Behind the Mask (114 page)

Cameron was startled from the horror of her brutal declaration with the realization that it was snowing. It hadn’t come on slowly, but fell in huge, heavy flakes that were already accumulating on the ground where he was staring. While he was trying to motivate himself to get them both off this mountain before the weather became treacherous, he heard her say, “Cameron, I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t!” He lifted his hands in front of his face, as if doing so might ward off any added assault. “Don’t . . . say anything else that might . . . incriminate me further.”

“You misunderstand, Cameron,” she said. He could tell she was crying, but he still couldn’t look at her.

“No, I
do
understand,” he said, and looked at the sky. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She moved toward Blaze, then hesitated. “I need help.”

An ounce of anger attempted to smother the gallons of hurt. “How did you get on to begin with?” he asked, realizing she couldn’t mount alone when there was no saddle, and no stirrup to put her foot into.

“I stood on something,” she said as he bent his knee for her to step there, and he helped her mount.

“And how exactly did you intend to get back on the horse and get home if I hadn’t shown up?”

She only gave him a hard stare, mingling regret with anger, then she stirred Blaze toward the forest. He mounted and followed her down the forest trail while he felt something in his heart breaking, closing down, shutting off. The habit to avoid feeling anything at all in lieu of acknowledging such pain came on hard and fast. He reminded himself that he was stronger than that. He’d become a better man, and he had Abbi to thank for it. He could not resent her unhappiness. He had to find a way to counter it. If only he had even the slightest idea of how he could ever undo what he’d done!

It was snowing hard by the time they emerged from the forest. Abbi hesitated and he came beside her, alarmed to see how wet she was. “Are you all right?” he asked. She nodded, but he didn’t feel convinced. “We must hurry,” he said, and they moved over the fallen tree and toward the covered bridge. They both halted when they saw eight officers waiting with Lance and Georg.

“On the chance that someone saw you leave,” Lance shouted, and they all broke into a gallop, surrounding the duke and duchess. They needed no further communication to know that the storm was worsening and they needed to hurry.

When Cameron helped Abbi dismount in the courtyard, she was clearly shivering. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, realizing his own coat had shielded him from the weather much more than her cloak.

He nearly picked her up, but she said, “Please let me maintain some degree of dignity.” And she hurried toward the door.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the men who had weathered the storm to escort them home. Then he followed after his wife. Once inside, beyond the view of everyone except the maid hovering in the front hall waiting for orders, Abbi teetered visibly. Cameron caught her and scooped her into his arms, saying to the maid, “I need the fires in our room stoked, and bed warmers. Now! And I need Elsa.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, and scurried away. He was keenly aware of the way Abbi shivered violently and clung to him. But at least she was shivering. How could he not think of the storm that had brought her into his life? She’d been way beyond shivering when he’d found her.

He barely had Abbi on the bed before Elsa came into the room. “What’s happened?” she asked frantically.

Cameron didn’t bother trying to explain. “Help me get her out of these wet clothes,” he said. Two other maids came into the room, and he moved Abbi into the dressing room to maintain her privacy. With Elsa’s help and Abbi fully conscious, it only took a few minutes to get her undressed and wrapped in a warm blanket. Cameron carried her back to the bed that had been turned down, and he tucked her firmly beneath the covers. The fires were blazing, the maids were gone, and Elsa carefully situated the two bed warmers that had been left waiting.

“Thank you, Elsa,” Cameron said, removing his wet coat. “I think I can handle it from here.”

“Ring if you need me,” she said, and hurried from the room.

Cameron took off his own wet clothes and got into the bed beside his wife, wrapping her in his arms. “You’re as cold as I am,” she said through chattering teeth.

“Not quite,” he said. “I’m not shivering. Now just relax and let your body warm up.”

She nuzzled closer, and gradually he felt her shivering cease. He was grateful for the opportunity to hold her close. Such passive intimacy was comforting in light of the thoughts churning inside him. Her need for his warmth kept him calm and allowed his spirit to digest what had happened and why. But he wondered if he could ever understand or come to terms with how deeply it hurt. Even more than his brother’s hideous betrayal, his wife’s unhappiness—and his accountability in it—threatened to break his heart wide open.

“I’m so sorry, Cameron,” she said, and he wondered if she meant the things she’d said, or the fact that he’d had to rescue her. He knew they needed to talk about both, but he didn’t want to.

Opting to focus on the issue that was less difficult to address, he said lightly, “You do have a way of getting yourself into trouble. Do you have some perverse attraction to winter storms, or what is it exactly?” She only clung to him more tightly. “Although,” he added, “having to remove all of your wet clothes was much less awkward with the help of your lady’s maid, and now that you’re my wife.” He heard her sob and held her tighter. He didn’t want to ask, but knew he had to, “Is being my wife so difficult for you, Abbi?”

“I love you, Cameron,” she cried. “I love you with all my soul!”

“Except . . .” he pressed gently.

“There is no exception, Cameron. My own inability to be the kind of woman you deserve is in no way a reflection of my feelings for you.”

He leaned on one elbow to look at her face. “What did you say? The kind of woman I
deserve?
Abbi, you are more incredible and amazing a woman than I could
ever
deserve. I think God created you to bless the people of Horstberg, and I’m just the idiot who happened to be born with enough royal blood to be matched with you for that purpose.”

Abbi made a scoffing noise, not amused by his attempt to humor her. She felt utterly humiliated and foolish, and horrified to think of the things she’d said to him. Attempting to gather words for an adequate apology, she realized that
no
apology could ever be adequate. But she had to try.

“I’m so sorry, Cameron. I’m sorry for . . . running off like that, for being so foolish. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused for everyone—for you especially. And most of all . . .” Hot tears stung her eyes and burned her throat. “I’m sorry for what I said, and that I . . . slapped you. I can’t believe I slapped you.”

“I have trouble believing that myself,” he said, but his tone was forgiving.

“What I said, Cameron, I . . .” She saw the same hurt in his eyes that she’d seen after she’d said it. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry, and . . . confused and . . . I—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “You can’t take it back,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “We both know it’s true, and neither of us should go on pretending. I don’t know what hurts me most. Knowing you feel that way, or the fact that you never told me until it became so painful to hold inside that you had no choice but to explode with it.”

Cameron watched her turn away, squeezing her eyes closed against his words. He knew she had no rebuttal. He wanted to tell her that her feelings over the issue didn’t matter, that her withholding such pain from him was irrelevant, but he couldn’t say it, because he didn’t believe it. The trust between them felt tainted. And how could he blame her for keeping pieces of her heart from him when he had seen her married and pregnant without giving her even a hint that she had taken on a life he had believed all along she would loathe?

“Abbi,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face, “I can’t undo what’s been done. And how could I ever want to go back on making you mine? I wish with all my heart that I could have given you a simple life. But how can I change who I am any more than I could change how I love you?”

She turned to look at him. “I love
you,
Cameron. I do not regret making myself a part of your life. I would do
anything
for you.
Anything!
My only regret is that . . .”

“What?” he pressed when she hesitated.

“That I . . . behaved like such a child today. Forgive me.”

“Of course. I understand. Forgive
me.”

“For what?”

“For getting so angry. I was afraid. And forgive me for . . .”

“For
what?”
she asked again.

Abbi saw a gleam of moisture in his eyes as he murmured, “For making you a duchess.”

“Cameron,” she took his face into her hands, “you did what you had to do. I know that. I’m not angry with you.”

Just angry with the life I’ve given you,
he responded silently, not willing to take the conversation any further. He sighed and pressed the back of his head into the pillow, staring upward while he attempted to put his own hurt into perspective with the love they shared. Abbi put her head to his shoulder, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I meant what I said, Cameron, when I told you that I would stand by you, no matter what. As long as I know that you love me, I can do anything. I will do everything in my power to do what’s expected of me, whatever it takes.”

Cameron held her tighter, but he couldn’t comment. Her love and commitment meant more to him than he could ever tell her. But it felt to him like she was sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of his. And he hated it. If he were a farmer and his wife had a strong aversion to it, he could sell the farm and become a blacksmith, or open a shop. But he was responsible for a nation. And how could he weigh his wife’s happiness against the well-being of thousands of people? He could only pray that with time, Abbi’s discomfort would ease, and that eventually he would be able to forgive
himself
for making her a duchess.

Abbi was relieved when nothing more was said between her and Cameron about the ugly incident on the mountain. Still, it took her days to accept that she could not go back and undo what she’d done—and said. She could only press forward with a new determination to prove that her apologies had been sincere. She determined that it was not seemly for a duchess to behave as she had—toward her husband or the officers who had just been following orders. She made a point of formally apologizing to the lieutenant she had spoken harshly to, and also to Lance and Georg, knowing they had waited in the snow to see that she and Cameron returned safely. She pledged to herself that she would never allow her emotions to get so out of control, and that she would be honest with her husband—even if she had something to say that he didn’t want to hear.

The mild tension she felt between herself and Cameron eased within a couple of days, although she saw him very little in between and around his duties. She questioned him on what he’d said about ongoing threats. He reluctantly told her that letters continued to come to the castle, boldly declaring that the family du Woernig would be removed and replaced in honor of Nikolaus du Woernig’s memory. The messengers were always different, and they could never track where the messages had originated. They felt increasingly confident by the content of the letters that if the ringleader were taken down, the problem would desist. But as of yet, no actual attempts had been made against Cameron’s life, and his wife and sister were being kept out of sight. Magda too was being kept a prisoner within castle walls, and while she was good company to Abbi during some stretches of the day, she was accustomed to habits of occupying herself that Abbi could not relate to. Abbi was therefore left with many empty hours to fill on her own.

Abbi did her best to take the news of the situation like a duchess, but each time Cameron left the castle gates, she felt knotted inside until he returned. She could only pray that after all they had been through, they would emerge triumphant once again.

Occasionally Lance or Georg sought her out to chat for a few minutes, and they would always ask how she was doing. She sensed their concern, but she had nothing to tell them beyond a firm reassurance that she was fine. Circumstances being what they were, she felt no inclination to start crying her eyes out to these men who worked so closely with her husband. She felt certain it was more appropriate for her to keep her feelings to herself and behave like a duchess.

Abbi was pleasantly surprised one morning at breakfast when Cameron told her he had a surprise for her. He took her to a room on the same floor as their bedroom and insisted she cover her eyes before he opened the door. He guided her blindly into the room, then laughed as he pulled her hands away. Abbi’s first impression was the brightness and beauty of the room. The windows were larger than those in the bedroom, and the decor was in lighter colors. Then she realized that beyond the usual furniture that constituted a sitting room, it had been equipped with an easel and everything she might ever need to pursue her interest in art. She gasped, then laughed, then reverently touched the oils, the brushes, the canvases, the pencils, and sketch-books.