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

by Julianne MacLean

  Closing her eyes and wetting her lips, she reminded herself of all the reasons she was doing this and resolved to be brave. She reached for the key in her pocket and slipped it into the lock.

  A few tempestuous heartbeats later she was inside the moonlit room, quietly locking the door behind her. She turned around and looked at the man asleep in the bed.

  Her breaths came faster and faster. Perhaps she should just pull off her nightdress, move straight to the bed, and slip silently under the covers. She could touch him, and if what Melissa said was true, he would be instantly aroused. She might not even need to say a word. He might simply roll over, couple with her, and it would be concluded, just like that.

  “Where were you the past two days?” a gruff voice asked.

  The question caused Chelsea to jump, for she hadn’t realized the man was awake. Suddenly unable to speak, she almost turned and dashed out, but the sound and sight of the covers rustling over his legs as he sat up in the bed kept her fixed to her spot.

  “Where were you?” he asked. “I wanted to see you, but the maids ignored my requests.”

  Not entirely sure how to answer, Chelsea pushed away from the door and walked around the foot of the bed. A square of moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating the covers.

  The stranger watched her in silence. She could see only the dark outline of his head and shoulders, but felt his masculine presence in the room like a low rumble of thunder, reverberating off the walls, quivering through her bones.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “My mother kept me busy. Intentionally, I think.”

  “To keep you safe from the mad beast who attacked you a few nights ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she is keeping the beast in a cage for good measure,” he added broodingly. His resentment chilled her skin.

  “I suppose that’s right.”

  “You suppose?” His tone was menacing. “I don’t appreciate being locked up.”

  “But you haven’t complained,” she anxiously replied. “I mean, I haven’t heard you banging on the door since the other morning.”

  He inclined his head. “That’s because your doctor has been drugging me. Laudanum. Put in my wine.”

  “What?” Chelsea couldn’t believe it. “Perhaps it was just to help you with the pain?”

  “No. I demanded to be let out on Sunday. The next thing I know, it’s Tuesday.”

  Chelsea examined the bottle of wine in her hand. “I’m very sorry, and I assure you, I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even know what went on here on Sunday. As I told you before, my mother has been keeping me busy. She sent me on errands.”

  The stranger watched her intently. “I didn’t drink the wine today. I’m only now just coming around.”

  Chelsea set the bottle and glasses on the table by the window. “Then perhaps you don’t wish to drink what I brought.”

  “Quite the contrary. I’m desperate for a taste of something. As long as it’s not laced with sleeping potion.”

  She shook her head. “No, I snuck it out of the wine cellar myself.”

  “Snuck it out. You were a rebel today, were you?”

  “I suppose you could say that.” She poured two glasses and approached the bed, handed him one, then backed away.

  He slowly sipped the wine, then rested his handsome head on the pillows and regarded her directly. Oh, she was truly out of her depth. She had no idea how to proceed from here.

  “How are you feeling otherwise?” she asked, making every effort to appear confident and at ease. “Is your wound any better?”

  The question was relevant because Melissa told her that he would have to be reasonably recovered in order to move about during their coupling. Evidently, he was going to work up a sweat.

  “Much better,” he replied. “Your stitches were flawless.” He took another deep swig of the wine. “But why are you here, Lady Chelsea? According to the grandfather clock in the hall, it’s past midnight. You can hardly call this a proper time for a social call, not to mention your state of dress.”

  He looked her up and down slowly.

  She was inclined to gather her dressing gown in a fist and pull it tight about her neck but resisted. She could not forget that she was there to seduce him. She had to play the part of a coquette—a woman who knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it.

  She gulped down half her wine, then spoke in a smooth and silky tone. “I was feeling lonely.”

  “I see.” He finished his own wine and laid the empty glass down on the bed. “Let me guess. You are here to seduce me.”

  Feeling her cheeks flush red, Chelsea quickly smothered her shock and managed instead a sly grin. “It seems you find me a very easy book to read.”

  He glanced down at her body again. “Clever of me.”

  “No need to be smug about it,” she replied. “I should think it’s rather obvious. I’ve come to your bedchamber in the middle of the night wearing a dressing gown and enough perfume to make the room smell like a brothel. Why else would I be here?”

  He looked at her with desire, then peeled back the covers beside him. For a full minute he reclined upon the fluffy white pillows and waited.

  Chelsea struggled to breathe steadily in and out. This was proving to be far more straightforward than she had imagined. And she had imagined quite a few interesting scenarios.

  Making her way alluringly around the bed, she paused a moment to finish her wine, then set the glass on the bedside table.

  “Do you do this often with women you barely know?” she asked, fully aware that she was stalling.

  “I have no idea. And I apologize in advance if I am inept at pleasing you. I could be a virgin for all I know.”

  “I doubt that,” she said sardonically. Heart racing, she removed the silk wrapper and let it fall in a light, downy heap to the floor. Well, it might have been light and downy, if not for the key in her pocket, which made a heavy clunk when it hit.

  Her prospective lover paid it no mind. He simply sat there, his heated gaze roaming over her body.

  Chelsea understood that the time had come to climb onto the bed and slide beneath the covers with him. Or perhaps she should remove her nightdress first...

  Wetting her lips, she glanced uneasily toward the window, wishing her stomach would stop swirling like a child’s top. But how could she stop it? She barely knew this man. How could she do all the things she had imagined herself doing with him? And to him? This was very different from her private imaginings by the fire. It was real, and it was quite unnerving.

  “Maybe this was a mistake,” she heard herself say before she could convince herself otherwise. Then she started for the door.

  “Wait. Don’t go.” The man tossed the covers aside and leapt out of bed rather quickly. “I thought you came here to seduce me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “But now it seems that you are the one initiating the seduction.”

  He grimaced with discomfort and laid a hand over his wound. “I’d hardly call chasing you around the bed a seduction. To tell you the truth, I am not entirely sure what I would call it. I may not remember much about my life, but I don’t think this sort of thing is in my usual repertoire.”

  Laboring to remain calm, Chelsea contemplated his discomfort. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looked down at his abdomen. “I jumped up too fast. It was rather like being on a hunt and leaping over a fence. In case you’re wondering, you were the fox,” he said with a note of humor.

  Just looking at him sent a torrent of gooseflesh tingling down the entire left side of her body. “So, you hunt,” she said breathlessly. “Does that qualify as a memory?”

  His head drew back slightly. “I don’t recall anything specific, but you’re right. I suppose it does.”

  “Ther
e. It tells me something about you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That it is likely you are not a butcher or a farmer.”

  “A gentleman, you think.”

  She nodded.

  “Hm.” Slightly hunched over and hugging his arm to his wound, he backed up against the side of the bed. “Well, if I am a gentleman, I suspect I am a very depraved one, because all I want to do at present is forget that I am being held captive, give up the fight, and allow you to have your way with me.”

  Excitement surged through her body and shocked her with an unexpected shiver of delight, but at the same time, she could not forget why she was doing this. She was not in this bedchamber to seek thrills. She was here because a secret child in her womb could relieve her of her duty to marry Lord Jerome and guarantee her future independence.

  She strove to recapture her courage and remain focused. “Perhaps that is what I want, too.”

  He drew back, looked her in the eyes, and seemed a little taken aback. “Well then…” he whispered. “Where should we begin?”

  With her heart beginning to race, Chelsea spoke uncertainly, “Perhaps you should kiss me?”

  He paused and inclined his head while he studied her expression. “You sound a little unsure.”

  “Oh, no, I’m very sure,” she quickly replied. “Or perhaps I should remove my nightdress first.”

  Her legs were shaking. She willed them to stop, but of course they wouldn’t. All she could do was hope and pray that he would not see her knees quaking when the nightdress landed on the floor.

  He seemed amused. “Would you like some help with the buttons?”

  “No, thank you.” Chelsea immediately gathered the fine silk fabric in her hands and pulled the garment off over her head.

  The stranger blinked a few times in astonishment while she tossed it away. Eyes lowered, she trembled at the sensation of the cool air wafting over her bare skin. She had never stood naked in a man’s presence before, and it took effort to be courageous and bold. When at last she lifted her gaze, she discovered he was not looking at her eyes. He was looking down at her body.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he softly uttered. Then he moved forward, took hold of her hand, and led her to the bed. “Why don’t we sit down.”

  She followed his lead, because despite everything Melissa had shared with her, Chelsea had no idea how to take charge of this.

  She sat on the edge of the bed while the stranger stood before her and removed his nightshirt. He tossed it aside, and the candlelight illuminated his magnificent nude body, which was still scarred from being hurled onto the rocks a few days prior. His muscular torso was wrapped in a clean white bandage. His shoulders were broad, his arms bent slightly at the elbows. His hair was a thick, dark, wavy mane of temptation.

  “Tell me something,” he said, stepping forward to stand closer. He placed both hands on the tops of her thighs. “The other day you told me you had a duty to fulfill. What was it?”

  She found it difficult to concentrate on the question when he was poised before her, in all his masculine glory.

  “My mother wants me to marry my father’s cousin,” she answered plainly, “who will one day inherit my brother’s title. The man is very old.”

  “Your brother has no son of his own. No heir?”

  “He does not.”

  Her lover frowned, and she wondered if he was remembering something. “You are being forced to marry someone you do not want, in order to keep your mother happy?”

  “Yes.”

  Still standing, he cupped her chin in his hand. “Is that why you are here? To assert yourself and seek your own pleasures before you are carted off into an unwanted future?”

  “Yes, that is exactly it,” she replied, leaving out the part about wanting to conceive a child to pass off as her brother’s.

  “A fine reason, indeed,” he replied. “I would probably do the same if I were in your shoes. So, in that case, I would be honored to oblige you.”

  For a moment she admired his dark features, the strong contours of his face, the fullness of his lips. Her body hummed with desire, and instinctively, she lay back on the bed. He watched her for a moment, then touched her breast with his thumb, and her nipples grew hard like pebbles. With the tip of a finger, he lightly stroked the length of her belly, down to her navel.

  She sucked in a breath of anticipation. “I thought you were going to kiss me first.”

  “I did promise that, didn’t I?” He leaned down and lightly touched his lips to hers. The kiss was tender, but soon grew more passionate as his lips parted and his tongue slid into her mouth.

  Chelsea cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, overwhelmed by her desires. She had come to his bedchamber with a specific purpose in mind, but the only thing she cared about at that moment was the complete fulfillment of her body’s cravings. She wanted him desperately.

  Eventually he climbed onto the bed and she inched back onto the pillows. He lowered his body onto hers and the heat of his bare flesh upon hers caused her insides to burn with a strange mixture of yearning and trepidation.

  This was going to hurt. Melissa had warned her...

  Soon, however, Chelsea forgot about Melissa’s counsels and let herself float into the pleasures the stranger offered with his hands and mouth while he took his time loving her gently and intimately.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t know my name?” he asked, pausing to let his hand rest on her belly. It was the hand on which he wore the silver onyx, which Chelsea had thought about many times when she was alone earlier, planning how she would seduce him. He ran a finger up between her breasts and touched the cleft of her chin.

  She shook her head. “That is part of the allure, I believe.”

  “Perhaps it is part of the allure for me as well,” he replied, “not knowing who I am or what duties I carry. I can promise you that there will be nothing to distract me tonight.”

  Chelsea closed her eyes and kissed him again. Gracefully, he rolled onto her and moved into position, and she prepared herself for the invasion into her body. She had never imagined the anticipation would be so frightening and electrifying at the same time.

  Then he began to push. Held back by the resistance of her maidenhead, he paused, then pushed again, gently but firmly. Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut at the pain.

  He went still and rose up on both arms above her. “You’re a virgin.”

  She nodded and blinked a tear from her eye, for the pain had not abated. “Yes.”

  “You told me you were ruined.”

  “I am, in the eyes of the world.” She was finding it difficult to breathe.

  “That is not the same thing, and you know it.”

  “What does it matter?” she asked, feeling angry all of a sudden, not at him, but at the abrupt intrusion of reality, which disrupted her passions. “The man my mother wants me to marry does not expect a virgin. He expects the opposite.”

  Her lover paused and looked down at her. Breathing heavily, he squeezed his eyes shut as if he were engaged in a battle with his conscience.

  Please do not let him change his mind now, Chelsea silently pleaded. Not when I have come so far...

  “I thought you were depraved,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t depraved men prefer depraved women?”

  “Depraved women are not usually virgins,” he replied, holding very still. The moonlight shone on his face, illuminating a vein throbbing visibly at his forehead.

  Thankfully, he seemed unable to completely control his desires, and with a slight groan he pushed again, but only a small distance. Nevertheless, Chelsea winced at another surge of pain.

  Hesitating, he shook his head. “This feels wrong.”

  Not wanting him to stop now, Chelsea reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. “You said you woul
d be happy to oblige me. Keep in mind that the man I must marry will not make me happy. It is not a future I have chosen for myself. So please, just give me this one night.”

  He looked her in the eye. “I understand your need to defy your mother,” he said huskily, “because I know all about duty and responsibility. I don’t know why, but I do.”

  “You will give me this, then?”

  Slowly and gently, he drove forward the rest of the way and broke through what remained of her maidenhead.

  Chelsea arched her back and gasped in pain at the final thrust, but the pain began to subside as soon as she was able to fully comprehend his presence inside her. It was exquisite, erotic, and filled her with an even greater yearning she was desperate to fulfill.

  He gave her a moment to become accustomed to the sensations, then began to move, slowly at first, then faster, until an incomprehensible pressure flooded her body and demanded release. She wrapped her legs around his hips and soon an astonishing frenzy of lust racked her body, causing her to cry out.

  He covered her mouth with his own, silencing her cries, then pressed a hand to his wound.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “No.” Then he groaned with both pleasure and pain and gave her what she had come for. She held him close and reeled with ecstasy, and collapsed into a mind-numbing haze of total, incomprehensible bliss.

  Chapter 7

  Pembroke Palace

  Berkshire, England

  Seven English bloodhounds, barely restrained by their leads, barked and yowled as they scrambled through the wet forest, leading the search party to the river. The spring weather had been unforgiving in recent weeks, and after a brief interlude of clear skies and sunshine, heavy rains returned with an unholy vengeance. The fields were sodden, beginning to flood again, and the estate roads were mired in muck.