Behind the Mask (58 page)

When a knock came at the door, Elsa said, “I’ll get that.”

“Thank you, Elsa,” she said.

Elsa
. Cameron leaned his head back against the wall. Of course. This was Georg’s wife, Abbi’s lady’s maid. While Elsa was talking with someone at the door, he peered around the draperies to see Abbi sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing through her hair.

“Oh, that smells wonderful,” Abbi said in reference to the tray of food that had been brought up. Elsa closed the door with her foot and set the tray down. “Where did you come up with this?”

“I think it was simmering for tomorrow’s lunch,” Elsa said. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh, and some of that exquisite cake,” Abbi said. “Elsa, you are an angel.”

“Don’t be promoting me to sainthood, Miss Abbi. I had Marta send enough for both of us.”

Abbi giggled and they sat together on the bed, eating and chatting about senseless, girlish things. While Abbi finished eating and brushed through her hair, Elsa finished preparing the bath with buckets of hot water brought upstairs by the house boy.

“That should do it,” Elsa said. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, Elsa. I won’t be needing anything more tonight. You look tired. Get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, then,” Elsa said as she left the room, taking the empty food tray with her.

Once alone, Abbi undressed for her bath. She stood for a moment in front of the mirror and touched the gentle swelling where her baby grew. Thoughts of the child eased her anxiety, as if its very existence gave her added serenity. Sinking into the tub, Abbi sighed and relaxed, deeply breathing in the lavender aroma of the water.

Cameron pressed himself more tightly against the wall in an effort to remain concealed as he tried to accept the evidence of what he had just seen. Abbi was with child.
His
child. Though he knew no one could see him, his hand went quickly over his eyes to cover the surge of tears that pressed out. His heart beat madly and he moved his hand over his mouth to keep from crying aloud. He was grateful that Abbi couldn’t see him as he absorbed the discovery in solitude, letting the tears spill silently over his face.

The bath was refreshing as Abbi had hoped, but she felt too anxious to stay there for long. After drying off and putting on a nightgown and wrapper, she walked to the balcony and looked out into the night. Gazing across the estate in all directions, she ached for some clue that Cameron might be nearby. But the night was peaceful and quiet—almost too quiet. She turned and stepped back into the room, gasping as her eye was drawn to a dark cloak thrown over the foot of the bed. She held her breath and turned to see Cameron sitting in her chair with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, as if he’d been there for hours.

“Hello,” he said, the sound of his voice cementing the evidence that he was truly here. In the time it took her to draw a deep breath, Abbi recounted the endless hours she’d spent in this room, longing for him, aching from loneliness, unable to comprehend ever being together again. And here he was. Real, and alive, and all hers—legally and forever. She was struck by a serenity in his countenance that soothed all her tension and worries away. Recalling the frightened and angry man she had met last summer, she felt the urge to just stand there and look at him and ponder the changes. But her mind was drawn to an obvious question.

“How did you get in?” she asked.

“The window,” he said, nodding toward it. She realized how long he must have been in the room before he added, “I couldn’t very well make myself known with Elsa here, now could I.” He laughed softly. “Good thing the two of you weren’t sharing secrets or speaking ill of me.”

“Did you think I would?” she asked, wondering why he’d not declared his presence once Elsa had left for the night.

“No,” he said, holding out a hand toward her. She stepped forward to take it and he looked up at her. “I have always believed that you would be utterly and completely honest with me, that you would always share with me the deepest secrets of your heart—even though I have kept a great many secrets from you. But you
have
been keeping something from me.”

Abbi’s heart quickened when his eyes moved downward, filling with childlike fascination as he watched his own hand come to rest against her belly. She wondered if he might be hurt or angry that she’d not told him, but he looked up with a sparkle of tears in his eyes before he squeezed them closed and pressed his face into the folds of her nightgown, as if to acquaint himself with this child that was a part of him. Elated and weak, Abbi leaned against him with a sigh of relief, holding him close as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Oh, my love,” he said, as her hands went around his neck, “how can I tell you . . . where do I begin . . . to let you know how happy you’ve made me?” He looked up at her and then eased her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms. “You knew,” he said, “when you came to be with me last month. You must have known.” Abbi nodded and met his eyes, wondering how to explain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She reminded herself to be completely honest with him. “I couldn’t. Not until . . .”

“Until what?” he demanded gently. “Did you think I would be upset or—”

“No, of course not, but . . . I just had to know that you would keep your promises because of your love for me, and not because of any obligation to a child.”

The hurt in Cameron’s eyes was evident as he asked, “Did you believe I wouldn’t?”

“No, Cameron, in my heart I truly believed you
would
keep your promise . . . to make our marriage legal, to spend the rest of your life caring for me. But in the years ahead, no matter what difficulties we might come up against, now I will never have to wonder.” Emotion tainted her voice. “I will always remember that your first order of business was meeting me at the altar.”

“Oh, my sweet Abbi.” He looked into her eyes. “Are you happy about this? All these months . . . it must have been terribly difficult for you. I can’t help wondering if you had wished that—”

“It’s the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, Cameron. I’ve not had even a moment’s regret. Not one.”

Cameron laughed and relief came to his eyes. “I’ve waited for so long to be with you,” he said, “and now I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just hold me,” she said and he pulled her closer. He kissed her only once before he stood with her in his arms and placed her on the bed, lying close beside her.

“I do believe,” he said with tender humor, while he reacquainted himself with her by touching her face and hair, “the last time I saw you, we were getting married. I think that means we are now on our honeymoon.” He chuckled. “If you could call hiding away with an exiled criminal a honeymoon.”

She smiled. “As long as we are together, nothing else matters.”

“Well,” he said and kissed her, “we are certainly together.” He kissed her again. “And we are certainly married.” And again. “Legally, this time.” He laughed softly close to her ear while his hand pressed tightly over where the baby grew. “High time I made an honest woman out of you.”

“High time, indeed,” she murmured with gentle laughter and kissed his throat while she pressed a hand beneath the fabric of his shirt. He scattered kisses over her face and in her hair.

“I love you dearly, Mrs. . . .” He stopped speaking as abruptly as he stopped kissing her.

“You nearly said it, didn’t you,” she teased and expected some sign of humor from his near slip. But he tensed up and rolled onto his back, exhaling loudly as he pressed a hand over the center of his chest and squeezed his eyes closed.

“I
can’t
say it, Abbi. It’s hurt to even
think
of saying it.”

“Why?” she asked gently, propping herself up on one elbow.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m not sure. And how can I talk to you about it when you don’t even
know
my name?”

“Our
name,” she corrected and he took her hand. “I don’t need to know what it is to understand how you feel about it, but . . .”

“But what?” he pressed.

“But . . . I can’t help wondering if . . .”

“Just say it, Abbi.”

“If your reasons for withholding your name are as much to do with the way you feel about it, as they are your concern for my safety.”

“I admit to that,” he said so readily that she knew he’d pondered the idea long before she’d suggested it.

Abbi traced the line of his beard with her fingers. “Talk to me, Cameron. You don’t need to tell me your name to explain why it causes you pain.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his brow and whispered, “Give me the pain in your heart, my love. Let me hold it for you.”

Cameron’s heart quickened to hear it put in such a way. He eased closer to her and she relaxed with her arms around him. “Just thinking of it confuses me, Abbi. On one hand I have a deep respect for my name, and I honor it. But at the same time a part of me loathes it, or perhaps I just hate what it represents.”

“And what is that?”

He blew out a harsh breath. “Family names come with expectations, Abbi. Farmers expect their sons to become farmers. Bakers, milliners, blacksmiths expect the same. Professions are most often carried on as tradition. The name Albrecht has a reputation for fine horses. You have a passion for them, but your father did not. His breaking with tradition was difficult for him
and
for his father.”

“I didn’t know that,” Abbi said. “Is that why my grandfather disowned him?”

“No, he had other challenges. But they might have been more easily remedied if he and his father had seen eye to eye. As I understand it, your grandfather was deeply wounded by your father’s lack of interest in what meant most to him.”

Abbi’s mind raced with the implications regarding her father, and what they might mean hypothetically to Cameron’s situation. She was relieved when he continued. “With my name the expectations were high and the traditions very clear.”

“You were expected to follow your father’s career.”

“Exactly.”

“But you didn’t want to?”

“No, I didn’t want to.”

“A military career?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” he said.

“But you did it anyway.”

“Yes, I did. My father was very good at what he did, but he . . .” His hesitance indicated a painful point. “He . . . made it clear that he didn’t believe I had the ability or personality to follow in his footsteps effectively. His attitude created . . . tension in the family, and some . . . competitive views. I spent my life trying to prove my father wrong. Even after he died I kept hearing his voice in my head, making me determined to not only do my job well, but to do it better than he had. By all logical assessments, I was damn good at what I did, Abbi. But it still never felt good enough. I would still hear him telling me that I had to earn the right to bear his name proudly, and his certainty that I would only slander it. Then I was found with Gwen’s blood on my hands and thrown into prison like some whipped dog. Men who had worked with me and respected me were bringing meager meals into my cell with strict orders not to talk to me. They wouldn’t even look at me. Pacing that floor hour after hour, day after day, I could only hear my father’s voice telling me that I had proven him right. I had slandered his name and his good reputation. I had lost the right to bear it proudly. And that’s when I put the name away.” He let out a ragged sigh. “I can’t give you my name, Abbi, until I can take it back with some measure of dignity.”

Cameron felt her hand in his hair as she spoke with gentle wisdom. “You don’t need your father’s approval, Cameron. You only need to know within yourself that you’ve honored your own expectations, and that those expectations are right and reasonable.”

He tightened his hold on her in an effort to express appreciation for her sound intuition. “I know that, Abbi. I do. But a part of me has trouble accepting it.” He leaned on his hand so that he could see her face. “It’s difficult to explain how important it is for me to see this through, Abbi. Even if you were aware of all that’s taking place, I doubt that I could fully explain what it means to me. I can only say that I have the opportunity before me not only to prove my innocence, but to take back my name—and to take it boldly—and to prove that I
am
worthy of what I worked for.”

She smiled and touched his face, once again spouting insights that left him stunned. “And then,” she said, “you can choose your own path, Cameron. Not because it’s your father’s path, but because it’s what
you
want, what
you
believe in. Whether or not you follow your father’s career is not nearly so important as living your life in a way that honors
your
name, not
his.”

Cameron felt her words penetrate his heart and warm his spirit. He shook his head in disbelief, murmuring with the reverence he felt, “Where did you come from, Abbi girl? Did heaven send you to this world already equipped with such profound wisdom and discernment?”

“I only say what I feel . . . what I think.”

“Precisely. And what you say has many times left me thoroughly humbled and utterly in awe.”

Her only response was a probing gaze that wordlessly expressed her perfect love for him, resulting in the emotions he’d just described. Deciding he’d had enough deep confessions for one day, he lightened his tone and added, “If I had any sense, I’d marry you.”

She smiled. “You already did—twice.”

He laughed softly. “I must be a fairly intelligent man then, to have done something so brilliant.”

“No doubt,” she said with exaggerated wonder. “Would you like to know the first time I realized just how brilliant you are?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he said skeptically.

“It was when I realized that you could cook and do laundry.”

He chuckled. “I’d had lots of practice.” He bent down to kiss her. “How could my father not be proud of
that?”

“Indeed,” she said and lifted her lips to his again.

Passion crept into his kiss but he drew back long enough to say, “We did it, Abbi. Our marriage is legal, and we’re going to have a baby.” Again he put a hand to her belly. “A son with red hair, perhaps.”