Behind the Mask (22 page)

“Good,” she said. She’d given up on trying to make conversation.

As soon as they’d eaten, Cameron asked her to sit on the sofa and place her foot up on the table. He sat on the table with her foot between his knees, and she was taken off guard by memories of the night he’d saved her life. She wasn’t surprised at his gentleness in untying the strips of cloth that held the pieces of wood around her ankle. He pulled each piece carefully away and set them on the table beside him. When her foot was free, he rubbed it with his hands to help ease the stiffness.

Saying nothing, Cameron moved his fingers farther, massaging her lower leg tenderly. Abbi tingled from his pleasing touch, but wondered why a man who seemed to hold nothing but contempt for her would take time to ease the stiffness in her leg. Then he looked up to meet her gaze and she understood. She’d seen the same look in Nikolaus du Woernig’s eyes when he’d given her a tour of his bedroom. Angry, if not afraid, Abbi pulled away and stood up abruptly, not giving her new foot a chance to prove itself. She would have fallen if Cameron hadn’t caught her, and he smiled devilishly as her face came close to his. “Give it time, Abilee,” he said, clearly finding humor in the situation.

“I can manage, thank you.” She pulled abruptly away, wondering what he meant by
it
. Taking her crutch, Abbi hurried away, barely touching the tender leg to the ground.

Alone in her room, away from Cameron’s gaze, Abbi tested the leg more bravely. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. After walking about for an hour or so, she felt confident it had healed well, and the slight limp seemed more from stiffness than any permanent injury. If nothing else, Cameron had doctored her well, and she was grateful. She only wondered how to deal with his newfound interest.

On an especially cold afternoon, Cameron stayed inside much longer than usual to avoid the chill. Abbi went about her household routine, humming and ignoring his ominous presence as he sat at the dining table, reading. She was in clear view of him as she cleaned the dishes, and he glanced up at her frequently. It was easy now to see lust laced into the resentment in his gaze, and she wondered if she should feel afraid.

Abbi finished her chore and attempted to move the dishpan to empty it, but it slipped and water spilled down the front of her. She cursed under her breath as she looked at the soaked dress, then she noticed Cameron’s attention on her. He removed his glasses and leaned back, staring at her dress with glazed eyes. Abbi turned quickly to go upstairs and change, but Cameron bolted out of his chair to block her path. He backed her toward the wall, reminding her of the first time she’d come here. Abbi could hardly breathe as she faced him so closely that she had to look up to meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I might ask you the same,” he murmured against her face.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You’re torturing me. You move about this place so silent . . . so beautiful. You are torturing me, Abbi, with every move you make. This is
my
home. Do you hear me? And I’ll not be tortured in my own home.”

“You’re making no sense,” she snarled, even though she knew well what he was talking about. “You must be drunk!”

“I’m not drunk. I’ve never been drunk a day in my life.”

“You’re mad then.”

“I wholly agree with that possibility. Living alone for three years and then being forced daily to exist with you could make any man go mad.”

“I didn’t ask you to save my life.”

“No, but you asked God to send someone to save your life, and I was the only fool available.”

“I would rather have died in the snow than lose my virtue.”

“Then perhaps we shall both be tortured.”

“You once told me that you were a gentleman.”

“That man was gone long before I ever saw your face.” He eased closer and Abbi saw something brutally honest appear in his eyes. His voice turned husky and she could feel his breath when he spoke. “In another time and place I was a man who would have courted you properly, and we might have enjoyed a relationship that was perfectly appropriate. But that man no longer exists. I have long ago stopped attempting to gauge my feelings according to what I once believed to be rational and correct. The man I once was would have never even considered doing what I want to do without marrying you first. The man I am now is ruled by a desperation I’d never imagined existed, and a loneliness that is capable of utter destruction.” His eyes turned sad, his expression confused. “What kind of God would send you here to be subjected to such madness, Abbi?”

Abbi was surprised at how she knew the answer to that question, but she also knew speaking it would be futile in that moment. It was the kind of God who had compassion for Cameron’s suffering, who had hope for his future. It was the same God who believed that Abbi was somehow capable of reaching past what the horrors of life had done to Cameron. While she considered the vacillation between Cameron’s reluctant honesty and his apparent need to intimidate and frighten her, she felt completely unafraid—at least of him. She feared more her own response to his nearness and her own relief that he seemed in no hurry to back away. Her breathing quickened audibly as he pressed his hands down her arms and back up again before he touched her face with trembling fingers. She closed her eyes and eased closer to his touch. He guided her hair behind her shoulder with one hand while he cradled her neck with the other and pressed a kiss to her throat, provoking a gasp from her lips that in turn incited him to press his lips more tightly against her skin. He kissed her cheek, her temple, behind her ear, and her throat again. Her stomach quivered, and it took all her willpower not to respond to his affection and urge him on.

“Abbi,” he murmured close to her ear, the honesty still evident in his voice, “I have nothing to give you.
Nothing
. But I am capable of taking everything from you in a heartbeat.”

“But you wouldn’t,” she whispered.

Her hope to urge him toward deeper honesty instead provoked him to fresh anger. He kept his hand tightly at the back of her neck while he looked hard into her eyes. “How do you know what I would and wouldn’t do, Abbi girl?”

“I’m not a girl,” she insisted, doing her best to rival the anger in his eyes.

He glanced down briefly. “That’s true.”

“And I’m not afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should be. How can you not question what lengths I will go to when I question it myself? You have lit a fire inside me, Abbi. One day it may burn out of control.”

“That may well be a day you’ll regret.”

“Perhaps,” he whispered and pressed his lips to her neck once again, “but will you?” Cameron moaned from deep in his throat as he pulled her away from the wall and wrapped her tightly in his arms, holding her impossibly close. Her eyes met his with defiance, but she remained silently helpless, from his presence as much as his force. He pressed his lips to her neck again, sighing deeply with satisfaction. Then, with no warning, he let her go, holding his arms away from his sides as if they’d betrayed him. But he smiled as she hurried past him toward the stairs. She turned to glare at him, and her defiance intensified. “I see this all amuses you very much.”

Cameron looked suddenly sulky, almost sad. “I only laugh to cover the way you make me suffer. But we will suffer together, you and I. I swear it!”

Abbi rushed to her room to avoid letting him see the tears burning in her eyes. She felt utterly humiliated and thoroughly confused. How could she not think of Nikolaus du Woernig? His behavior had been appalling, his intentions deplorable. Were all men this way? And yet there was something about Cameron’s behavior and intentions that put Nikolaus to shame, even if she could never define it.

Confused and frightened, Abbi could do nothing but curl up in the bed and cry. Her isolation from the comfort and security of home had never felt more stark than it had in that moment. But perhaps in some tiny, insignificant way, that too gave her compassion for Cameron.

Chapter Seven

A FAMILY HEIRLOOM

A
bbi avoided Cameron as much as possible and hardly saw him except at mealtime. It had been days since they’d exchanged hardly a word, though his eyes continued to betray what he was feeling. She felt them on her constantly without shame. And once, while sitting across from him at dinner, she drew the courage to look into those eyes and wondered what it would be like if his desires burned out of control as he’d said they might. Allowing such a thing to happen outside of marriage went against everything she’d ever been taught. Still, as his gaze intensified, she felt so fluttery inside that she couldn’t finish her meal. Pushing her plate away, she stood and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” he asked. It was the first thing he’d said to her in three days.

“I can’t eat with you staring at me like that,” she retorted. Cameron made no reply, so she went upstairs to bed, confused more intensely by her own feelings.

The following day Abbi saw Cameron leave with his crossbow slung over his back, and she knew he’d gone hunting. Taking advantage of the time, she set quickly to work preparing herself a hot bath. She had previously washed her hair with great difficulty, and had mostly been sponge bathing, first because of her splint, and then for fear of Cameron’s intrusion. There was no lock on the bedroom door, and her preparations would have made it obvious that she was intending to bathe. All in all, she didn’t trust him. And she certainly didn’t want to give him ample opportunity to soothe his lust.

Abbi was grateful for Gwendolyn’s bath salts as their aroma filled the room. Removing her dress, she knelt by the tub in her underclothing to wash her hair before getting into the water. She had barely begun to get her hair wet when she heard the downstairs door closing. Abbi panicked at first, but she decided the best thing to do was remain quiet and hope Cameron didn’t come upstairs. As soon as she thought it, she heard his footsteps ascending the stairs. Cursing under her breath, she groped for a nearby towel just as the door swung open. She flipped her head back and pressed the towel in front of her chemise, letting her hair drip on the floor behind her. Cameron leaned silently against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest, his expression smug. He wore his usual attire of dark breeches and boots, but she’d never seen the shirt before. It was the blue of his eyes with tiny white stripes, and the top two buttons were undone, which was typical.

“I thought you went hunting,” she said indignantly.

“Well, I’m back.” He seemed proud of himself.

“Don’t you ever knock before entering a lady’s room?” she asked.

“This is my room, if you’ll recall, Abbi. I’ve been sleeping, quite miserably, on the floor, so don’t get too uppity.”

“As you can plainly see, I was about to bathe. I’ll sleep on the floor from now on and you can have your bed back. Just let me bathe in peace.” He only moved to a chair and sat down. “Please,” she added.

“You look as though you could use some help,” he said, his eyes on her dripping hair. “It must be difficult washing hair like that without your lady’s maid.”

“What makes you think I had a lady’s maid?”

“I know a well-born woman when I see one.” She gave him a dubious glare and he chuckled. “Come now, Abbi. I’m no fool. You show up in worn calico, wearing that hair of yours like some ignoble wild child. At first glance one might think you were a simple farm girl, or a shopkeeper’s daughter, perhaps. But your eyes contradict you, Abbi girl—among other things. So, tell me . . . is this some kind of . . . mask you hide behind? Would you prefer that the world see you as something different than what you really are?”

Abbi looked away, unnerved by his perception. She could almost believe he’d overheard solid evidence of her resistance to accommodating society’s expectations. “What other things?” she asked, if only to counteract the silence left hanging by his question.

“Oh, my dear Abbi,” he said, pretending to sound shocked, “no farm girl would ever wear such quality shoes on her feet, nor would she wear the very finest of silk stockings and underclothing.”