When a Stranger Loves Me (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 3) Read online

  Chelsea spoke firmly. “If you hate it so much, why don’t you go back? Enough time has passed. I’m sure all has been forgotten. There have probably been dozens of scandals since then, far worse than mine. I would be perfectly fine here on my own. I enjoy the solitude.”

  She would not ever wish for more. She had given up her childish dreams of romance long ago. Now she found pleasure and excitement through her stories.

  Her mother picked up her embroidery again and sat down. She began stitching with hands that shook. “Oh no. I could never show my face. I would be mortified.”

  Chelsea sighed heavily. “Well, that is your choice. As for me, I am content here. I do not need or want to marry just to get back into society’s good graces.” She cared nothing for society. It had done her no favors.

  “It is not just for that,” her mother argued. “What if something happens to your brother? What then? You and I would be at the mercy of Lord Jerome, which is why I wish you would not slight him.”

  Chelsea’s stomach pitched and rolled. It was a truth she preferred not to confront, for Sebastian, throughout a ten-year marriage, had not provided the family with an heir.

  He walked into the room just then and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Slight who?” His blue eyes narrowed with curiosity. “The attempted murder victim upstairs?”

  “No, of course not,” Chelsea answered with growing unease. “We are talking about Father’s cousin, Lord Jerome.”

  “Ah, yes, our delightful cousin Jerome.” Sebastian leaned back against the sideboard and wrapped his hands around the coffee cup to warm them. “He’s not coming here, is he? Heaven help us all if he is. He’ll empty our wine cellar in a day.”

  “And leave greasy smudge marks on all the mirrors,” Chelsea agreed, without smiling.

  “Did you know he’s wearing a wig now?” Sebastian mentioned as he took a seat at the head of the table. “He thinks he has all the ladies fooled into believing it’s his real hair.”

  “And do they actually believe it?”

  He crinkled his nose and shook his head.

  Their mother pushed her chair back and stood up. “That is enough, both of you. He is your father’s cousin, and presently first in line to inherit your title, Sebastian. It is time you both gave this situation the attention it demands. It is no laughing matter.”

  Looking surprised at his mother’s outburst, Sebastian lowered his cup to the table. “I understand that he is my heir, Mother, but I am young and healthy.”

  “You were ill last month.”

  “It was a bad case of the sniffles.”

  “You were on death’s door,” she argued. “We all knew it, and so did you. And even if you had not been ill, you could trip down the stairs tomorrow and kill yourself on the way to breakfast for all we know.” She paused to calm herself. “The fact of the matter is, we do not know what the future holds for any of us, and we cannot go on drifting aimlessly through the years as if we have it all under control. I agree, Lord Jerome is a horrid, pompous—” She stopped suddenly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to finish what she truly wanted to say. “The point is, we must consider our future. We cannot afford to be rude to him. We must keep all our ducks in a row.”

  Sebastian leaned back in his chair and said nothing for a moment, then met Chelsea’s gaze. “It’s true, I suppose. You ought not to slight him, and maybe you should at least consider it.”

  “Sebastian...” She couldn’t believe she was hearing this from him, of all people—the brother who had always understood her independent mind.

  “Look, Chel,” he said, “we all know I have not been able to secure a future for you and Mother.” He raked a hand through his hair. “There’s only so much I can do. I worry about the two of you, and Melissa’s disappointment is—”

  He stopped and shook his head.

  Chelsea recognized his frustration, reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “You cannot blame yourself for our situation. I did something very foolish seven years ago. I am more to blame than you.”

  He reflected upon everything for a moment. “There is no point casting blame. This is where we are, and I take full responsibility for failing to provide this family with an heir.”

  “He is right in at least one respect, Chelsea,” her mother said. “He does take on all the responsibility when you have been nothing but a burden to this family. You have pulled us down, and now you refuse to do the one thing that could save us.”

  “But I don’t love him,” Chelsea said.

  “Love!” Her mother laughed bitterly. “This is real life, Chelsea, not one of your childish stories. You of all people should know there is no hope for a happily ever after. Not for you. Any hope for that was dashed years ago when you ruined yourself, and now Lord Jerome is the only man in England who would ever make an offer, and he does so out of pity.”

  The butler entered the room and they all immediately went silent. Their mother quickly sat down, picked up her needlepoint and resumed stitching. Chelsea fought to settle her distress.

  “The doctor wishes to see you, my lord,” Cartwright said.

  Eager to hear some news of the man upstairs, Chelsea sat up.

  Sebastian nodded. “Send him in. I am sure we would all like to hear his prognosis.” As soon as the butler was out of earshot, Sebastian added under his breath, “And a change of subject would be a welcome diversion.” He threw Chelsea a look filled with apology and regret.

  A moment later the doctor entered the breakfast room but remained standing just inside the door. He bowed slightly at the waist. “Good morning, my lord. Ladies.”

  Sebastian stood. “How is the patient? Will he recover?”

  “It is difficult to say. He has not yet regained consciousness. The good news is there was no sign of infection in the wound—at least not yet. Outside of that, he has a few bumps and bruises. His knuckles are badly cut up, which suggests he was...” The doctor glanced uneasily at the ladies. “Well, I am sure it is not my place to speculate about what brought him here.” He cleared his throat. “I have treated and dressed the wound. I have examined him. Now there is nothing to do but wait and pray.”

  Chelsea settled back in her chair and worked hard to hide the level of her anxiety. She had been craving information about the man’s identity for the past three hours, and the waiting was excruciating. “He didn’t wake at all while you were treating him? Not even for a moment? Long enough to tell you his name?”

  “No, Lady Chelsea, I am afraid not.”

  “Hence we still have no idea who he is, or how he came to be washed up on our beach?” she said.

  “Without his clothes, no less,” Sebastian added, sitting down and taking another sip of coffee.

  The doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Unusual circumstances, to be sure. I confess, I am rather curious myself.”

  Sebastian turned to Chelsea. “It’s just like one of your stories.”

  She recalled her latest idea about a shipwreck and a handsome sea captain taken in by a young maiden. It was all very strange and extraordinary.

  “He will be weak when he wakes,” the doctor told them. “He will also be confused and disoriented. It might be helpful if someone was at his side at all times, keeping an eye on him and checking the wound for any infection that might still occur. Certainly, if he develops a fever, send for me right away. And when he wakes...”

  Chelsea sat forward. “Yes, Doctor?”

  He shrugged. “Answer his questions, I suppose. Tell him who you are and where he is.”

  “I will sit with him.” She pushed back her chair.

  “You will do no such thing,” her mother declared. “It would be highly improper.”

  Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried about my reputation, Mother?”

  An awkward silence ensued, and the do
ctor cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I should be on my way.”

  Sebastian stood. “Of course, Doctor. Thank you for coming so quickly. And rest assured, we will keep a watchful eye on the patient.”

  As soon as the doctor was gone, Chelsea turned to her mother. “Have a maid chaperone me if you must, though I hardly think it’s necessary. It’s not as if the man is going to ravish me. He’d have to be at least conscious for that.”

  “Fine,” her mother replied. “But when he wakes, you must fetch someone immediately. We do not know anything about him. He could be dangerous.”

  “If it will make you happy, Mother, I will do that.” She stood and started to leave, but her mother stopped her.

  “There is only one thing you can do to make me happy, Chelsea, and you know what that is.”

  Chelsea glanced back and spoke over her shoulder. “Yes, Mother, I know.”

  “Promise me you will consider it, that you will not continue on this selfish path. If you marry Lord Jerome and bear him a son, your father’s title will pass directly through you, and will at least remain in our family.”

  Chelsea nodded. “I understand what you are asking, Mother.”

  Then she left the room to go and sit at the mysterious stranger’s bedside.

  They had put the naked man in the blue guest chamber, a spacious, richly furnished room that overlooked the sea. The heavy velvet drapes were pulled open, and sunshine poured in, dazzling and balmy, while the thunderous noise of the surf kept any unwelcome silence at bay. One of the maids had placed a crystal vase of violets and bluebells on the desk, which brought the fresh scent of summer in from the outdoors.

  Chelsea entered quietly and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She stood with her back to the door, eyes closed, while she contemplated her duty—marriage to Lord Jerome. A most repulsive future. She could not even bear to think of providing him with a son. That would mean she would have to let him touch her with those lecherous hands, kiss her with those thin, pitiless lips that curled over rancid, decaying teeth. She felt sick just thinking of it.

  Opening her eyes, she looked at the stranger asleep in the bed. He lay flat on his back with his arms at his sides. The blue paisley coverlet was drawn up to his waist. Someone had dressed him in a white nightshirt.

  She pushed away from the door and moved closer, both curious and tentative—and strangely, afraid. When she had found him in the cave, she’d been frazzled and distraught. She hadn’t noticed what his face looked like—though she did remember that his hair was jet black, shiny and wet.

  She also remembered, very vividly, the image of his naked body. His legs were long and lean, his back and buttocks fit and muscular.

  And when she’d rolled him over...

  Well, suffice it to say, she had never seen a man’s private anatomy before, and in broad daylight no less. It had been a startling sight. She could not seem to push the image from her mind.

  Not that she was trying very hard to do so. Truth be told, she hadn’t been trying at all to forget it. She was thinking of it even now as she approached him. It helped her to forget everything else that weighed upon her mind.

  At last she stood beside the bed and took in the details of the stranger’s face. He was handsome, there was no question about that, despite the fact that there was a deep gash across his left eyebrow and his bottom lip was split open and swollen. He had strong, dark features—long black eyelashes, a chiseled jaw, and full, soft-looking lips. She wondered if someone in the house had shaved him that morning, because he was surprisingly well groomed. Or perhaps he had shaved at a late hour the night before, which was why he was still presentable that morning, though that seemed highly unlikely, as still as he lay.

  She looked down at his arm upon the covers. On his right hand he wore a large silver ring with a shiny black stone. An onyx perhaps. The knuckles on his other hand were bruised and bloodied.

  What happened to him? she wondered desperately, feeling unsettled at the sight of all his injuries. Had there been a shipwreck in the storm? Had he been hurt while clinging to the rigging as the boat went down, then tossed violently on the waves and flung like a child’s toy up onto the jagged rocks by the unforgiving power of the sea?

  Or perhaps that was too romantic a thought—the product of a reclusive writer’s overactive imagination.

  The more likely scenario was that he had been involved in a tavern brawl there on the island, was left for dead, then taken out on the water and tossed over the side of someone’s fishing boat.

  Chelsea reached out to touch the stranger’s forearm, which was marked with abrasions, when a knock sounded at the door. She snatched her hand back.

  Sebastian walked in. He moved around the foot of the bed and stood on the other side of it, looking down at their unconscious guest.

  “Has he stirred?”

  “No,” she answered.

  Sebastian glanced at the silver ring on the man’s hand, then leaned over his face. “He’s good-looking, I’ll say that for him.”

  “Yes, he certainly is.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her. “Maybe he is your Prince Charming, Chel, and the fairy tale Mother mentioned earlier has finally begun. Wouldn’t that be a nice change—for someone around here to be favored with a happy ending.”

  Chelsea knew he referred to Melissa, who longed so desperately to be a mother.

  “Perhaps it will all work out somehow,” Chelsea said, then leaned over the stranger’s face and wondered what secrets were concealed behind those dark eyelids. She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Mother was right about one thing. We know nothing about him. He could be a dangerous criminal for all we know.”

  “You’re intrigued, aren’t you?” Sebastian said, studying her intently.

  “Of course I am. I’m a writer.”

  “Be honest. It’s more than that. A naked man washed up onto the beach. You must have gotten an eyeful before you came for help.”

  Chelsea picked up a decorative fringed pillow and biffed it at him.

  He laughed, catching it in his hands. “Careful, you’ll injure him again.”

  “Keep your voice down. And it’s not funny. He might not ever recover. Then you’ll regret joking about it, won’t you?”

  Sebastian tossed the pillow to the foot of the bed. “Are you going to stay here and watch over him all day?”

  “Probably. You heard what the doctor said. Someone should stay with him.”

  He glanced at Mary, the young maid, who was sitting in the corner, acting as chaperone. “I am sure my lovely wife would be happy to sit with you. Then Mary could get back to work.”

  “That would be nice,” Chelsea said.

  He started for the door. “I’ll tell Melissa to come and join you when she returns from her morning ride. She’ll certainly be surprised to hear of all this.”

  He left the room, and Chelsea remained standing over the bed, looking again at the stranger’s scarred forearms and large hands.

  Something made her change her mind about touching him. She moved away from the bed with a strange feeling of trepidation.

  Chelsea remained at her post in the blue guest chamber for the rest of the morning. She sat in the chair by the window with a book, or paced around the bed, watching the man from what her mother would have regarded as a reasonably safe distance. He did not move or make a single sound.

  He remained as still as a corpse, flat on his back with his arms at his sides, showing no signs of life or even a hint of future recovery.

  A maid brought Chelsea lunch on a tray, and then her sister-in-law, Melissa, arrived and sat across from her by the window, dismissing the other maid.

  Chelsea described how she had found the man naked and wounded in the cave, and how distressed and frantic she had been, running up the hill for help. They also talked about Lor
d Jerome and his proposal, and how she’d been told she had no choice in the matter—that she owed it to the family to secure their future.

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Chelsea read a book while Melissa worked on her needlepoint, and when teatime rolled around, they ate scones with raspberry jam and butter while they watched over the man in the bed, who still did not move a muscle or utter a single word.

  A few hours later, when the sun went down and the dinner gong echoed through the corridors of the mansion, Melissa rose from her chair and stretched her arms over her head. “Are you coming?”

  Chelsea glanced at the man in the bed. “I believe I will stay here, but perhaps you could have my dinner sent up. And send the maid back as well.”

  “Certainly, but promise you won’t stay up too late.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll come back before I retire and see if you need anything.” With that, Melissa left the room.

  Chelsea sat for a long time, listening to the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel and the constant murmur of the sea. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and outside the window, high in the sky, stars appeared, one by one.

  Rising to her feet, she strolled to the bedside, put a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, then leaned over the man. He would no doubt be very weak when he opened his eyes, perhaps too weak to even speak.

  Feeling a sudden wave of compassion for his suffering, she laid her open hand upon his forearm. Gently, with the tip of her finger, she traced a path around all the little scrapes and cuts, as if she were following a maze. He was warm to her touch, but so very still and lifeless.

  Her eyes traveled down the length of his body. She could see, beneath the covers, the outline of his firm torso and long legs, and she remembered again his naked form in the cave. Her belly swirled with fascination and arousal, which shamed her for a moment, until she remembered that she was a flesh and blood woman—a woman who had once known passion and desire for a brief time before this seven-year exile. There was a time when she had wanted nothing more than to know a man’s body, and to be made love to by someone she adored.