Impulse

“Oh, God! Don’t, Angela. I won’t make you. I could not force you, anyway.”

“I am dependent upon you.”

“You think that I would turn you out if you refused to marry him? Is that the sort of man you think I am?”

“No.” Angela sighed. “I think you are a very good man. A kind one.”

It was that very fact that made her hate to refuse him. Jeremy had been kind and loyal to her. When she ran away from Dunstan, he had taken her in and given her his support and protection. She was certain that Dunstan had brought pressure to bear on Jeremy, but he had not crumpled. He had not given her up. He had stood by her through the horrid mess of the divorce, through the rumors and snide gossip, through the awful, damning testimony. He had passed through a crucible, too, during that time, suffering the snubs of some of his peers and the whispers of most of them. Yet he had supported her, both emotionally and financially. He still did. She lived in his house, on his land, ate food at his table. He even brought her the news and gossip from London periodically to enliven her days. He had allowed her to heal, and had never asked anything from her in return. Indeed, she did not know of any way she could have repaid him … until now.

If she married this man, this loathsome, coercive bastard of a man, then she would be giving back, in full measure, what Jeremy had done for her. He had saved her life, despite the loss of money and face he had endured. Now, she would be giving him the money he so desperately needed and saving his name from the stigma of bankruptcy—at the price of the rest of her life.

“I can’t. Oh, Jeremy, I cannot,” she moaned, hating herself for her cowardice even as she said it.

“I won’t ask you to marry him. I just want you to consider it. Please, could you not do that? Could you not meet him and see for yourself what he is like? You do not know that he is a man such as Dunstan. Not every man is that way, even one who is ruthless. This one is interested in a business arrangement. Perhaps that will be enough to satisfy him. He might be well pleased to be connected to the Stanhopes, and not ask anything further of you. Perhaps you could even live in separate houses. You could stay here, say, and he could live in London—or he might even go back to the United States.”

Angela’s hands twisted together. She felt as if she were being torn apart. How could she refuse Jeremy anything, after he had done so much for her? On the other hand, the mere thought of marrying again sent cold chills through her.

“I am sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I want to help you. Honestly, I do. But I am so scared…. I know you think me a terrible coward. No doubt I am. But, oh, Jeremy, is there no other way?”

“I don’t know of one,” he replied leadenly. “Do you think I would have come to you with this proposal if I knew another way? I realize what I am asking of you, how selfish I am.”

“Don’t say that. You are not selfish. It is I who am selfish—to refuse to help you, after everything you have done for me. I know that I am the reason we are in such dire straits. If I had not left Dunstan—”

He shook his head. “No. Do not blame yourself. Generations of Stanhopes have contributed their bit to this mess we find ourselves in—and I am one of their number. I have not put anything into the mines or the estates. I have not exercised proper restraint. No, I have done precisely what I wanted and spent however much I pleased. I was foolish in the extreme. Now I will simply have to pay the price.”

His resignation tore at Angela’s heart. She loved Jeremy dearly, and she owed him so much. Why did what he asked of her have to entail so much sacrifice? She could not—simply could not—marry again.

Angela spent the rest of the day in her room, lost in thought, but she could find no solution that did not sacrifice either herself or Jeremy. She thought of the unknown man who had forced this decision upon her, and she hated him with all her heart.

She expected her mother and grandmother to visit her, her grandmother to harangue her into accepting the marriage and her mother to sigh and wheedle and moan until Angela gave in. However, neither lady came to her room, which could only mean, Angela thought, that Jeremy had not revealed the dilemma to them. His kindness in not turning the Ladies Bridbury upon her to change her mind only made Angela feel lower and more guilty for not coming to his rescue.

The next morning, Jeremy came to her bedroom, looking nervous. He closed the door behind him and started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat and began again.

“Ah, Mr. Pettigrew wired London last night. It, uh, seems that his employer is in London. I assumed he was still in the United States, but, in fact, he was merely letting Mr. Pettigrew handle the … the … arrangements.”

“The dirty work,” Angela corrected.

“Yes, I suppose so. But that augurs well, I think.” Jeremy brightened. “Don’t you see? If he was truly ruthless, without feeling, he would not care how he appeared to us. I think his not wanting to negotiate himself shows that he wants to have an amicable relationship with us. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose. But we both know that it is he who pulls the strings. Poor Mr. Pettigrew is merely a puppet.”

“Well, it does not signify, anyway. The point is that Mr. Pettigrew informed his employer of our decision, and the man wired back. He caught a train last night to York and will hire a post chaise there for the rest of the journey. It seems that he is on his way to visit us.”

“What?” Fear clenched Angela’s stomach. She did not want to have to face this ruthless man.

“Mr. Pettigrew says that his employer, ah, wants to press his suit in person.”

“You mean he wants to badger and bully me into accepting!” Angela put a hand to her stomach, as if she could control the turmoil there. “Oh, Jeremy, I cannot! Please don’t ask me to face him.”

“I—Well, we must. There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see? Perhaps if you meet him, you will find out that he’s not so bad. You might even like him.”

“Jeremy!”

“All right, all right. Most likely you will not. But at least we would be able to plead our case in person to this man. We might be able to make him see how absurd the whole thing is, and he will drop the idea. Surely he cannot want a reluctant wife.”

“I cannot face him.”

“I will be there with you. It won’t be so bad.”

Angela suspected that it would be excruciating. However, Jeremy was right when he said that there was little else they could do. She refused to hide in her room like a scared rabbit the whole time he was here. She had had the courage to escape from Dunstan, and she had sworn that she would never again let a man terrorize her. That included, she thought, letting him make her a virtual prisoner in her room.

He did not arrive until that evening, after supper. Mr. Pettigrew had taken up a post outside the front door, pacing and smoking a small cigar. Angela sat with her grandmother and Jeremy in the formal drawing room, a large and elegantly furnished room chosen in the hopes that it would in some measure intimidate the man. Laura, Angela’s mother, had retired to her bedroom with a book after supper, saying that the waiting had wrecked her nerves.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, and Mr. Pettigrew came into the room. His face was a trifle flushed, and his usual impassivity was replaced by excitement.

“He has arrived at last.” He turned back toward the door. At that moment, a black-haired man strode through the doorway. He glanced about the room, his dark eyes moving from one person to another until they settled on Angela. Angela simply stood there, staring at him, her heart skipping a beat. She pressed her hand to her chest; suddenly it seemed terribly hard to breathe. It could not be….

“May I present to you my employer,” Pettigrew was saying proudly, “and the president of Tremont Incorporated, Mr. Cameron Monroe.”

Angela’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she slid quietly to the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN ANGELA OPENED her eyes, the first thing she saw was her maid’s face. Kate was kneeling on the floor beside the couch on which Angela lay, frowning down worriedly at her as she waved smelling salts beneath Angela’s nose. Angela coughed at the acrid scent and feebly pushed Kate’s arm away.

“There, now. She’s coming round,” Kate declared triumphantly.

For a moment, Angela could not remember what had happened or why she was lying on a sofa. She was aware only of a ferocious pain in her head and a certain queasiness in her stomach. She blinked and looked up from her maid’s face to the people behind Kate.

Jeremy and Mr. Pettigrew were standing back and to either side, flanking a frowning, dark stranger. Angela remembered now what had happened. “Cam …”

“Yes, my lady. I beg your pardon. I am usually not so fearsome as to drive young women to collapse.”

“I am not usually a young woman who collapses,” Angela retorted, pride compelling her to sit up.

She regretted it immediately, for her head swam, and Kate reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Take it slow, my lady. No need to be getting up yet, now, is there?”

Kate then rounded on their visitor, setting her hands on her hips pugnaciously. “Cam Monroe, what do you mean coming in like this, never giving a soul a hint of it? I would have thought you’d have better sense. It’s no wonder Her Ladyship fainted.”

Jeremy colored and said in a quelling voice, “Kate. Mr. Monroe is our guest.”

On the other side of Monroe, Pettigrew gazed at her with a mixture of awe and amazement. Kate dipped a curtsy toward Jeremy, murmuring a faint “Sorry, sir,” but she did not apologize to Cam. She had grown up next door to him, and she had no fear of him.

“What the devil is going on?” the dowager countess snapped, banging her cane once on the floor for emphasis. “Angela, what’s the matter with you? And who is this man?”

Jeremy turned toward the old lady. “Angela was a trifle startled, Grandmama,” he assured her. “We have not seen Mr. Monroe in several years.”

“Monroe?” The countess frowned fiercely. “I don’t know any Monroes.”