When a Stranger Loves Me

by Julianne MacLean

  All this to protect their inheritances.

  His anger rose to a boil and he spoke harshly. “You could be carrying my child in your womb, Chelsea. Perhaps even a son.”

  “And if I am? What will you do?”

  Recognizing the anxiety in her voice, he continued to pace the room. “If that turns out to be the case, we will be married and the child will be heir to my fortune and property, which evidently is quite substantial.” He stopped, looked up and met her shocked gaze head on. “You didn’t actually think I would allow a child of mine to be raised by false, charlatan parents, did you? And scheming ones at that.”

  “What if I don’t want to go with you?” she asked.

  “Then I will take you by force,” he replied. “I will tie you up and…How did your mother put it? Oh yes…I will drag you by the hair if I have to.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Chelsea spat.

  “Try me.”

  Her lips tightened into a pucker, while she sat visibly furious, pondering her options. “What if we discover I am not carrying your child? What then?”

  “Then I will ship you back here faster than you can blink your pretty little calculating eyes, and we will never see each other again.”

  She rose from her seat and went to pour herself another brandy. “So this discussion is not a proposal of marriage?”

  “Hell no. At least not yet, for I will not condemn myself to a lifetime of misery with a scheming vixen like you, unless such a course of action is absolutely necessary. I will need to know your condition first.”

  He chose not to let her in on the fact that he was in urgent need of a wife before Christmas, for he was not ready to give up the possibility of being rid of her if she was not with child.

  She laughed bitterly and faced him. “You expect me to agree to that, when you are treating me so appallingly, giving me no choice in the matter of my future?”

  “You brought this on yourself,” he said. “Besides, you couldn’t possibly prefer for me to get down on bended knee and promise you hearts and flowers for the rest of your life. That would be a bald-faced lie, and neither of us would believe it. My suspicion is that you are praying your little heart out that you are not carrying my child, and that you will not have to marry me, because Lord knows, I will be the farthest thing you can imagine from a loving husband. You’d probably be better off with your ancient cousin.”

  She shivered noticeably.

  “No? You don’t think you’d be better off? Good. Then we are agreed.” He started for the door. “Go pack your things. I don’t want to be kept waiting in the morning, because I don’t think I’ll be able to tolerate one more minute than I have to on this god-awful island prison.”

  With that, he walked out and went straight upstairs to the guest chamber he had occupied for the past fortnight, and wondered where the hell he had been for the other two weeks he’d been missing.

  “You have no choice now,” Chelsea’s mother said ten minutes later, as she barged into Chelsea’s room and shut the door behind her. “Sebastian has informed me that Lord Blake knows of your deceitful scheming, and that he is not pleased you used him for stud.”

  “Mother…” Chelsea sat up on the bed.

  “Hush! I should never have agreed to it. I have indulged you over the years, Chelsea, and this is my punishment. It appears there is nothing to be done now but to control the damage. The child—if there is one—can no longer be hidden or passed off as your brother’s, therefore you must go to Lord Jerome instantly.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Chelsea rose to her feet.

  “You must leave here tomorrow morning and marry your cousin straightaway. Let him have you in his bed as soon as it can be arranged—before the ceremony, if you can manage it. If you bear him a child, no one will ever know the difference, not even us. We will never speak of it again.”

  Chelsea frowned in dismay. “Mother, I cannot.”

  “You can, and you will. I will not tolerate any more rebellions from you. You will do as I say, whether you like it or not.”

  Chelsea’s blood began to pound through her veins. “No, I will not do as you say.” She strode to her dressing room and spotted her trunk. “I have already agreed to go to Pembroke Palace with Lord Blake.” She dragged the trunk through the doorway to the edge of the carpet.

  Her mother stopped pacing. “What? He has proposed to you? Surely not. He is the son of a duke. I don’t believe it.”

  Chelsea flicked the latch, lifted the heavy lid, and flung it open. A damp, musty smell wafted out, causing her to recoil in disgust. How long had it been since she’d traveled?

  “Not exactly,” she explained, turning her face away. “He wishes to know if I am carrying his child, and if I am, we will be married and the child will inherit his fortune.”

  It was the truth. Some of it, at least.

  “And if you are not?” her mother retorted in horror, following her back to the dressing room.

  “Then we will part ways,” Chelsea plainly said. “I will come home.” She reached for two gowns, folded them over her arms and carried them back to the trunk.

  Her mother’s cheeks flared bloodred. “You expect me to agree to that? To allow you to go off on your own with no chaperone, nor any guarantee that you will be taken care of? That we will be taken care of?”

  “Lady Hawthorne will be there to act as chaperone.”

  “But he will wait to decide if it is necessary to marry you? This is preposterous! What gentleman of good breeding would ever suggest such a thing? I am appalled, Chelsea, and I will not allow it. You will go to Lord Jerome. He has already offered to give you his name. It is a certainty.”

  Chelsea shook her head and returned to the dressing room. “You cannot hand me over to whomever you favor at any given moment, Mother. I have agreed to go with Lord Blake to Pembroke Palace, and I will not break my word. I’ve already engaged in enough unscrupulous behavior as it is. It’s time I did the right thing for once. I will not make matters worse by trying again to pass off one man’s child as another’s.”

  “But this is no different from what you originally planned,” her mother argued. “You were going to lie to Lord Blake and never reveal the truth to him. What has changed?”

  Chelsea stopped in the dressing room doorway. “I suppose I have. I’ve discovered my conscience, Mother, as well as my heart. I had no idea it would be like this—that I would come to care so deeply for Blake—and I want to do the right thing. I want to be able to sleep at night, knowing I did not wrong an innocent man.”

  “The right thing? What if he jilts you and sends you home? What will you do then?”

  She tossed two more gowns into the trunk and stood for a moment, thinking about her future.

  “I will live out my days with my self-respect, at least.” She glanced up at her mother. “If, on the other hand, I am carrying his child, you will be able to bask in the splendid knowledge that you will be grandmother to a ducal heir. Blake is third in line to the title. Our son would be fourth. That ought to cheer you up, Mother. Maybe if you say your prayers every night, all his older brothers will expire from illness or accident.”

  Her mother’s eyes darkened. “That is uncalled for.”

  “Is it? I was under the impression you valued a title above all else, including the happiness of your only daughter.”

  She returned to the dressing room, but her mother did not follow. When Chelsea came back out with her nightgown and undergarments draped over her arm, her mother was standing by the door with tears in her eyes.

  Chelsea halted as a powerful wave of emotion washed over her. All she wanted was for her mother to understand what was important to her, and to respect her decision. She had not expected this. She had never, in all her life, seen actual tears in her mother’s eyes. Was the woman finally experiencing a pang of conscience?

  Still uncertain of her mother’s true feelings, Chelsea took a step forward and softened her tone. “Have you never wished you had
done something differently, Mother? Have you never regretted anything? Because I don’t want to ever look back on this day and regret my actions. I don’t want to live out my life ashamed of what I did.”

  For a long time her mother said nothing. She stood in front of the door watching Chelsea fold her belongings, when it was her maid’s task to do so, and she was making a terrible mess of it.

  “Go with him, then,” her mother said. “Do what you must to ease your mind, if it means that much to you. And if he sends you home…” She paused, then cleared her throat. “If he sends you home, we will find a way to manage. I will be here waiting, and together we will decide what must be done for both of our futures.” She started to turn away, but stopped in the doorway and waited there a moment. “I will pray that you have a safe journey.”

  Then she turned and walked out, leaving Chelsea to sink into a chair in a shocking and most unexpected state of astonishment, for her mother had finally begun to listen to what she had to say.

  And perhaps she, too, was discovering that her heart was not impervious.

  Melissa sat down on Chelsea’s bed and began to weep. “Oh, Chelsea, I am so sorry. How could it have come to this? It is all my fault for agreeing to it. We should never have let you do what you did.”

  “It is not your fault,” Chelsea told her as she went from wardrobe to dresser, searching for more undergarments, and continuing to throw everything haphazardly into the trunk. “It was my idea, remember? I wanted to do it, and not just to give you and Sebastian a child, but because I wanted some pleasure for myself. I was infatuated with him. You know I was.”

  “But surely you’re not infatuated with him now, after he has treated you so severely.”

  “I can hardly blame him,” Chelsea admitted. “I lied to him and took advantage of his situation. We all did. He has every right to despise me.” She stopped suddenly in the middle of the room with her hairbrush in one had, her mirror in the other, and looked across at her sister-in-law. “I am just sorry that you will not have the child you hoped for. Despite my selfish impulses, I truly did want to make you happy.”

  “You mustn’t think of me,” Melissa said, rising to her feet and wiping away her tears. “We will be fine. I accepted quite some time ago that my life was unfolding as fate intended it to. If I am not meant to be a mother, then so be it. I am not going to argue with God.”

  Chelsea walked to the window and looked out at the dark sea. The rain was coming down in sharp pellets that struck the glass in front of her face. She tilted her head forward to rest against it as a wave of melancholy washed over her. It seemed all she had done lately was argue not only with God, but with the people closest to her heart. Blake more than anyone, and now she was leaving her home and family to venture back into a world that had shunned her seven years ago. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of the cliff, teetering in the wind, about to fall into the sea at any moment.

  In the window’s reflection, she saw Melissa approach.

  “I’ll be honest,” Melissa said. “I am surprised you did not put up more of a fight about going with him, because if you wanted an escape, we would help you. You could go somewhere on the island and hide. You do not have to do this.”

  Chelsea chuckled cynically. “How very theatrical that sounds, but no thank you. I believe I will take my medicine, no matter how bitter the taste.” She turned around, leaned on the window-sill and sighed. “And I must confess something private to you, Melissa—something you may find surprising.”

  “What is it?”

  She tilted her head back and marveled at how this outlandish situation had unfolded, when she had entered into it believing she was in full control of her emotions and her destiny. How wrong she’d been.

  “As strange as it sounds, deep down there is a part of me that hopes I am carrying his child, and that he will be forced to marry me.”

  “Why?”

  Chelsea suspected her sister-in-law already knew the answer to that question but wanted to hear her confess it.

  “If that happens,” she explained, “I will at least have a chance to earn his forgiveness and try to make him happy. Somehow.”

  “Chelsea—”

  She did not let Melissa continue. “I cannot forget all the joys I have known since he came here, and how happy I was over the past few weeks. The hours I spent with him cannot compare to anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. I have come to realize I was living in a bubble, not really living at all—until he arrived and I fell completely in love with him.”

  Melissa took hold of her hand.

  “Despite our quarrel tonight,” Chelsea continued, “and despite the fact that I know he hates me now—and rightly so—I still want him. I want to go with him. I could not bear to marry Lord Jerome after knowing what it is to be with someone you love.”

  “Do you think he is capable of forgiving you?”

  “I don’t know. Right now it seems impossible, but I must at least try to make things right. Perhaps there is a chance.”

  “I suppose,” Melissa said, “if that is the way you feel…”

  “It is.”

  Her sister-in-law straightened and nodded. “Then clearly you have an important journey ahead of you.” She glanced down at the sloppy state of Chelsea’s trunk. “And I, for one, will not allow you to arrive at a duke’s palace with all your gowns wrinkled. Come. Let us get you properly packed.”

  Chapter 17

  The waters across the Channel tossed the ship like a weightless toy, and Chelsea was unbearably ill. She had stepped aboard hoping that once they got under way, she would find an opportunity to speak to Blake privately and tell him she was sorry for everything.

  She did not know if he would even be willing to hear her out, but she was at least determined to try.

  She was not well enough to rise from her bunk, however, much less leave her cabin, so all her grand intentions were dashed onto the shoreline as soon as they broke away from the Jersey coast.

  Sadly, after only a few hours at sea, she had no strength or energy left in her body to even wish otherwise. All she could do was lay like a stone in her cabin with a bucket on the floor beside her, accepting the fact that this was another form of punishment, which was certainly justified, while she dreamed of the blessed moment they would reach dry land.

  “I think she’s sick,” Rebecca said to Devon as she approached her husband on the sloping deck of the ship. Cold spray flew up over the weather rails as the bow plunged down the trough of a massive wave. She held onto her husband’s shoulder to keep her footing.

  “Have you done anything for her?”

  “Not yet,” she replied. “I only heard her moaning in her cabin as I passed by. I knocked and asked if everything was all right, and she said it was, but I don’t think she was being honest with me.”

  The wind blew Devon’s thick black hair away from his face as he looked out at the raging water. “According to Blake, the woman has a deficiency when it comes to honesty.”

  “Yes.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I find it so difficult to believe she actually did what he claims. To use a complete stranger in order to bear a secret child for her brother. It is beyond all ethics and propriety. I just cannot imagine it.”

  “It is shocking, indeed. Perhaps that is why I am so worried about Blake. I am troubled by his actions and his state of mind. Not only has he lost his memory, but he is dragging this woman back with us like a dog on a chain. It’s not like him, and I’m surprised he even wanted her to come. After all he’s been through, to be taken advantage like that, one would think he’d want to leave her behind.”

  “Perhaps it’s not so strange,” Rebecca replied. “She could be carrying his child, and it would be equally out of character for him to walk away from that responsibility.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, who was standing alone on the other side of the ship, his cloak whipping in the wind. “Besides, he insists she has come willingly and that she underst
ands his intentions—that he may or may not marry her when we arrive at Pembroke. So perhaps he did not actually drag her. And who knows? She might very well be pleased by this outcome, if she is the scheming type, for he is a Pembroke, and by any woman’s standards a brilliant catch.”

  Devon sighed. “Whether her reputation was tarnished before or not, wouldn’t it have been better to leave her at home with her family until her condition could be ascertained?”

  “But Blake was adamant.”

  “I suppose we cannot blame him. How could he ever trust the Neufelds to tell him the truth?”

  She shook her head sorrowfully as she watched Blake. “Oh, Devon, what has happened to him? He is not the same man, and I do not understand why he seems to resent us so much. All we did was tell him where he comes from and who he is. He seems so angry.”

  “Perhaps it is not us he resents, but the situation in general. He must be very frustrated about his memory loss, and angry over whatever happened that night, not to mention what happened after he was found—to be used and deceived in such a reprehensible way by his hosts and caregivers. And then we arrive and tell him he must marry by Christmas because Father has ordered it in his will.”

  “If only we knew what happened to him,” she said. “Do you think he will ever remember? What if he does not? What if he remains a stranger to us forever?”

  Devon watched his brother for a long time as the ship sailed over the waves and the spray flew up over the bowsprit. “Perhaps John Fenton will be able to shed some light on the events when we find him.”

  “If we ever do find him,” she replied. “Despite all your searching, you and Vincent have not been able to find any trace of the family.”

  “Perhaps Vincent had better luck in France,” he said. “I have already sent word to him that we have located Blake, so he will soon return to Pembroke, and then we will discover what he has learned.”