This day offered no reprieve. The driving rain came down in horizontal sheets, battering the trees and drenching the moss-covered ground.
Devon Sinclair, Lord Hawthorne, heir to the eminent Duke of Pembroke, rode high atop a black charger. He galloped through the woods, ahead of the search party, comprised of able-bodied servants and loyal tenant farmers, all soaked to the skin under the cold, incessant downpour.
Reining in his mount at the river’s edge, he turned in the saddle to address his brother Vincent, who rode up beside him.
“He wouldn’t stand a chance in this!” Devon shouted above the roar of the white-water current.
Vincent’s horse whinnied anxiously. “I still think this is a useless effort. He wouldn’t have walked from the station, if he even took the train to begin with. We’re not going to find him here.”
“We have to start somewhere,” Devon replied.
The keen hounds approached, staunchly committed to the task of sniffing out a body. The horses grew restless.
“We can’t continue to remain at the palace doing nothing,” Devon said, “while simply waiting for his arrival, or some news of him in the papers.”
The barking hounds caught up to them, and the search party split in two, one heading upriver, the other down.
“We’d be better off searching in London,” Vincent said as the wind whipped the tails of his riding cloak.
“If he were in London, he would have returned to the house in Mayfair,” Devon said, “for a change of clothes at the very least. No one has seen him in over a week.”
Vincent looked at his brother with concern. “You don’t think he might have run off, do you? Because he doesn’t want to marry?”
“And left us in the lurch?”
Devon was referring to their father’s insane demand that all four of his sons marry by Christmas, or they would all be disinherited. Devon had already fulfilled his duty by taking a wife straight away, and Vincent had done the same shortly thereafter. Now there were only two brothers left to satisfy the terms of the will—Garrett and Blake.
Garrett, at the present time, was ignoring their pleas to return from Greece, because he was—in the eyes of most—a careless, thoughtless son of a bitch.
Blake, the responsible one, was missing.
Devon’s horse stepped sideways and tossed his head. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Blake is the most dutiful of us all. He has always put his responsibilities first, without complaint. If any act of rebellion is going to occur, it will be Garrett, who is still sailing around the sultry Mediterranean without a care in the world. Even you or I would have been more likely than Blake to refuse Father, and we have already surrendered and become husbands.”
Vincent looked out at the raging river. “But we were difficult to press.”
“Yes, but we did it, didn’t we? Not only for our own inheritances, but for each other. Blake, on the other hand, would never resist Father’s wishes, whether or not his inheritance was at stake. He has always done his duty, and with a great sense of satisfaction. He is the most calm, reasonable, level-headed man I have ever known, and he is not...” Devon paused, searching for the right word to describe his brother’s agreeable disposition. “He is not selfish.”
Vincent nodded. “Which is exactly what has Mother so worried. She knows he would never disappear intentionally. She asked me last night if I thought he was dead.”
Devon glanced at Vincent warily. “What was your reply?”
A gust of wind blew across the river, sweeping spray up into the air.
“I suppose he could be lying in an alley somewhere,” Vincent answered truthfully, “robbed and beaten. Or he could have been tossed into the Thames by drunken thugs, all for the sake of a few stolen shillings.”
“Damn it, Vincent.”
The two brothers, similar in their dark features and proud stature, high upon their thoroughbreds, said nothing for a moment.
“We cannot let this situation take a turn for the worse,” Devon said at last. “Our family has been through enough tragedy in the past few years, and now, with Father’s illness...” He did not finish the thought. “We must find our brother.”
Vincent nodded. “The last time I saw him, he was in a foul mood after a long night drinking and gambling with a young buck he met, whose father was involved with the Horticultural Society. Blake also mentioned the young man’s sister who had caught his eye—a woman he believed Father would approve of as a wife.”
“That will at least get us started. We will go to London today and find out who and where they are. With any luck, he has fallen head over heels in love, has already proposed, and has simply forgotten to send word.”
“Love can make a man forget a lot of things,” Vincent said, referring to his own recent marital bliss.
They turned their horses away from the river.
“But in case that is not what has occurred,” Vincent continued, “I will search all the usual dens of debauchery in London where a man can lose sight of himself. I know where they are because I’ve been to every last one of them. I will leave no stone unturned.”
“Good. While you’re doing that, I will contact the police and check the clubs. He can’t have fallen off the face of the earth. Surely we will hear something from someone eventually.”
“God willing.”
They urged their horses into a gallop and made off for the palace.
Chelsea’s eyes fluttered open as the warm light of dawn poured softly onto the bed. She lay on her stomach, naked, the bed linens tangled about her legs. It was at that moment she realized she was still in the stranger’s bedchamber and had fallen asleep and remained there all night. He was not, however, beside her.
With a sudden gasp, she whipped around and sat up. She was both relieved and disconcerted to see him sitting leisurely in the chair by the window, staring at her. He was nude except for a woolen blanket on his lap.
“Good morning,” he casually said.
She swallowed nervously, grabbed for the sheet and tugged it hard to cover herself.
“It’s always something,” he said, “how the light of day can cause the most adventurous women to suddenly withdraw into a charming cocoon of shyness.”
Chelsea became instantly defensive. “I am not shy. But it is...” Pausing, she glanced around the room and spotted her nightdress in a heap by the door. “It is morning. People will be up. I should go.”
She wrapped the sheet around herself and awkwardly inched her way to the edge of the bed, which seemed unnecessarily large all of a sudden and difficult to maneuver across. She swung her legs to the floor and reached down for her wrapper, while fumbling to hold the sheet in place.
Quickly and efficiently, she slipped her arms into the silk sleeves and let the sheet fall to the floor, then turned her back on her nameless lover while she buttoned her wrapper from top to bottom.
Finally, in a more decent order, she turned. “Thank you for last night. It was very nice.”
He sat with an elbow resting on the arm of the chair, a finger at his temple, watching her with amusement. “Indeed, it was.”
She nodded politely at him and tried not to blush as she started for the door. When she reached it, she bent to pick up her nightdress, not sure if it would be wise to walk back to her own bedchamber carrying it in her hands. What if she bumped into a servant?
Deciding to take her chances, she reached into her pocket for the key, but the pocket was empty.
Momentarily flustered, she hurried back around the bed to search the floor, while her gentleman-lover in the chair did nothing but watch. She didn’t spot the key right away, so she got down on hands and knees and checked under the bed. It was not there either.
With an irritated huff, she stood up and faced him. “Give it to me, please.”
“Why should I?”
Her temper flared. �
�Because the sun is up, and I don’t wish to be caught in your bedroom with my hair in a tangled mess and my lips swollen from...”
“Yes?”
“From a night of sinful self-indulgence,” she replied.
He grinned. “Is that what it was?”
She took a few steps closer. “Where is it?”
“I’ve hidden it, but you’re welcome to search my person if you like.” He spread his arms wide.
She couldn’t help but look down at his muscular bare chest and what she knew was concealed beneath the blanket.
“I am not going to put my hands on you,” she said. “It is morning, and I must go. Please, just give me the key.”
“Find it yourself.”
She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Is it truly on you, or under you? Tell me that at least.”
“It might be.”
Riled by his teasing tone when she did not have time for this, she turned her head to the side, bent forward and slid her hands under his legs and backside. When she did not find what she was looking for, she checked along the sides and back of the chair cushion, and while leaning over him, she shoved her hands straight down into the upholstery.
Her gaze was still averted, and she could feel his hot, moist breath upon her cheek while she searched.
“You obviously don’t have it,” she said, straightening, “which was a most ungentlemanly trick.”
“We both enjoyed it. What’s the harm?”
“The harm is that I might be seen here by a servant, and my reputation is already in tatters. There is no need to see those tatters go up in flames as well.”
He considered that and relaxed his shoulders. “All right. I’ll tell you where it is, but for a price.”
“Name it.”
“I want my life back.”
Her composure—which until now had been mostly steadfast—was blown off its course. She had not expected him to say that.
“I would very much like to give you your life back,” she said, “but it is not in my power. As far as finding out who you are, we have sent word to the magistrate here on the island, as well as the London authorities and newspapers. It might take some time, that’s all.”
He wet his lips, as if he were thinking of a way to negotiate for something more immediate. “That’s not what I am talking about. What I want is for you to let me out of this room and allow me to live like a normal human being. I assure you I am not dangerous. Besides, who knows what might revive my memory—a face, a conversation...?”
“I suppose I could try to arrange that,” she said.
“And no more laudanum.”
“I will speak to the doctor. And also to my brother.”
“And mother,” he insisted.
“She won’t be pleased, nor easy to convince that you won’t brain us all in our sleep. She is like a brick wall sometimes.” Chelsea heard a noise in the hall and her heart squeezed with panic. “Please give me the key. I must get back to my own room.”
“And I’ll need some proper clothes,” he flatly said. “Right away, as soon as you leave here, you will bring me something.”
Her temper flared again. “I am simply supposed to do your bidding? I’ll need time to talk to my brother,” she tried to explain.
“Do you want the key or not?”
Chelsea squinted at the sudden light in the room. The servants would soon be bringing up a breakfast tray. “You’re a tyrant.”
“Me!” He laughed. “I’m the one who’s locked up, remember?”
“That is not the case at the moment. You are the one with the key.”
“Yes, and it doesn’t feel very nice, does it? To be at the mercy of a complete stranger?”
Recalling what they had done the night before, Chelsea felt obliged to remind him of it. “We’re hardly strangers now,” she said. “For one thing, you’re practically naked.”
“Which is why I want you to bring me a full set of clothes before my breakfast tray arrives. I’ve had enough of that nightshirt. Will you agree?”
She hesitated.
He sat forward and pulled the curtain wide open. The sky grew brighter. It was overcast—pure white with low hanging clouds.
“Fine! I’ll do it,” she quickly said. “I’ll find something of Sebastian’s. You look about the same size. Now the key, if you please.” She held out her hand.
He made no move. “How do I know I can trust you? Maybe I’d be better off keeping it and making a run for the back door, naked or not.”
“And where would you go?” she asked without humor. “We are on an island and you have no money, no home, no family to turn to.”
The amusement faded from his eyes, and he looked at her with displeasure.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you are more than aware that—”
“Indeed, I am aware of my predicament, which is why I have no choice but to trust you to bring me what I need and make my convalescence here more comfortable. You are the only person in the world I know. Except for the doctor, who wants to turn me into an opium addict.”
Chelsea spoke quickly. “I will make sure he refrains from prescribing anything else. Now the key, please.” The desperation in her voice was palpable.
At last he stood and walked to the clock on the mantel. He lifted it with one hand, and there was the key beneath it—in a very simple hiding place.
He held it out to her. “As I said before, I am trusting you. Today, I would like to go for a walk in the garden, and I wish also to dine with your family.”
Chelsea took the key from him. “I will do my best.” She started for the door.
“And if you do a good job,” he said in a low, husky voice that sent shivers through her body as she slipped the key into the lock, “I will do something for you in return.”
“And what, pray tell, will that be?”
He approached and whispered in her ear, “I will satisfy your desires again this evening.”
The eroticism of his words trembled through her, and she stopped breathing for a moment as she slipped out of the room.
It was exactly what she wanted. She could not deny it. The only problem was that it had nothing to do with duty or strategy to secure an heir for her family—and everything to do with the heady desire to feel the stranger’s arms around her again and to taste the flavor of his kiss.
Chapter 8
“Here you are at last,” Melissa said quietly to Chelsea in the breakfast room, before she had a chance to serve herself a plate from the sideboard. Melissa led her to the window. “I went to your bedchamber at dawn,” she whispered, “but you weren’t there.”
Chelsea glanced uneasily at her mother, who was feasting on a mountain of eggs, toast, and ham at the far end of the table. “I wasn’t there because I’ve been running around the house, trying to do all the things he’s asked me to do. The unruly scoundrel stole the key from me and wouldn’t let me out of the room this morning until I promised him.”
“Promised him what?”
She sighed. “Oh, nothing immoral. In fact, I must admit, it was quite reasonable. He only wants to be let out of his room, to be free to move about the house. I had to find clothes for him and speak to Sebastian. I expect our guest will be walking into this very room looking for breakfast in the next little while. He wants to recover his memory and says he can’t do that if he is staring at the same four walls day after day.”
“I suppose he has a point,” Melissa said. “Does your mother know?”
“Not yet, but she will soon enough.”
They both glanced at Lady Neufeld across the room, content while shoveling forkfuls of food into her mouth. She seemed completely oblivious to their soft-spoken conversation.
Melissa leaned a little closer. “You haven’t told me yet. How was it
?”
They casually moved around the table where Chelsea served herself a plate from the sideboard. “It went perfectly according to plan,” she replied. “I arrived at midnight, and the task was completed within the first hour.”
Although that hardly described what really went on, all of which she intended to keep to herself. It was far too intimate and personal to put into words. She wasn’t even sure words existed to express what she felt about what they had done together in the darkness. She could barely comprehend it in her own mind—the way he made her feel…the sense of fulfillment when his lips touched her body. This morning it all seemed like a dream, as if she had been floating in some strange paradise of pleasure.
Melissa sipped her coffee. “Well done. Well done, indeed. You must have been very proficient.”
Proficient? It was not the right word. Not in the least.
Chelsea moved to the sideboard and spooned up some eggs. “I suppose one could pronounce me victorious,” she whispered, “though in the end it was he who was more in charge of what occurred. I simply followed his lead.” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “The prey became the predator.”
“But you enticed him into the role, which was half the battle.” Melissa reached out a hand and held Chelsea back from approaching the table. “So, did he...? You know...”
Chelsea knew she had to satisfy Melissa’s curiosity before she could sit down and eat in peace. “Did he give me the material I require for our Machiavellian plan?” she plainly asked.
Melissa waited with bated breath for her to reply.
“Yes, he did,” Chelsea revealed. “Four times, to be exact. And I am positively famished.”
Her mother sneezed. They both looked her way and said, “God bless you,” at the same time, then gazed back at each other and resisted a collective urge to laugh.
“It appears our visitor is on the mend,” Melissa whispered close in her ear, “which is very nice, but quantity is not the only thing a woman requires. How was it otherwise? Was he…?” She paused. “Clever?”
“Clever... I am not quite sure what you mean, because I have no experience in such matters outside of last night, and therefore have nothing to compare it to. All I can say is that I enjoyed it more than I imagined I would. He was...”
When a Stranger Loves Me (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 3) Page 7