Behind the Mask (96 page)

They all took notice of Abbi’s bare feet, and the nightgown she wore beneath Cameron’s cloak. “Your
brother,”
he said to his sisters, “stole her out of her bed and tried to kill her,
after
he threatened to rape her.”

“Oh, good heavens!” Magda gasped. “Where is he now?”

Cameron turned to look over his shoulder just as Nikolaus’s body was brought through the gate. “He’s dead,” Cameron said.

Magda stood frozen. Lena stepped forward as if she intended to investigate personally. Cameron took hold of her shoulders to stop her. “Trust me. He’s dead. You don’t need to see him like that.”

Both his sisters began to cry, but he wondered if their emotion was as confused as his own. Cameron ushered everyone inside. He sent Magda and Lena off to their rooms and turned to Elsa. “Would you please see that Abbi has what she needs then get some rest yourself?” To Abbi he added, “I have ten minutes of business then I’ll be up.” He kissed her quickly and she left with Elsa. This time they had no military escort.

Turning to Gerhard, Cameron extended a hand, “Thank you, my good man. I owe you my life and my freedom.”

“That would make us even, then,” Gerhard said, embracing Cameron firmly.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Cameron said, then he motioned toward a maid who was standing just out of earshot, waiting to meet his needs. “See that Mr. Albrecht is cared for comfortably.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid curtsied and Gerhard followed her down the hall.

Cameron moved toward the office with Georg at his side. They found the captain at the desk, preparing the proclamation. He looked up when Cameron entered. “I take it you’re here to endorse this. But it’s not finished.”

“That’s all right,” Cameron said. He sat down and read what there was, fighting the lump that gathered in his throat. Without malice it plainly stated that Nikolaus du Woernig had been killed by an unnamed officer of the Guard when he had threatened the life of the duchess. It also made clear the indisputable testimony of Nikolaus’s crimes, and their effect on his brother and the country. Nikolaus would always be remembered as a traitor and a tyrant. And that’s exactly how Cameron wanted it.

“It’s fine,” he said, and signed it. “I trust you. Give me those blank ones to sign, and then you can have them copied. I’m going to bed.” Cameron signed his name several times, then he stood to leave the room. “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “When you finish with that, get some sleep.”

He went back into the hall where he and Georg took a deep breath at the same time. “What a day,” Cameron said. “We’ve gone from heaven, to hell, and back again.”

“At least twice over,” Georg said. “I think you need some sleep.”

“What makes you think so?” Cameron laughed. “And what about you?”

“As soon as my wife . . . ah, there she is,” he said, taking Elsa’s hand as she came to the bottom of the stairs. “Good night,
Your Grace,”
Georg said and walked away with Elsa at his side.

Cameron moved slowly up the huge staircase, marveling at how far he’d come. He found Abbi in bed, with a lamp left burning low. When he crawled between the sheets and pulled her into his arms, everything was perfect—until images crowded into his mind of his wife at Nikolaus’s mercy. And to think the helplessness he’d felt was only relinquished by his brother’s death. Would he ever forget the powerless shock etched into Nikolaus’s face just before he’d died?

“Are you all right?” Abbi asked when she felt Cameron tremble. He made a noise that she couldn’t distinguish as positive or negative. Then he took hold of her and cried, but it was only a few minutes before he drifted to sleep. Abbi just held him, with a prayer in her heart that didn’t begin to express the gratitude she felt. The man she loved was finally free.

Abbi woke to sunlight and the feel of Cameron’s lips on her face. She hated the momentary reminder of coming awake to find Nikolaus beside her, but she pushed it away. He was wearing his uniform, minus the coat, and she asked, “Where are you going?”

“The hearing,” he said. “An actual trial is no longer considered necessary, but the committees have asked for a hearing to be clear on all the facts and evidence, and to make everything official.” He kissed her again. “It’s still early. You rest and we’ll have brunch together when I come back.”

Abbi nodded and watched him walk through a door that she now realized was the duke’s separate dressing room. She could hear Franz talking with him and found some relief to know that she could have privacy in her bedroom while the valet helped her husband. She thought of her own father having worked as his valet and smiled at the irony. Then she drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, she awoke, thinking she was alone, until she heard paper rustling and turned to see Cameron reading a newspaper, wearing his glasses, his booted feet stacked on a separate chair. He’d removed the coat of his uniform and the braces hung around his hips. The close-fitting shirt hinted at strong shoulders. His clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair enhanced a regal aura about him that was strangely familiar. Pondering her brief visit to the castle the previous morning, she felt as if she’d lived seven days in one. But it didn’t matter who he was or where they lived. He loved her, and only her.

“I know you,” she said, and he turned toward her, removing his glasses, showing a smile. “You’re Cameron du Woernig. That man who tries to pass himself off as a commoner for the sake of saving his own hide.”

“A fairly accurate description,” he chuckled, setting the paper and his glasses aside.

“But not terribly effective,” she said lightly. “I should have known the first time you started ordering me around that you were the most powerful man in Horstberg.”

“Actually,” he drawled, “at the time, I was the most
wanted
man in Horstberg.”

“But no commoner. Your eyes are too royal to hide the truth.”

Cameron moved to the edge of the bed and sat close beside her. He leaned over and kissed her meekly before he said, “I know you. You’re that woman responsible for bringing that scoundrel of a duke back from the dead.”

“I don’t know that I really had much to do with it,” she said and hurried to change the subject. “How did the hearing go?”

“Perfect,” he said. “I must confess that I felt thoroughly vindicated.” His voice took on a comical lilt. “Respect and apology for my suffering flying all over the place.”

“How marvelous. Perhaps I should have been there.”

“Most of it was tedious.” His countenance became grave. “And I did not want you hearing every detail of last night’s events repeated.” He lightened his mood. “There’s only one part that was truly worth hearing, but I do believe I can repeat it with accuracy.”

“Tell me,” she said eagerly.

He cleared his throat elaborately and lowered his voice to mimic the committee chief. “ ‘We hereby pronounce you, Cameron Erich Ferdinand Gustave du Woernig,
not guilty.’ ”

Abbi inhaled the words. “A man with a name
and
freedom. How glorious.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, yet his countenance darkened.

“What is it?” she asked.

He drew a troubled sigh. “The hearing was difficult for Lance.”

“Why?” she asked, sharing Cameron’s concern as she considered all he’d gone through recently.

“Lance loved and revered his sister deeply,” Cameron said, his eyes distant. “But she chose to behave a certain way around him. She was an excellent actress. He really didn’t know her. Your father’s testimony put her in an appalling light; unfortunately it was very accurate to the woman I remember.” Cameron sighed. “When I spoke to Lance . . . last week . . . he asked me what had gone wrong with me and Gwen, and I told him. But I was angry and unkind. I’ve apologized to him, but . . .”

“I’m sure he understands.”

“Yes, I believe he does. He’s a very forgiving man.” He sighed again, more deeply. “I’m certain he will be able to forgive Gwen much more easily than I will. Her crimes against me were far worse than I’d ever imagined.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and Cameron felt touched by her concern.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “She was involved with Nikolaus . . . even before I married her.”

“No!” she whispered, horrified.

“Oh, yes. And, uh . . . apparently her goal was to aid my brother in framing me for treason, and to marry him once I was out of the way so that she could maintain her position.” A glance showed him that Abbi felt his shock and disgust. “That’s what the argument was about.”

“What argument?”

“The one that got her killed. He was intending to enter into a betrothal that would favor him politically, and she wanted to be the duchess, even after I was gone.”

“I can’t believe it,” Abbi muttered, her compassion so evident that it soothed him tangibly.

“Nor can I,” he admitted, turning to look at her directly. “Do you have any comprehension, my dear, sweet wife, how much your integrity and ethics mean to me? The way you love and honor me is . . . priceless, incomprehensible. She made everything in my life difficult. You make everything easier.” He smiled and touched her face. “It’s no wonder that I love you.”

An elegant brunch was brought to their room, and while they were eating, Elsa worked on preparing a bath for Abbi in the duchess’s separate dressing room, which she hadn’t even realized existed. Elsa came discreetly in and out of the room, still working at unpacking Abbi’s things and putting them in place, while hot water was brought up and delivered through a separate entrance. Abbi had longed for a bath the night before, but with the late hour and mass exhaustion, she had settled for washing her hands and feet with Elsa’s help, and changing into a clean nightgown.

Abbi and Cameron ate mostly in silence while she still felt too in awe of her surroundings to be completely comfortable. She sensed that he was troubled and unsettled, as she was, over the previous evening’s events, and the outcome. But she didn’t want to broach the subject with Elsa coming and going.

A strong aroma of lavender surrounded Abbi as she slid into the hot bath, relishing the luxury, wishing it could wash away the memory of Nikolaus’s vile touch. She leaned back and looked at the palms of her hands, contemplating the scabbing there, a souvenir of being pushed to the ground. Her wrists had the hint of rope burn and some tenderness from the way Nikolaus had held them so tightly. She lifted her knees and feet to assess the damages there as well. Nothing terribly significant, but enough to make it clear the experience had been horrifically real. She went back to staring at the palms of her hands while she attempted to relax. She touched her wedding ring, and held up her left hand to admire it, finding contentment with the simple fact that she could publicly claim being a married woman.

“Would you like me to help you with your hair now?” Elsa asked.

Before Abbi could answer, she heard Cameron say, “No, thank you, Elsa. I’ll help her this time.” Abbi turned to see him leaning in the doorway, and she wondered how long he’d been there. “That will be all for now,” he said. “We’ll ring if we need anything. Thank you.”

“Very good, sir,” she said and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

Cameron rolled up his sleeves as he moved toward her, and she was reminded of that day in the lodge when he had helped wash her hair. Little had existed between them beyond fear and mistrust—and an undeniable attraction that neither of them had understood.

“Just like old times,” she said as he knelt beside the tub.

“Not exactly,” he said, and took her hands into his, turning her palms to his view. He touched the scabs on one hand and then the other before pressing them to his face as if he could heal them. “Do you remember,” he asked, holding them there, “the first time I touched your hands?”

“Yes,” she said with no hesitance.

“You were telling me a dream had led you to my door.”

“You reached across the table and took them.”

“They were scratched from getting through the thicket.”

“You let go and told me to leave and never come back.”

He pressed a kiss to each of her palms and let them go, saying, “Let me wash your hair.” He helped her lie back in the water to get it wet, and then he sat on the floor and lathered every inch of it, quietly playing in the suds with the fascination of a child.

“What’s troubling you?” Abbi asked, unable to bear the silence. She knew they needed to talk, but didn’t know where to begin. “You have everything now. I should think you’d be overjoyed.”

Cameron’s voice held sorrow. “My joy is deep, Abbi. But . . .”

“But what happened last night was upsetting,” she stated. His silence agreed, and she urged gently, “Tell me what you’re feeling, Cameron.”

“I’m not sure what to say.” He gently massaged her scalp, paying special attention to the back of her head where Nikolaus had been holding her hair so tightly. “Is it tender here?” he asked.

Abbi didn’t want the topic opened of what Nikolaus had done to her. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, and he had far too much to contend with at the moment without her heaping more upon it. “Yes,” was all she said.

“There is no hair so beautiful as this in all the world,” he murmured, then his voice tightened. “When I saw him holding it that way, I wanted to kill him for that alone.” He kept his hands busy in her hair, liking the way it soothed his emotions as he spoke. “I keep wishing that I had been the one to kill him, but at the same time I’m so grateful that I didn’t have to.”