Well, perhaps not entirely pointless…
“What kind of precautions?” she asked warily.
“I will withdraw at the right time.”
She looked at him uncertainly. “But we would still…enjoy each other, wouldn’t we? Would you still…?” She didn’t know quite how to put it.
“Yes,” he replied. “It is just a matter of geography. I shall enjoy myself outside of your body, instead of inside it.”
She cleared her throat. “How strange it is, to be discussing these things.”
“Why?” He looked down at her. “Are you becoming shy again?”
“Perhaps a little.”
They reached the path. She gathered her skirts in her fists to follow him up the steep slope.
“Last night,” she said, speaking in a louder voice so he could hear her over the thunderous surf, “you claimed you were depraved, yet this morning I am seeing some evidence of honor.”
He said nothing for a time as he climbed the hill, then at last he responded. “Maybe I don’t want to end up beaten to a pulp by an outraged husband. Or handed a dueling pistol. Perhaps that very thing has happened to me before.”
“Do you think that is what brought you here?” she asked. “A fight over a woman?”
She did not like the idea of it—of another woman being a part of his life. Not when she was presently enjoying the total exclusivity of his attentions.
But she could certainly see dozens of women vying for those same attentions, married or no. She knew she would be naive to think otherwise, no matter what kind of life he lived.
“Who knows?” he replied.
They did not converse the rest of the way, for Chelsea could hear the strain in his voice. He was weary and in considerable pain.
They reached the top of the path and started toward the house.
“So shall I come tonight?” she asked hesitantly, before they reached the door.
“Yes,” he replied. “On one condition.”
“And that is…?”
He leaned close and whispered, “You must be on top.”
She had not expected him to say anything so specific, and her flesh tingled at the sensation of his hot breath in her ear. “But I’ve never—”
“I’ll help you figure it out.” With that, he climbed the steps, leaving her to wonder why she should even be going to his bed tonight, when her initial objectives had just been routed.
But there was no point deluding herself. Those dutiful objectives had very little to do with anything at the moment—especially when she was watching his beautiful male form climb the stairs, one slow step at a time, and feeling almost feverish with lust.
Chapter 9
“I beg your pardon?” Melissa sat down on a chintz chair in her boudoir.
“He wants to take precautions,” Chelsea repeated.
She had gone to see her sister-in-law immediately after entering the house.
“But why?” Melissa asked. “You offered yourself to him freely. I was hoping that after all he’d been through, he would be in a somewhat…selfish mood.”
“He was, I believe—very much so, in fact. Last night he behaved like an absolute libertine, with little care for any consequences that might arise. I felt like I had walked into the den of a hungry lion who wanted only to devour me. But then…” She paused.
“But then…what?”
“He said a few things that contradicted my initial impression. He said he understood my need to defy Mother, because he knew all about duty. He didn’t know why he knew, for he could not relate it to his own life. He simply knew.”
“So perhaps he is a responsible man after all, who is bitter about the burdens he carries.”
“But why would he believe something about himself—that he is reckless and wild—when the opposite is true? Is it possible that an ordeal such as the one he experienced could not only erase one’s memories, but cause a complete personality change?”
Melissa stood and rang for tea. “Maybe it isn’t a change. Maybe he behaves one way in his own life, when that does not match who he really is on the inside. Many people wear masks.”
“So which is the real Jack?” Chelsea asked. “The rake who is reckless, or the gentleman who is honorable?”
“Both, perhaps.”
“But which is the mask? The rake or the honorable gentleman?”
“We’ll know the answer to that,” she said, “only when he remembers his life.”
And what would happen when he did remember it?
Feeling a pang of trepidation for what lay ahead, Chelsea changed the subject. “All that aside, what am I to do, now that he does not want to risk a pregnancy? Should we simply pray that last night did the trick and put an end to this?”
Melissa studied her carefully. “Would you like to put an end to it?”
Looking down at her hands, Chelsea shook her head. “Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But this is wrong, isn’t it? My purpose was to provide you and Sebastian with the child you’ve always longed for, but if I am only going to his bed to enjoy myself…”
Melissa shook her head. “First of all, you have every right to enjoy yourself, considering what your mother has asked you to do. On top of that, there is still a chance you might conceive, even if he does take precautions. Nothing is ever fail-safe. Think of all the accidental pregnancies that have occurred throughout the ages—all the illegitimate children of monarchs and aristocrats, even servants and unmarried women.”
“So even if he does not take his pleasure inside of me, I could still conceive?”
“Yes, I think so, and certainly, if you are pleasing him, he might lose his head in the heat of the moment and forget to withdraw. You could encourage that, in a discreet way.”
She sighed. “That would feel very conniving.”
“And you don’t think going to his room last night fit into that category? It is no different.”
“Yes, but last night he was a stranger. Today he has a name—an invented one, mind you, but still…And this morning I saw traces of a man who was not careless. An artistic man who wanted to do the right thing.” She recalled, however, what he’d said on the path. “Although he did mention not wanting to get beaten to a pulp by an angry husband.”
“Well, he won’t have to worry about that,” Melissa said, “because you won’t be marrying Lord Jerome.”
“No—or anyone else, for that matter,” she replied with a twinge of regret for all the girlhood dreams she had left behind years ago. “Not in real life.”
“You say ‘real life’ as if this were a scene out of one of your stories.”
“It feels that way. It feels like a dream.”
“Well, it’s not, Chelsea. It’s real—very real—and if the Fates rule in our favor, in nine months’ time you will feel that more than anyone.”
“I suppose.”
“You must continue on,” Melissa said. “Please, continue on. For your brother’s sake, and mine.”
The tea arrived, steaming hot.
“I should think about it,” Chelsea said, glancing up at the maid and whispering. “Because suddenly it is becoming a bit more complicated than I imagined it would be.”
And she was feeling a strong, instinctive urge to protect herself.
Chelsea certainly did think about Jack and their prearranged midnight rendezvous—all day in fact. While she took measures to have his dinner sent to his room, she imagined him getting out of bed to sit at the table and eat by the window. She pictured his hands holding the knife and fork, slicing the meat. She thought about his lips on the glass of red wine, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes, his cravat loosened and his collar open as he leaned forward over the plate.
It was enough to cause her desires to flood through her body so thoroughly, it made her belly swirl with an almost obsessive anticipation.
Later in the day, she sat in the library with her notebook, hopelessly inept at put
ting even two sentences together as she fantasized about making love with him again. She sat with an elbow perched on the desktop, her cheek resting on a hand. Her brain went all fuzzy and lazy, and her body melted into something that resembled a thick blob of chocolate pudding.
By dinnertime she grew increasingly disturbed by her inability to purge Jack from her mind, even for the briefest of moments. He was in her thoughts constantly, and her emotions were caught up in the mix as well, filling her heart with thrills and joys, but mostly doubts and fears.
It was more than clear to her by now that her desires had nothing to do with her duty to her family. What started out as a simple act of good-will—and an escape from her marriage to Lord Jerome—had exploded into something far more ferocious. For she might very well be growing infatuated with Jack, after knowing him only a few days, and still not knowing who he was or where he came from.
Presently, her mother still believed she would marry Lord Jerome, yet here she was, attempting to become pregnant with another man’s child. Dealing with that alone was going to be enough of a problem, without throwing a broken heart into the mix.
She slapped her hands over her face. Stop, Chelsea. Stop. You are losing control. You cannot let yourself enjoy this too much. You must keep your head and exert great caution. You cannot fall in love, or you will end up doing something foolish and rash, just like the last time. And that did not end well.
That night, Jack lay in the darkness, listening to the waves crash and boom onto the shore outside the window. He had slept for most of the day, and as a result was awake now and extremely alert. He felt robust and invigorated, and for that reason was able to anticipate Chelsea’s arrival with great enthusiasm.
He watched the hand on the mantel clock tick one second at a time.
Tick…
Tick…
Tick…
He felt energetic. It would be good tonight. He would make sure she was well pleasured. He would have the strength and vigor to go on for quite some time.
At last the hands struck twelve. Out in the hall the chiming of the grandfather clock began like a royal announcement. Already basking in a pleasant state of arousal, he lay back and watched the door…
One hour later he was pacing around the room like a caged tiger, irritated and angry, his frustration roaring like a monster inside his head. A monster he could not conquer.
There was nothing in his mind with which to wage a battle, he supposed. That was the problem. He had no past or future to think about—no experiences, problems, no projects to complete that might distract him from his frustration over Chelsea’s failure to arrive.
There were no thoughts of people who meant something to him—no friends or relations who might provide some reassurance that he actually mattered, let alone existed. Chelsea was all he had, and she had failed to come. He could not sleep, so there was nothing for him to do now but continue to wait for her, and grapple with this incredible, consuming emptiness.
He continued to pace the room, clenching his fist to keep from hitting something, for apart from his frustration over Chelsea, he couldn’t bear any more of this incessant waiting for his life to begin. She was a welcome diversion, to be sure, but he could not go on depending upon her to fill the gouged out hole inside of him—to make him feel as if he existed. No single person should have that much power.
He stopped in his tracks and decided that he needed to do something—to get out of this house, to get off this island, and search for his identity. But where would he begin?
Just then a quick knock sounded at the door. Before he had a chance to answer, the knob turned, the door opened, and Chelsea hurried inside. She shut the door behind her and leaned up against it, seeming out of breath.
He said nothing. He just stood in the center of the dark room, also breathing hard. The muscles in his stomach clenched tightly.
“I wasn’t going to come,” she explained. Her tone was frantic, as if someone had chased her down the hall.
“If you had kept me waiting another minute, woman, I might be strangling you right now.”
She was not wearing her silk wrapper. She wore only the plain linen nightdress. Her hair hung loose upon her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed. The effect was both sweet and seductive.
“Why?” she asked.
It was too complicated a question. “Because I wanted you here sooner,” he answered.
She took a step away from the door. “And do you always get what you want?”
“I have no idea.” He paused, thinking about it. “But I doubt it. Why are you late?”
Her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Why are you so angry?”
He was still breathing hard, while he strove to curb the frustration boiling up and over the rim of his existence. “Because I wanted to see you.”
“I wanted to see you, too,” she replied, seeming to feed off his anger. Her voice was laced with resentment, as if she were holding back the urge to yell at him. “A little too much, I dare say. I couldn’t concentrate on anything this afternoon. I felt like I was losing my mind. I spent the entire night trying to convince myself that I could resist coming here. That it was only the desires of my body that were making me insane.” She looked away. “And I am in control of that, aren’t I? At least I should be.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I have no control whatsoever over anything. I feel like a bloody volcano.”
She stared at him for a long time in the darkness, then her voice gentled to a shaky, uneasy sigh. “So do I, and I don’t want to feel that way. Not about you, when I know so little about who you are.”
He stood very still, immobilized by her reply, and by the tension in his loins, as their mutual desires vibrated in the air between them.
“Come here,” he said.
She moved toward him.
For a moment they stood facing each other, then he pulled her close, buried his face in the sweet, heavenly warmth of her neck, and held her firmly in his arms.
An astonishing sense of relief washed over him as her arms curled around his rib cage, her chin rested on his shoulder, and her soft breasts pressed into his chest. He could have wept from the flood of emotions running through him at that moment—mostly gratefulness. He felt like dropping to his knees and thanking God that she had come.
She smelled clean, like soap and flowers. He held her tight for a long time, and somehow, miraculously, she made all the emptiness disappear. Desire took its place, so he sought out her beautiful mouth and crushed his lips to hers.
Very quickly he remembered that he was not only a lost soul, but a sexual being with unruly urges for this exquisite creature in his arms, and the embrace, however fulfilling, was not going to be enough to satisfy him.
With the strength and vigor of a man who had not recently been at death’s door, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Standing back, he pulled his nightshirt off over his head while she did the same with her gown, then quickly he was on top of her, settling himself between her soft, pink thighs and sliding into her heated depths.
“I thought you wanted me on top tonight,” she said in a breathless sigh while wrapping her legs around his hips.
“Later. For now, I must have you my own way.”
He kissed her again, and thrust deeper inside, pushing with all his might as far as he could into the warm, welcoming haven of her body. Rising up on both arms, he looked down at her in the moonlight pouring in through the window, and made love to her for a long time—both generously and greedily.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, conscious of the fact that he remembered none of the women in his life. But it didn’t matter. No man could ever feel more awe-struck by a woman, no matter who he was.
With a passionate jolt, she cried out, and he drove into her faster, with a force that left them both gasping for air. Before long he felt the rapid throbbing of her womanhood, and she arched her back beneath him, digging her nails into his hip
s. She took in a sharp breath, and he plunged his face down onto her soft breast and sucked on a hard nipple while she convulsed and quivered around him.
A moment later his own body began to quicken, and he poured into her freely, without concern for his vow earlier that day, when he had promised to withdraw at the proper time. But there was nothing proper about this. He could not withdraw because he wanted her with blinding fury, and his climax was so powerful, it had overcome his passions and completely baked his brain.
With a groan of release, he gave one final thrust, then let his body sink to rest upon hers. “God,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.”
He was still inside her.
“You don’t have to,” she replied, wrapping her arms and legs around him. “I would keep you here inside me forever if I could.”
This was what he had needed earlier—this closeness. It made everything that was lost to him seem unimportant, and when he’d believed he would not have this tonight, he had nearly gone mad.
They lay together, drained and exhausted, until he peeled his sticky body from hers and rolled onto his back.
“I’m done for,” he said. He turned his head on the pillow. “You’ll definitely get your chance to be on top next time.”
“And when will that be?” She grinned mischievously.
“Give me a half hour to recuperate,” he said with a smile. “Then I will be all yours, to do with as you please.”
She rolled onto her side to face him and rested her cheek on a hand. “Then I shall simply lie here patiently, and wait until you are ready.”
Chapter 10
“You’re all I have,” Jack said later, after he made love to Chelsea a third time that night.
She was completely satisfied and joyful beyond any imagining. Rolling off him, she lay on her side and rested her head on his shoulder. He pulled the covers up and held her close.
When a Stranger Loves Me Page 9