Authors: Candace Camp
Impulse (34 page)
His chuckle made Angela's skin crawl. She rose slowly to her feet.
On the other side of the hedge, Dunstan was continuing. “But it is just you and me right now. And I'm going
to have a bit of fun before I rid myself of you.” There was the hiss of a knife being pulled from a scabbard. “I thought it might be amusing to use a knife, especially an antique like this. Wasn't that what the Earl threatened to say you stole from Bridbury Castle? An antique knife?”
“I never stole anything.”
Dunstan clicked his tongue. “Such an honest lad. I was the one who suggested that plan to the old man, you know. He could not believe that I was still willing to take Angela, considering I knew all about her affair with a stable boy. I informed him of the affair, as well. He was a stupid old blunderer. He never would have noticed if I had not told him.” There was movement on the other side of the hedge, and Dunstan said, “Oh, a stoic one, are you? Well, you may grit your teeth and endure it now, but before I'm through with you, you will be squealing like a stuck hog.”
Angela realized with horror that Dunstan must have cut Cam. She tiptoed quickly to the corner of the hedge, pulling out her gun and stepped around it, aiming the pistol. All she faced was a short green corridor.
Another dead end.
Cam and Dunstan were right on the other side of the hedge, but she had to find a way to get to them. She turned and tiptoed back the way she had come.
“Are you mad?” Cam was saying. “Do you honestly plan to kill me here? Do you think no one will notice? How the devil do you plan to explain this away as an accidentâmurder in your own yard?”
“That's why we are here, so the servants won't talk. They know better than to come to the maze if they wish to stay in my employ. I always prefer the outdoors, anyway. Not so messy. The ground soaks up the blood, and then I shall just have Wilson throw you in the cart
and carry you somewhere else, far away, and leave your body to be found. No one will suspect that I had anything to do with it. After all, why should they?”
“Perhaps because of the letter my solicitor has in his possession,” Cam responded calmly. “I mailed it to him as soon as I figured out the truth.”
Dunstan snorted. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”
“It is the truth.” Angela could hear their voices continuing as she moved back down the corridor and took another path, stepping just as cautiously. “I didn't know who my father was at first. But when we met with Lord Freestone, we realized his identity. I have no intention of telling anyone, not as long as you leave Angela and me alone. That was why I sent you that note, requesting a meetingâto tell you that I will not reveal that I am your father's son unless you persist in trying to kill me. I have no particular desire to bruit it about that I am the son of a bigamist. Frankly, I wish to hell he were not my father. Nor are you anyone I would choose for a brother. I am certainly not going to advertise the fact.”
“Of course,” Dunstan replied drily. “No doubt you have no desire to be Lord Dunstan, either.”
There was a moment's blank silence. Angela rounded another corner and crept along the hedge to the end. She felt thoroughly confused, and it seemed impossible that this corridor could come out where she had first heard the voices.
Suddenly Dunstan laughed, a high-pitched giggle. “Oh, my God, don't tell me you don't know! Did you think that your mother's marriage was false? Did you think I was going to so much trouble just to conceal the fact that my father had a by-blow? God, man, don't you understand?
He married your mother first!
”
Angela stopped, dumbfounded. Suddenly it all made much more sense. No wonder Dunstan was so intent on killing Cam! His father had married Cam's mother first. It was the legal marriage, therefore, and Cam the legitimate firstborn.
Dunstan was the illegitimate son. And Cam should be Lord Dunstan.
“Jesus,” Cam breathed. “You meanâyou mean my mother was his legal wife? What a monster he must have been, that she would choose to be a nameless seamstress, scraping a pitiful living together, rather than stay with him and have the title of Lady Dunstan.”
“She would never have been a lady!” Dunstan shrieked. “She was nothing but a servant! Aâa nothing!”
There was a rustling against the hedge, and Cam let out an involuntary noise. It was enough to break Angela from her paralysis. She peered around the corner. There, shocking in their nearness, were Cam and Dunstan.
Cam was seated on the ground, his back against the hedge. One eye was swollen, and his cheekbone was reddening. A cut along his cheek trickled blood. His shirt had been torn open down the front, and his chest was cut in two places. Dunstan, leaning over him, knife in hand, was slowly drawing the tip of his knife down Cam's chest. Blood welled out behind the steel's path. Cam grimaced, holding back an exclamation of pain.
“Stop!” Angela screamed.
Both men jumped, startled, and their gazes swung toward her.
“Angela!” Cam rolled away from Dunstan and began to struggle to his feet, but he was bound hand and foot.
Dunstan looked at her blankly, his face stamped
with bloodlust. Then his eyes cleared, and he grinned evilly.
“Angela. How kind of you to join us. I was just telling your jumped-up groom of a husband that it was too bad you were not with us. You will liven things up a great deal. It will be most delightful to take you in front of him.”
“You seem to be forgetting something, Dunstan,” Angela snapped. “I am the one holding a gun.”
“You may hold it, but you will never use it.” He looked at her, smiling in the way she knew so well, and began to walk slowly toward her. “You could never shoot me, Angela. You haven't the strength.”
“Dunstan, stop!” The gun was wobbling in her hand. His voice wrapped around her like familiar bonds. The green hedges towered over her, suffocatingly close, and the smell of the maze was in her nostrils. Her stomach twisted, and sweat dotted her skin.
He held out his hand. Evil streamed from his eyes, piercing her. “Give it to me, Angela. You know you cannot hold out against me.
I
have the power. You are a weak, mewling little thing, and if you continue to defy me, I shall make you pay.”
“Stop!” Her voice was frantic. He was only steps away, reaching out for the gun.
Angela squeezed the trigger.
Blood blossomed on his chest. Dunstan stopped, his expression surprised, and fell heavily to the ground. Angela stared at him blankly, then dropped the gun and ran to Cam. She flung herself down upon him and wrapped her arms around him, heedless of the streaks of blood on his chest. “Oh, Cam, Cam,” she whispered, alternately dotting his face with kisses and squeezing him to her. “Oh, my love, you're safe.”
“Thanks to you,” he murmured, kissing her. “You were magnificent.”
Somewhere in the maze, there came a roar. “Monroe? Damn it, where the hell does this thing lead?”
It was the hearty voice of Major Dorton. Angela began to cry and laugh simultaneously. “Major! Here we are!”
“My lady? Cameron?” That was Mr. Pettigrew. Their rescuers had arrived, albeit somewhat late.
“We heard the shot, ma'am,” came a strange voice. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, we're fine,” Angela called back. She returned to kissing her husband.
“You might untie me,” Cam suggested mildly.
Angela drew her head back and pretended to study him. “Hmm. You know, I rather like you this way. It reminds me ofâ¦interesting times.”
She bent and kissed him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Ignoring the shouts of the major, they kissed again.
C
AMERON BENT OVER
the white cradle, laying the baby down in it gently. The boy gazed up at him unblinkingly, kicking his feet beneath the long white christening gown.
“He's a feisty little thing, isn't he?” Cam asked proudly.
Angela, smiling indulgently, walked over to stand beside him and look down at their firstborn son. It had been ten months now since she and Cam had faced Lord Dunstan that last time, long enough for the bitter memories to fade. Society had been rocked by the scandal of his death. Though she and Cam had never revealed that he was not really the true heir, the news of his attempts to murder both Cam and Angela had been enough to set London back on its heels. A distant cousin had assumed the title, and Cam and Angela had not disputed his claim to the title. They could think of no way to prove it, and it was not worth stirring up the scandal without proof. They had taken up their normal life again, living in their house in London or on the estate at Bridbury. They had planned to travel to New York for a few months to wrap up some business matters, but Angela's pregnancy had made them decide to stay in England. Cam had sent Jason Pettigrew instead, newly married to Kate, and though Angela missed her friend, she was sure that it
was far easier for Kate to start her new married life away from the class prejudices of Britain.
Later, downstairs, Cam decided to record his son's birth and christening in the old Bible that had belonged to his mother. When he had written in his son's name, birth date and christening date in the front, he closed the book and sat back, smoothing a hand across its grain- leather cover.
“Mother always used to say that all the answers were in here,” he reminisced, caressing the worn gold print.
Angela's eyebrows drew together. “When did she say that?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. Often. She would read it almost every night. I remember she said that to me when she lay dying.”
“Cam⦔ Angela's interest quickened even more, and she picked up the Bible, beginning to leaf through the pages. “What if she meant that in more than a religious sense? What if, when she was dying, she wanted you to know where to find the answers to your questions?”
He looked at her. “Well, I suppose it might make senseâ¦except that we have already looked through it and found nothing. Nothing tucked away between the pages or written in the back.”
Angela flipped through the pages slowly and even picked up the heavy book and shook it, then felt over the insides of the covers, hoping that a paper might have been tucked inside the lining and the lining glued back. But there was not the slightest bulge in either of the inner covers. She sighed in defeat. Then, at a last thought, she picked up the Bible and peered down inside its spine.
She went still. The cover was not entirely glued down to the spine of the book. Carefully, she stuck a finger down it. “I think there is something in here.”
“What?” Cam took the book from her and felt inside the spine, which was now gaping more. He, too, felt a long, smooth rectangle, like a folded-up piece of paper. “You don't thinkâ?” He looked at his wife.
Angela hurried out of the room and returned with a set of tweezers. Gingerly she poked down into the spine and pinched the rectangle and worked it free, at last pulling out a long, narrow piece of folded paper. Her chest tightened with excitement as she handed it to Cam. He looked at her, almost afraid to take it.
“I can't believe it,” he murmured. “It was there all this time? Right under my nose.”
He plucked the paper from her fingers and unfolded it. There were, in fact, several sheets of paper folded together. He laid them flat on the desk and smoothed them out. The top one was an official-looking document, complete with seal.
“It's their marriage certificate,” he said softly, barely trusting himself to speak. There were his mother's name and the date of their marriage. On the man's side was a bold and scrawling signature: Arthur Asquith. Cam stared at it for long time. “It
is
he.”
Angela peered around his arm at the certificate. “And the date is four months before Dunstan's parents were married.”
He lifted the marriage certificate. Beneath it lay his own birth certificate. Finally, on the bottom, were sheets of stationery, filled with a flowing script.
“That's Mother's hand,” Cam said, his throat tightening. He picked up the pages and began to read.
Dearest Cam,
I have tried so many times to tell you about your birth, but I have never had the courage. I have
worried that I have robbed you of your true inheritance, and I am still uncertain whether I made the right choice so many years ago. Finally, I decided that the only way I could tell you was to write it down and put it where you would find it and read it after my death.
Cam lifted his head and smiled sardonically. “Obviously she overestimated my ability.” He went back to reading.
Many years ago one summer, I met a man. He was handsome, sophisticated, well educatedâa member of the nobility from England. I was dazzled, and I fell madly in love with him, so madly that I defied my religion, my family, everything I believed in. Like other foolish girls before me, I found myself pregnant. I was afraid, because of his birth, that he would never consider marrying me. I told my father, and he, being a rigidly religious man, tossed me out of our house, telling me that henceforth I was no longer his daughter. So I went to the man I loved, trembling and afraid, and, much to my surprise, he married me. He loved me, he said. We moved to the city, and for a short time, I was very happy. Oh, there were cracks in the perfect pictureâsometimes he drank too much, and when he did he was apt to get angry. Once or twice he even hit me, but I was sure that was my fault. I did not understand the ways of the gentry, and I had done something wrong.
Then, that fall, he told me that he had to return to England on family business for a time. I was puzzled. I did not understand why he didn't take
me along with him. It seemed to me a perfect time to introduce his bride to his family. However, I said nothing, not wanting to upset him, for his temper was growing shorter and shorter. He was gone for almost three months. I missed him bitterly and cried often. He did not return until the baby was almost due. But he kissed me and spoke sweet words, and I was happy again for a time.
After you were born, he moved us down to London, where he installed us in a pleasant little house. He thought it small and lacking in servants, but I thought it quite wonderful and enjoyed myself thoroughlyâor, at least, I would have if he had not continued to leave every few weeks and stay away for a month or two at a time. I cried myself to sleep at night. It seemed very strange to me that Arthur had not yet introduced me to his family, even after we moved to England, especially when I found out that his family estate was not far from London! I confronted him about this fact once when he returned from one of his trips, and he grew furious and hit me. He had done so before, but never with such fury and animosity, and never so many times. I could not leave the house for days because I was afraid of the neighbors seeing my bruises.
Arthur drank more and more and was more often angry. He would get furious because you were always under his feet or because I made some statement he termed “worthy of a peasant.” I became desperately unhappy. Then I found out the worst. I discovered that I was not his only wife.
On that first trip away from me, he had married
another woman, an heiress whom he thoroughly disliked, but whom his family insisted he marry in order to save them financially. It was home to her that he would go on all his mysterious trips. I raged at him. I cried and begged and tried to reason. I even threatened to tell the lady that she was not legally his wife, to reveal his bigamy to the world. At that he flew into a mindless tantrum. He beat me severely. I was afraid for my life. You were only a toddler then. I remember you standing up in your bed, rattling the bars and crying because his temper had awakened you, and you could hear my cries as he hit me. Your crying irritated him so that Arthur slapped you, too.
Then he stormed out of the house, returning, I guess, to his other home. I knew that I had to leave him. I wanted no part of him anymore, and I was afraid that if I stayed, he would harm both of us. So I gathered up a few things and took what little money there was, and I fled with you. I thought he would assume I had gone back to Scotland, so I dared not return there. But I wanted to get far away from London and his other home in the south, so I fled to Yorkshire. I took on a different last name, and I worked at menial tasks, for I presumed he would not think I would do such work. Even now, I don't know if he searched for us or was simply glad that his burden had disappeared. It was a relief years later when I heard that he had died and his other wife's son became Lord Dunstan.
I have worried, though, that I denied you your true heritage. I thought perhaps I should have stayed and revealed that you were his true heir, so that you could have had the kind of life you were
born to. Many times I wept, seeing you hungry or ragged or working in the stablesâfor people who were actually your peers! You can imagine my despair and regret when the woman you loved married Lord Dunstan.
Perhaps you will want to recover your name and title. So I am giving you the proof you need to show that you are the true heir to Dunstan's title and lands. Please forgive me if I have wronged you, and believe that whatever I did, I did out of love for you. Your father was a weak man, and liquor made him wicked, but he did love me, and he loved youâ¦in his own way. I hope that you will not hate me after you learn the truth.
With love,
Mother
Cam looked up from the letter. Tears glittered in his eyes. Angela reached out and laid her hand on his arm.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yes. Poor woman. To carry that burden so long. I wish she had told me.”
“I am sure she was in a quandary over it your whole life.”
He sighed, carefully refolding the letter and slipping it into the pocket of his coat.
“What are you going to do now?” Angela asked.
He stood for a long moment, staring down at the two legal documents. Finally he said, “I think that Dunstan is a tainted name. I do not wish to carry it. And I have no need for his house and lands.”
“But, Camâwhat about the title? When you came
back, you wanted to be a part of the nobility, to have the respect you never had.”
He looked at her and shook his head. “No. What I wanted was you.” He hesitated, frowning. “But perhaps I should get the title for our son, so that he will grow up something more than Cam Monroe's child. And you would be able to take your rightful place in Society. There would be no more snubbing of you for marrying a âstable boy.'”
“I can think of nothing that is better for our son to be than âCam Monroe's son,'” Angela answered. “And I do not care for Society. I have everything I want or need right here in you.” She raised his hand and held it tenderly against her cheek.
Cam smiled and bent to kiss her. Then he picked up the marriage and birth certificates, turned and sailed them into the fireplace.