Chapter 12
June moved as if to slip away but Cameron’s hand gripped her upper arm tightly.
“Ye’re no just leaving,” he hissed loudly.
She closed her eyes.
She owed him an answer. No. What she owed him was the truth.
But she couldn’t speak the words here. Surrounded by people.
The orchestra burst into the strains of a lively cotillion and she flinched. A group of guests brushed past her, the girls giggling and the men grinning as they rushed to begin the dance.
Cameron had released her.
“Fine.” He had bent his head down to speak into her ear. His warm breath tickled her skin. “But I canna wait, June. I must know. If not here, then where?”
“Meet me on the terrace upstairs in half an hour,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
Then she quickly moved away from him.
Only to be caught by Sir Edward Montague. The jovial baronet had her hook, line, and sinker before she knew it, pulled back onto the dance floor as his partner for the cotillion.
The dance was a long one. Before she knew it, the half hour had flown by. She had barely had to speak. Sir Montague had, blessedly, talked enough for the both of them. All she had to do was nod and smile. Sometimes a laugh was expected and she tried her best to provide a small chuckle.
She thought she had been doing fairly well in playing her part until Sir Montague escorted her to the sidelines, turned to her and said, “My dear, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said this half hour, have you?”
She blushed. “I’m so sorry, Sir Montague.”
He waved a hand. “No matter, dear lady. Believe me, I’m more used to it than you might think.” He examined her thoughtfully. “No, it isn’t that my ego’s been hurt. Though in the past, it certainly would have if I couldn’t hold a beautiful woman’s attention for the span of a single dance.”
“I’m truly sorry,” June said miserably. “I don’t know where my head is.”
Sir Montague smiled. His smile was kinder and more fatherly than she’d expected. Kinder than she felt she had any right to. “I’d be more worried about your heart, my lady.”
She flushed.
He patted her arm. “There, there. You’ve gone through a great deal, haven’t you, my dear? The strain is written all over your face. But come now. Hard times pass. They always do. It won’t always be this way.”
She felt herself tearing up and turned to face one of the windows so no one around them would see.
A handkerchief was pressed into her hand.
“If only that was true,” she longed to say. But it was better to say nothing at all.
The hard times would not pass. She knew that. No matter what Cameron believed, she had no doubt John would never stop his cruelty. As soon as the Duke of Tulloch had left Windermere and the last guest had gone home, it would be as worse as ever.
She recalled that the baronet was a widower with children. They must have all grown up now. He must have been a good father, she thought. He seemed to think himself a bit of a dandy, but from now on she knew she would only see a fatherly man who had been kind to her.
“I believe I’ll take a little break from the dancing,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’ve been very kind, Sir Montague. I shall not forget it.”
She looked around the ballroom carefully before she left it. But there was no reason for undue concern. John was not a dancer, but Horatia had managed to coerce him into a waltz. They moved–rather stiffly–in time to the music. Horatia was talking animatedly about something while John frowned.
With the knowledge her husband was adequately distracted, June made her way to the second floor and out onto the terrace.
Cameron was already standing outside. She wondered if he had been waiting the whole half hour.
He turned as she approached.
“Tell me.” She knew he couldn’t help it but still, she winced at the sound of his voice. When he didn’t temper his tone, it defaulted to a low growl.
She took a seat on the stone bench nearby, just out of sight of the terrace doors.
The duke came to stand on the opposite side, next to a tall potted shrubbery that shielded him from anyone who might be passing in the hall.
Cameron spoke up. “If the bairn died in childbirth, ye need only say so. I know it happens to many a wee babe.”
She knew what she had to say. It was the saying it that was so very difficult.
Even now, the mere thought of the baby made June feel like curling up and dying. When it had happened, she had taken to her bed for months. There had been no one to care. No one to stop her.
No one to remember the baby had ever lived but her.
“But this not knowing, June,” Cameron continued. “Yer hesitation. I’ll admit, it’s driving me a wee bit mad.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But…” She shook her head. “Even now, it’s very hard to speak of.”
“Ye were the bairn’s mother. I canna imagine the hurt. But though I only learned of the babe’s existence yesterday, I find…” She looked up at him and saw the pain in his face. “I find it matters to me more than I would have expected.”
“I understand,” she said softly. “And I will tell you what happened to our child. I swear it. But first…”
This would not be easy.
“You must swear something to me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The problem was that John was not merely a coward as Cameron had said, though yes, he probably was that. He was also very clever. And like Horatia, he was very manipulative and very good at it, too.
Furthermore, just as June had told Cameron before, John was a very good shot. He was an adequate swordsman. But put a pistol in his hand and it seemed to June there was nothing he couldn’t hit.
She would not permit the man she loved to fight the man she hated and die trying to uphold her honor or in the vain hopes of protecting her.
She would not even let him do so in the name of justice. For justice was a weak and pitiful thing. It would not bring back the dead.
“I dinna like where this is going, June,” Cameron said, his lips a tight line. “Ye shouldna need me to swear to anything to tell me what occurred.”
“It’s terrible of me to ask it of you, I know. But I must.” She steeled her voice, trying to stay resolute.
“Fine.” Cameron’s voice had turned hard. “What must I swear?”
“You must swear you will not do anything in anger once I have finished telling you what you wish to know, either in word or in deed. You must not seek out justice or revenge.”
There was a heavy silence.
“‘Tis a hard thing to ask of a man, June. And a cruel one if ye know me, which ye do.”
“I am not trying to be cruel,” she said. “But I understand it must seem that way.”
“So mischief befell the babe then. Some terrible harm. For even now you fear I shall desire to extract revenge.” Cameron’s hands were curled into fists by his side.
She took a deep breath. “I cannot answer that. Not until you swear.”
“Fine then!” he all but shouted. “I swear. I swear not to take revenge for what happened to yer child, June, if that is what ye truly wish.” His face was savage as he bent down towards her. “Though what sort of a mother wishes for such a thing, I canna say. None I’ve ever known. Now tell me. Tell me what I wish to know.”
He wanted to be gone from her sight. She knew this. Had known it might come to this.
“Though from the look on your face,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I dinna need ye to say a word. It was yer husband, was it not? He killed the babe?”
He began to prowl back and forth in front of the bench, like a pent up wolf.
“Not directly, no,” June said, trying very hard to be fair.
“Lies. I dinna believe it. Tell me what he did.”
“He… pushed me. When I was very close to term.” Down the very flight of winding stairs she had just walked up to get to this same terrace they now were on.
“And? The babe died, did it not? That’s murder, June. Murder! Yer own husband. And ye had me swear to such a thing…” The pain and fury in his voice was palpable.
“The baby…” Her voice broke. “He died, yes.”
“He? A son. We had a son.” Cameron’s voice was bewildered. “What did ye name him then?”
“I named him Connor,” she said softly.
Silence for a moment. “My father’s name.”
“Yes. I would have named him Cameron, but…” But she had been a coward, she thought dully. What would it have mattered if she had named the child Cameron? He had died anyway. John had gotten his way, as he always did.
“He didna die right away?”
“No. He lived three days.” Three long, agonizing days.
“And yer husband. He pushed ye on purpose, yes? He wished for yer babe to die?”
“I… I think so. Yes. But I have no proof.”
“No proof?” Cameron tipped his head back and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “His marks on yer body. And ye have no proof? He hates ye, June. Surely ye must see that. But a baby? Why? He knew ye were carrying another man’s child when ye wed, did he not?”
“He did, yes.”
“Then why? Why would he do such a thing?” Cameron shook his head. “The child might never have known. He could have raised it as his own. As his heir. Or was that why he did it? He had no wish for our child to inherit?”
“I think so, yes. You see…” She paused. “Horatia’s eldest boy is to inherit everything as it stands right now.”
“And ye have no other children. Why is that? Ten years ye’ve had, yet ye are childless. Did ye no want children?”
Oh, she had longed for children. After the first hurt had begun to–well, not fade. It would never fade. But after the hurt had lessened ever so slightly. The sharp pain of grief becoming a constant dull ache. Even now she felt it. She always would.
“I would have been glad to have another child, yes. But John…” She hesitated again. “I believe it’s time I told you the true state of my marriage.”
“Ye needna if ye dinna wish to,” Cameron said gruffly, looking slightly surprised.
“No, I wish to. Perhaps it will help you somehow to know,” she said as stoutly as she could. “When we married, you see, John made sure to… to consummate things.”
She sensed Cameron stiffen.
It was still horrible to speak of. Horrible to remember that awful night. Everything had been the opposite of Cameron. There had been no desire. No love. Worse, no gentleness. Not of any kind.
“I dinna think I can stand to know. It turns my stomach to think of ye and…” He shook his head.
“Please. Just wait. After that first night, that was the end of it. From now until then.”
Cameron stared. “Ye’re telling me yer husband never visited yer bed again. Not once.”
June nodded. “That’s right.”
It was the only good thing John had ever given her. Peace from… that.
“He prefers his mistress, you see,” she said, her voice low. “He prefers Horatia.”
“Aye, I understood yer implication verra well,” Cameron said drily. “The fool of a man. Not,” he added hastily. “That I wish for him to… do any differently.”
He eyed her. “So Windermere and that woman, they have how many children together?”
“I believe,” June said carefully. “That all three of the children Horatia has borne since her husband died are John’s. Though, of course, nothing public has ever been said on the matter.”
“The bloody blackguard.” Cameron stared down at her. “And yet what I dinna understand is why ye stay with him.”
“Stay?” June looked up in surprise. “Where else would I go?”
“Ye might go anywhere,” Cameron said with gritted teeth. “Anywhere but the devil’s own den.”
“My father is dead,” June said, her temper rising. “I have no other kin.”
“Ye live with a man who murdered yer child,” Cameron burst out. “How can ye stand it?”
“He also took my money and has run through it all. And he beats me. Yet where would I go, Cameron? Where? Tell me that?”
The duke shook his head stubbornly. “Surely ye must have friends. Someone who might take you in.”
“Who would harbor another man’s wife? Especially an earl’s? Are you truly so ignorant of the laws, Cameron, or have you forgotten that I belong to my husband? He might track me down anywhere and when he did, he could do worse than beat me. He might commit me to an asylum.”
From the look on Cameron’s face, it was clear he had not thought of this.
“Aye,” he admitted. “He might. But at least ye would be free of the man.”
“Free of one man. But possibly at the mercy of another just as bad or worse. I have heard terrible stories of what can happen to women in such places. No.” She shook her head. “I’d rather the devil I know.”
“Either way,” he said quietly. “‘Tis not much of a choice.”
She looked away. “I didn’t say it was.”
“Ye shouldn’t have made me swear, June. I’ll tell ye true–I’m not sure I canna forgive ye for it.”
She closed her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to.”
His last words when they came were tinged with sadness rather than anger. “Aye. I figured as much.”
She listened to his footsteps march across the terrace, then listened to the sound of the door opening and closing.
When she opened her eyes again, she was all alone.