that you will change into one suddenly, just because you find out that your father was a bad man.”

“I know. Still, it is hard for me to accept in my heart.”

They were silent for a long moment. Angela turned to face Cam and said quietly, “It is Dunstan who has been trying to kill you.”

He nodded. “I was thinking that myself.”

“I suspected him before, but I thought I must be
wrong, because he had no reason to try to murder you, except to try to get back at me. I did not think that was enough, even for Dunstan. You know, he said something odd to me the other night at the opera. He said something like ‘When your husband is gone, you will belong to me again.'”

“Never.” He wrapped his arms around her, as if he needed to protect her from Dunstan right there.

“It seemed strange at the time. But now it makes sense. He intended for you to be gone. He was trying to kill you.”

“He must know who I am. His father probably told him about his other marriage and the child from it. No doubt he is afraid that I either know the true story or will find it out, and that I will let the world know that his father was a bigamist.”

“It would be an awful scandal,” Angela agreed. “Especially when his family has already had to endure the disgrace of his divorce. He weathered it better than I, but this would be much too much for anyone to overlook. And position is important to Dunstan. I think it was the scandal, more than anything else, that made him angry that I left him.”

“He's a fool. As if I would go about telling everyone that I am illegitimate and my father was a lying, deceitful bounder.”

“Dunstan is not always logical.”

“Dunstan is not always sane.”

Angela giggled, then looked up at her husband in amazement. “My goodness. The most astonishing thing just happened.”

“What?”

“You made me laugh at Dunstan. I never thought that I would reach the day when I could laugh, or even smile,
about anything having to do with him.” She gave him a dazzling smile and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Cam, I love you. I love you more than anything!”

O
N THE RIDE
home, Angela and Cam discussed the matter thoroughly. They agreed that the only way to stop Dunstan was for Cam to meet with him and explain that as long as he and Angela met with no harm, he would say nothing about their bigamous father. However, Cam would also tell him that he was sending a letter to his solicitor explaining the full scandal, and that it would be opened if any harm, whether accidental or intentional, came to either him or Angela. Accordingly, Cam sat down that evening as soon as they got home and penned a terse note, explaining that he wished to meet with Dunstan and suggesting a time and place. He said nothing else, trusting in Dunstan's curiosity and self-interest to bring him to the meeting.

Angela left Cam at home the next morning, waiting to hear from Dunstan and attending to several matters of business with Mr. Pettigrew, while she went shopping with Kate. This time they were setting out on the thoroughly delightful task of commissioning a wedding gown and trousseau for Kate. She had agreed to marry Mr. Pettigrew, who now went about beaming nonsensically most of the time. Cam had insisted on giving away the bride. To this end, he had charged Angela with making sure that Kate had all the proper clothes and accessories.

Kate had protested that he was doing far too much
for her, but Angela would have none of it. She knew that Cam was not merely giving a present to an old friend or even doing it for the benefit of his well-liked assistant. He felt an enormous obligation to Kate for having helped Angela get away from Dunstan, and though he could never hope to repay her for her bravery and kindness, he felt almost as if she were family, for what she had done.

Once Angela had overcome Kate's objections and protestations, they settled down to a delicious round of shopping. By the time they returned home in the middle of the afternoon, they were wearied, but quite pleased with their progress. The wedding dress had been commissioned, the material and style chosen, and a start had been made on her trousseau.

A footman opened the door to them and, to their amazement, let out a strange sound, half gulp, half snort, and stood staring at them as if he had been turned to stone. Angela raised an eyebrow and stepped past him into the hall.

Kate, less reticent, said, “Here, now, what are you gawking at?”

“My lady!” he gasped out at last. “But how— Where— We thought you was dead!”

“I beg your pardon?” Angela looked at him blankly. “Henry, have you been drinking?”

“No, ma'am, I swear. Oh, my. Wait here, my lady, please.”

Angela and Kate exchanged puzzled looks as the footman rushed off. Within seconds, he was back, their portly butler following him with surprising speed. He, too, stopped and gaped at the women.

“My lady! What a blessing!” he cried. “But, oh, dear,
what are we to do? Now you have returned—and the master is gone!”

“Chesworth,” Angela said briskly, contemplating the efficacy of slapping the man to restore his wits, “would you kindly stop mumbling this way and tell me what is going on? What do you mean, the master has gone? Where is Mr. Monroe?”

“I don't know!” he moaned. “Oh, my lady, this is bad, so very, very bad.”

A chill touched Angela's heart, banishing the irritation she had felt. She stepped forward and took the butler's arm in a tight grip. Her eyes flashed. “
What
is bad? What has happened to Mr. Monroe? Tell me this instant, or you will find yourself sitting in the street outside, no recommendations to your name. Now, pull yourself together, and tell me what is going on.”

“Yes, my lady.” He straightened. “Mr. Monroe received word an hour or so ago that you had been hurt. Hit by a runaway carriage. The boy who came said he would show him where, and the two of them took off. But Mr. Pettigrew heard, and, of course, he was concerned about Miss Kate, so he hurried after them. He hadn't quite caught up with them when Mr. Monroe and the boy reached the Park. All of a sudden, two ruffians jumped out and fell upon Mr. Monroe!”

Kate let out a gasp, but Angela said nothing, only turned as pale as death.

“Mr. Pettigrew yelled at them and started running toward them, but he couldn't reach them in time. They had a carriage, and they threw a big black cloth over Mr. Monroe and tossed him into the carriage. They jumped in, too, and the thing took off. By the time Mr. Pettigrew reached the spot, it was half a block away. Mr. Pettigrew has gone to the authorities. He's been half out
of his mind, what with worrying over Miss Kate, as well as the master.”

“Nothing happened to us. There was no accident. It was a ruse.” For a moment, terror overtook Angela. She could think of nothing except the fact that Cam was gone. She wanted to scream and give way to hysterics, but one glance at the butler's addled face, and she knew she could not. She was the only one here to deal with it, the only one with any hope of saving Cam's life.

She turned toward Kate. “Dunstan's got him. I am sure of it. When Cam sent him that note asking for a meeting, it must have frightened him into making a last desperate attempt. They will take him to the estate, I think. It's only a two-hour trip from London, but it will afford him the privacy to do whatever foul deed he has in mind. The London house would be too chancy. Someone might see him or hear him.”

Unless, of course, he had taken him to some other place that Angela had no knowledge of…
Sternly she forced the thought out of her mind. No, she knew Dunstan, and he preferred to do his dirty work at home in the country, on his vast estate, with loyal servants. That was where he felt most comfortable, most in control.

“Chesworth, have one of the grooms saddle my horse. I am going after them.”

“My lady!” He looked shocked to the depths of his soul, but after one piercing look from Angela, he did not expostulate further, merely nodded and said, “Yes, my lady.” He turned to the footman and snapped out an order.

“I am going with you,” Kate told Angela firmly.

“No. You cannot. You would only slow me down. Besides, you must lead the others to Dunstan's estate. Pettigrew and the authorities. Major Dorton!” Her eyes lit
up. “He is the very one to send for. Kate, go to his house as fast as you can and explain to him what happened. He is a man of action, and he has helped us before. Tell him I beg him to go with you to Gresmere Park. It will take someone like him to make the authorities go chasing out to a peer's estate. And if they refuse, well, he is the best I can think of to have on our side in a fight. You come as quickly as you can with him and Pettigrew. You will explain to Jason what has happened.”

Kate nodded. She reached out and took her mistress's hand and squeezed it. “Take care, my lady.”

Kate hurried out of the house in search of a hack to take her to the major's house. Angela turned back to the befuddled Chesworth. “Where is a gun?”

The butler goggled even more at her.

Angela snapped her fingers impatiently. “Come on, man, Cam's life depends on us. I need a gun, a handgun, and ammunition.”

He blinked. “Ah, there's a gun case in the study. It's locked.”

Angela hurried into the study and opened the top desk drawer, searching for the key. She found the small key and unlocked the case, prepared to smash the glass if the key did not work. Hastily she removed a revolver and a box of ammunition and dropped them both into the capacious pocket of her dress. She turned and hurried back to the front door. The groom had jumped at the footman's command and was already bringing her mare around from the mews. Angela knew she would look a spectacle in her day dress and bonnet, instead of a riding habit, but she had no time to change. She ran out of the house and let the groom throw her up into the saddle. Then she nudged the mare in the side and started out of London at a brisk pace.

Angela refused to think of what lay ahead of her. She would not think of Dunstan or the house to which she was riding, the house she had escaped from four years ago in terror, vowing never to return. Instead, she concentrated on getting the best speed out of her swift little horse without running her into the ground. She would make better time than a carriage, she was sure, particularly when she got closer to the house and could take shortcuts across fields and over fences, instead of going the longer way around by the road. And if she knew Dunstan, he would take his sweet time about killing Cam. There was nothing he loved so much as having someone in his power, and Cam, she thought, must be the man he most hated in the whole world—the man who held his wife's heart and who could, moreover, bring about his social ruin. No, Dunstan would want to toy with him first. Awful as that thought was, it meant that Cam was probably still alive.

Outside the village of Gresmere, she left the road, cutting across the fields. The mare, tired though she was, still had plenty of heart, and she took the low stone fence with room to spare. Angela gave the mare her head through the meadow and sailed across the narrow stream that lay beyond it. After that, she wound through the long, narrow finger of woods that bordered Gresmere Park on the east. When she emerged through the trees, she could see the house itself before her.

She reined the horse to a halt. The house stood on a slight rise at some distance before her. A long, rolling green swath of land stretched between her and the house. To one side lay the tall, dark green hedges of the maze. The house itself was a graceful stone structure, centuries old. Its mullioned windows flashed in the sunlight, and ivy grew up the side. A small formal garden lay directly
beside the house, dotted with the colors of flowers. It looked peaceful and homey.

To Angela, it looked like hell. She could not see it without feeling sick at her stomach. She sat for a long moment, unable to move. Cold fear blossomed in her abdomen and spread through her. She began to tremble.
She could not go close to that place. She could not.
Yet she knew that she must.

She forced her numbed legs to move, and she swung down from the saddle, tying her horse among the trees. There was no cover closer to the house. The horse would be obvious to anyone glancing out the window, and someone would come to investigate. Of course, if anyone happened to look out while she was crossing the grass, she would be lost, anyway, but she tried not to think about that.

She loaded the gun with trembling fingers, then thrust it back into her pocket. She slipped across the grass, hurrying toward the high hedge of the maze, planning to take cover behind it before she moved closer to the house. It was the practical thing to do. However, as she drew closer, her heart sped up with remembered fear, and she had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. She reached the waxy green wall and dropped down to sit on the ground, panting for air.

“Fool!”

Angela's nerves leaped, and she looked around. There was no one there, but she continued to hear the murmur of voices, though she could not understand what was being said. She realized that the conversation must be coming from inside the maze. She turned and tried to look through the thick, dark bush. Was it possible that Dunstan had Cam inside the maze?

She placed her ear close against the hedge, straining
to hear. Nothing sounded like Cam. There was a man's voice, low, and then clearly she heard Dunstan say, “… out so long!” The next words were blurred, then came a booming “Bloody hell! You didn't have to hit him so hard! How much longer am I going to have to wait?”

Relief flooded through Angela. Dunstan had to be talking about Cam, and his words must mean that Cam was still alive. She jumped to her feet, her energy renewed. She knew the way into the maze, and she hurried around the side of it, toward the doorway cut into the hedge. Just as she turned the corner of the hedge, however, two men burst out of the doorway. Angela ducked back behind the hedge, her heart pounding. The men had not seen her, for they continued walking the other way, probably glad to get away from Dunstan's blistering tongue.

She waited for a few heartbeats, giving them time to get out of sight, then cautiously peered around the corner. There was no sign of anyone. She ran on tiptoe along the hedge and slipped inside. She stopped dead still, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. The waxy green leaves rose up high on either side of her, blocking much of the sun and imparting a coolness to the narrow corridor. There was the faint smell of earth and grass and leaves, horrifyingly familiar. Her fists clenched. It was like walking straight into her nightmare. For an instant, she thought that she could not make herself do it.

Angela thought of Cam, and her legs began to move. She hurried through the first few twists and turns of the maze; she knew that much. Then she took a wrong turn and found herself coming up against a flat wall of hedge. She turned back and chose another path, winding ever deeper into the maze. Now and then she could
hear Dunstan's voice. She stepped cautiously, quietly, afraid that at any moment she would give herself away by making a noise, or would round a corner and run straight into Dunstan himself.

“Finally…” Dunstan's voice sounded as if it were right next to her ear, and it was all Angela could do not to gasp.

He must be on the other side of this hedge. She turned and peered through the leaves. She caught a flash of movement, nothing more. But his voice was painfully clear. “I thought you were never going to wake up.”

There was a thud, then a low groan. Angela winced. It sounded as if Dunstan had kicked Cam, just to encourage his coming to.

“Where is Angela?” That was Cam's voice, hoarse and a little halting, but alive. Tears sprang into Angela's eyes. “Did you get her, too?” He could not quite conceal the note of panic underlying his voice.

“Ah, dear Angela…” Angela could imagine Dunstan's slow smile. “Alas, I am afraid that I don't know the whereabouts of your lovely wife. I should probably let you think that I have her up in my bed right now, waiting for my convenience. It would probably be amusing, watching you think about it. But I am a dreadfully honest man, and I have to admit that the message the boy brought you was entirely a ruse. I have no idea where Angela is, only that she and that impertinent maid of hers left your house this morning. Perhaps I shall look her up when she is a widow again. It might be amusing to see if her skills have changed any.”