Impulse (25 page)

Cam turned back to the trunk, dismissing the topic. He pulled out another box, which contained several mementos: a single white glove with a dark spot on one finger; a dried pressed flower; an inexpensive brooch; a few calling cards; and a program from an opera in New York. He smiled reminiscently, touching the program with his finger.

“It was her first opera,” he said. “She was so impressed, as giddy as a girl. But, you see, most of these things were from recent times, except perhaps the glove. I don't know why she would have kept a soiled glove. But none of them speak at all to the issue of my father.”

He continued to unpack the trunk, pulling out a lace handkerchief, a silver thimble and a few other odds and ends. The last item he removed was a large old Bible. He opened it to the front page, where there were lines for important events, such as births, deaths and marriages. His birth date was meticulously recorded in a spidery black handwriting, but only the line for his mother's
name was filled in. The line for the father's name was conspicuously empty, as were all the lines above that.

“I looked here many times before. I even hoped that she might have filled it in right before she died. But it is obviously no help.” He sighed and placed the Bible back in the trunk, then began to repack the rest of it. “I am afraid that we will never be able to find the name of my father. I might as well accept it. After all, I lived well enough without knowing who he was for thirty- three years. I can manage the rest of my life without that knowledge, as well.”

“There's still the rector,” Angela pointed out. “I wrote to him this morning. We could stop in to see him on our way to London. It would not be far off the route.”

Cam shrugged as he reclosed the trunk. “All right. If you wish.” He smiled at her and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. “You know that I am putty in your hands.”

Angela made a face at him and stood up, shaking out her skirts.

“By the way,” Cam told her, “I understand that Squire Mayfield's wife is giving a ball this weekend. Jason told me he had accepted the invitation for us while we were gone.”

Angela sighed. “Yes. We will have to go. They are deadly dull affairs, but it would never do to offend the squire's wife.”

“Is there dancing?”

“Yes, and a little cardplaying.”

“Good. I would like to dance with my wife.” He paused, then added airily, “It's a good thing, then, that I sent one of the grooms this morning for that large package that arrived for us in the village.”

“What?” Angela turned to him, puzzled.

“I received a message that there was a package waiting for us. I can only presume it contains some clothes from York.”

Angela's face lit up. “Cam! My dresses? Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

His eyes danced. “Why, then you would have had to wait and wait until the groom returned with it. But, from the sounds I hear in the hall, I would say that you won't have to bide yourself in patience at all now.”

Angela ran to the door and threw it open. Cam was right. Two of the footmen were carrying a large trunk into her room. Kate was right behind them, fairly dancing in impatience.

“My lady! It's your dresses! Come, look!”

Kate and Angela passed the rest of the afternoon happily unpacking the clothes from the trunk and trying them on. Angela chose the deep peacock-blue satin gown for the Mayfields' ball Saturday. She did not notice that, for the first time in years, she was looking forward to going to a party and excited about a beautiful new dress.

 

The new gown made all the impression she could have hoped for on Saturday evening when she walked down the stairs to where Cam stood waiting for her. His dark eyes lit up, and he took an unconscious step toward her. Angela smiled, though she had not needed his reaction to know that she was looking her best. When she checked her reflection in the mirror this evening before coming downstairs, it had seemed almost as if the girl who had once lived inside that room were back.

She felt excited and jittery, though she told herself it was ridiculous to be this way over something as ordinary as one of the squire's parties. But tonight was different,
she knew. It would be the first time she danced with her husband.

Cam led her onto the floor so many times that Angela knew that she was being impolite. It would have been more courteous to dance more with the various local gentlemen who asked her. But she could not force herself to do more than accept the offers of the squire and his son and one or two of her grandfather's friends. It was too glorious to whirl around the room in Cam's arms.

Late in the evening, flushed from the excitement and the exercise, she and Cam strolled out into the garden. The night air was deliciously cool on their overheated skin. They walked away from the lights and noise of the house to the bottom of the garden, where a fountain spilled water continuously out of a cherub's jug.

Angela turned and looked back up at the house, separated from them by neat squares of flowers, low hedges and paths. It was too far away to hear the music or laughter, but the light spilling out the open doors onto the garden made a pretty picture. Cam came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. He rested his cheek against her hair.

They were silent and still for a long while. Angela could feel Cam's breath ruffling her hair. His body was warm against her back. Then he bent his head and kissed the side of her bare neck.

A
SHIVER OF
sensation ran down through Angela, and unconsciously she tilted her head a little more to the side, giving him freer access to her neck. Cam nuzzled her neck, his mouth moving up from her collarbone to the lobe of her ear.

Angela heard his breath, harsher and faster than normal, against her ear. She felt the velvet touch of his lips upon her earlobe. Softly he took the bit of flesh between his lips. A little noise escaped Angela; the touch of his mouth made her feel weak and trembly. One of his hands slid up from her waist, gently cupping her breast. Her nipples tightened at the touch. He circled the whorls of her ear with the tip of his tongue, then gently worried the lobe between his teeth. As he did so, his hand caressed her breast.

She leaned back weakly against him, apprehensive yet eager. Her own breathing had changed. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Cam's fingertips trailed over the small button of her nipple through her dress, then back again, moving with infinite slowness and gentleness. His hand slid up over the low neckline of her dress and down inside it, caressing her warm flesh. He took the nipple between forefinger and thumb and softly manipulated it, turning it swollen and hard. Angela drew in a gasp at the sensation. She could feel moisture coming inexplicably between her legs.

“Let me love you,” Cam whispered shakily. “I am not him. I will not hurt you. I want only to please you. I want to show you how it can be between a man and a woman.” He trailed his lips down her neck, stirring up more of the sizzling sensations. “Please, Angela, let me give you pleasure.”

The desire in his voice aroused her almost as much as the sweet caress of his fingers. The feelings coursing through Angela frightened her, but they intrigued her, too. She would like to feel more; she wished that the sensations fluttering to life inside her could grow and continue, but she feared that they would not.

When she did not answer, Cam murmured, “Don't you like this? Doesn't it feel good?” He pressed his lips to her neck; his fingers caressed the hard button of flesh.

She nodded. “Yes, but what—what if it doesn't feel good after a while?” There had been other times when she experienced the same sort of pleasure, but only moments later it disappeared.

“I will stop. I promise. All you have to do is tell me, and I will stop.”

From her experience, Angela found it difficult to believe that a man would—or even could—stop past a certain point. But Cam was different.

“All right.”

Heat surged through Cam at her words. He would have liked to pull her down right there on the path, but, of course, that was out of the question. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

“How soon can we leave?” he asked hoarsely.

Angela smiled at his words. “Whenever you want. We usually leave early.”

He bent and kissed her—a long, thorough kiss. When
he finally pulled back, they were both breathing heavily. “Then let's get your mother and grandmother and go.”

Angela was reminded once more of just how quickly Cameron Monroe could get things done when he put his mind to it. Within minutes he had found her mother and grandmother and whisked them out to the carriage, all without making it seem as if he were rushing them. The carriage ride home, however, sitting facing the other two women and talking politely about the party, seemed interminable.

When they reached home at last, Cam followed Angela into her room, shutting the door behind them and saying, “Don't ring for Kate. I will be your abigail tonight.”

He proved his words by reaching out to the innumerable hooks and eyes that marched down the back of her dress and undoing them. Angela's dress fell away beneath his hands, exposing her white back. Cam bent and placed a kiss upon the ridge of her backbone, moving down it with kiss after kiss. A shudder ran through Angela. She had never felt anything like this before. No man had ever kissed her back, let alone done it with such tenderness, such desire.

Her dress, unfastened, crumpled to the floor, and Cam untied the strings of her petticoats, letting them slide down to join the satin dress. When he was finally down to her chemise, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, setting her down on the side and kneeling in front of her to unfasten her slippers and slide them off. Looking up at her, his eyes burning steadily into hers, he slid his hand up beneath her chemise and removed her garters. Slowly, caressingly, he slid each stocking down her leg and off her foot. By the time he had set them aside, Angela was breathless.

He stood up and began to undress.

Angela watched as Cam peeled off his coat and tossed it onto a chair, then unfastened the cuffs and studs of his shirt. She had not been prepared for this, she realized, as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. His body, though lean, was powerful, and his shoulders were wide and tautly muscled. He looked larger, she thought, without his clothes, and unconsciously she scooted back a little on the bed, curling her legs up under her.

Cam stopped, sensing her withdrawal. He moved away from the bed and sat down in the chair to pull off his shoes. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“No.” Angela was not sure, but she made her voice as firm as she could.

He smiled and came over to join her on the bed, not taking off the rest of his clothes. He stretched out on the bed on his side, facing her, and Angela lay down, mirroring his position. Cam caressed her cheek, then traced the outline of her lips, the line of her jaw. His finger trailed down her neck and onto the mound of her breast. He teased beneath the edge of her chemise, then came at last to the ribbon tie. He pulled on one end, and the bow came undone. Slowly the ribbon eased through its holes, letting the material of the chemise begin to sag open.

Cam began to kiss her. His mouth was slow, almost lazy, his lips and tongue working gently at hers. Gradually Angela began to relax, warmth stealing through her. He kissed her for a long, long time, leaving her mouth now and then to kiss her cheeks, her eyes, her ears, her neck, but always returning to her lips.

Angela felt as if she were turning to hot wax. When his hand slipped at last beneath her chemise and cupped
her breast, she groaned. His fingers were like fire on her skin. She wanted suddenly to feel them all over her. As if he knew her thoughts, his hand slipped down her chemise and over the flesh of her stomach until it reached the waistband of her pantalets. His fingers crept beneath it, and Angela tightened at the feel of his skin against the flesh of her abdomen.

Immediately Cam withdrew his hand. He raised his head, looking down at her. His face was flushed, and his eyes were glittering. Desire was raw on his features. Angela touched her tongue tentatively to her lips. They felt swollen from his kisses, but she liked the feeling. His eyes darkened as he watched her mouth.

“You are so beautiful.” His voice was gravelly with passion. He wanted to be inside her so much he could hardly think. He wanted to sink into her softness, to thrust deep.

He pulled down her chemise, exposing the soft white globes of her breasts. He looked at her naked breasts, the hardened pinkish-tan nipples centering them, and he felt as if he might explode from desire. The long weeks of frustration were building up in him to an almost unbearable desire. He swallowed hard and bent to lay a soft kiss upon one nipple. A groan escaped him, and he pulled the little button of flesh into his mouth, sucking and laving it. His fingers dug into the bedding beside her, clinging as though it were his one hope of keeping control of his raging desire. He suckled, bringing her nipple to a swollen, aching bud.

His hand went down between her legs, caressing her through the cloth. He could feel the moisture soaking the material there, and he groaned, almost shaken out of his control by the evidence of Angela's desire for him.

Cam rolled over onto her, his mouth coming up to
capture hers in a kiss again. At the sudden weight of his body, Angela stiffened uncontrollably. Fear sliced through the haze of her desire, scattering it like sun on fog. Cam, lost in passion, did not feel the sudden tautness of her body beneath his. His hands went to her pantalets, pulling them down, and he slid down her to feast on her breast again.

Angela could feel his maleness pulsing against her, huge and hard. His body pressed her down into the mattress. His breath was loud and labored. Suddenly Cam seemed a stranger.

“No!” Angela's hands came up, and she pushed against his chest. “No. Please, Cameron, no!”

It took a moment for her words to penetrate his brain, and for that panicky instant Angela thought that he would not stop, that he would shove her legs apart and ram into her until he reached his satisfaction. He went still. An instant later, he rolled off her, onto his side.

“What is it?” He looked down into her face, and though his face was flushed and slack with animal hunger, Angela saw that his eyes were not feral, but rational and familiar. Relief ran through her.

“I can't. Oh, Cam, I'm sorry, but I just cannot.”

Cam let out a groan and rolled over onto his back, flinging his arm over his eyes. Angela turned to him anxiously, her eyes welling with tears. Guilt surged in her. Why couldn't she let him do what he wanted? It would be so much easier. She knew she would not feel the kind of pain she had with Dunstan. Cam would make every effort not to hurt her. She tried to make herself say the words, to tell him to go ahead, but she could not. They stuck in her throat, choking her.

“I'm sorry.” She began to cry softly.

“No. No, Angela, don't.” Cam sat up, reaching out
to touch her cheek. “Don't cry. I told you I would stop if you wanted. It's not your fault.”

But Angela knew that she had hurt him, not only physically, but with her lack of faith in him. She could see, in a sickening vision of the future, her pushing Cam further and further away with her disgust of sex. Someday he would come to hate her. Someday he would leave her. Yet she could not bring herself to tell him to go on.

“Don't worry about it,” he reassured her. “It's all right. I'll go back to my room.”

He kissed her lightly on her forehead as if nothing were wrong, but Angela could feel the tension in him, the heat pouring off him. She watched him leave her bed and her room. The door closed behind him, and she curled up into a ball on her bed, giving in to tears of despair.

 

Angela could not face Cam the next day. She stayed in her room all morning, and when she finally came down in the afternoon, she was relieved to learn that he had ridden into the village. It made her wonder if he was trying to avoid her, too, which was a lowering thought. She put on her walking boots and took the dogs and her sketch pad and set out over the moors. She had not really drawn anything since before her trip to Scotland, and the vegetation had changed subtly. She stayed out for the remainder of the afternoon, and consequently did not have to come face-to-face with Cam until dinner that evening.

When she first went into the drawing room before dinner and saw him, her face blazed with embarrassment. But Cam merely glanced up and greeted her as usual, though perhaps with a trifle more formality. With
her mother and grandmother there, as well as the rector and his wife, who had been invited for the evening, there was no need to converse directly with her husband, other than to exchange a few commonplaces.

After dinner, while the men were enjoying their cigars and brandy in the study, Angela excused herself from the other women, pleading a headache, and went upstairs. As she left the room, she heard the rector's wife say in an arch voice to her grandmother, nodding toward Angela, “Is that an indication of an interesting development?”

She meant, of course, in her own coy way, that perhaps Angela was pregnant. Angela thought savagely that that was the
last
thing that was likely, and she swept out the door, pretending that she had not heard her. Her grandmother, she knew, would wither the woman's pretensions with a single look.

Angela went upstairs and rang for Kate to help her undress. A long, hot bath restored her equanimity somewhat, and after that she slipped on a nightgown and her dressing gown and sat down to read. But her mind wandered, and she made little progress in the book. She heard Cam's door close, and after that there were a few noises from his room: the sound of a wardrobe door closing or a step across the floor or the clank of a pail against the side of his tub, from which she deduced that he, too, must be in the process of taking a bath.

She realized that she was straining her ears, listening for every sound from Cam's room, and she forced her attention back to her book. It would not stay there, however, and not long afterward she was aware of the servants entering his room again to remove the water from the tub. Angela sighed and set her book aside. It was pointless to try to read. But she knew that if she
got into bed, she would not be able to go to sleep, either. While she was standing there indecisively, there was a polite knock on the connecting door.

Startled, she swung around. She had not expected Cam to come to her room tonight. Uneasiness rose in her. Perhaps he was going to tell her that he found their arrangement insupportable.

“Enter,” she said, too softly to be heard, then had to clear her throat and try again. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Cam stepped inside. He was dressed only in trousers and a shirt, hanging casually outside his pants and open at the throat. His hair was still damp from his bath. He looked, Angela thought, unbearably handsome, and she found that she wanted to cry.

“Hello, Cam.”

“Angela.” He came forward another step into the room. “Could you come into my room? I would like to talk to you.” He held out his hand to her.

For a moment Angela simply stared at him. She thought that she had been right. He wanted to tell her that the only option for them was to separate. Or perhaps he would tell her that he was tired of playing these games, that he insisted that she give him his marital rights.