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.
“Shall I come to you tonight?” she asked hesitantly before they reached the door.
“Yes,” he replied. “I would be disappointed if you did not.” With that, he climbed the steps, leaving her to wonder why she should even be going to his bed at all 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 steps, one slow step at a time, and feeling almost feverish with infatuation.
Chapter 9
“I beg your pardon?” Melissa sat down on a chintz chair in her boudoir.
“He wants to take precautions,” Chelsea repeated.
“But why?” Melissa asked. “You offered yourself to him freely. I was hoping that after all he had been through, he would be in a somewhat...selfish mood.”
“He was, I believe—very much so, in fact. Last night he behaved with little care for any consequences that might arise. He even used the word ‘depraved’ to describe himself. But then...” She paused.
“Then...what?”
“He said a few things that contradicted that description. First of all, when he discovered I was a virgin, he did not wish to proceed. I had to talk him into it. Then 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.”
“Perhaps he is a responsible man who is bitter about the burdens he carries.”
“But why would he believe something about himself—that he is depraved—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 personality change? Perhaps he was depraved before, but now he is not.”
Melissa stood and rang for tea. “Maybe it isn’t a change. Maybe he behaves one way in his own life, but that does not match who he truly is on the inside. Many people wear masks.”
“So which is the real Jack?” Chelsea asked. “A rake who is wild and reckless and ends up stabbed and left for dead in the ocean, or a 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 interrupted. “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 failsafe, and if you are pleasing him, he might lose his head in the heat of the moment and forget about being responsible. 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 had 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,” Chelsea 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 very real—and if the Fates rule in our favor, in nine months’ time you will feel that more than anyone.”
“I suppose.”
“I hope you will soldier on,” Melissa said.
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.
Later in the day, she sat in the library with her notebook, hopelessly inept at putting 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 had started out as a simple act of goodwill—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 that Chelsea would marry Lord Jerome, yet there 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.
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 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.
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 anticipation, he lay back and watched the door...
One hour later Jack was pacing around the room, his frustration roaring inside his head, like a monster he could not conquer.
There was nothing in his mind with which to wage a battle, he supposed. That was th
e 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, all-consuming emptiness.
He continued to pace the room, realizing he couldn’t bear any more of this incessant waiting for his life to begin. Chelsea 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 or responsibility.
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.
Jack said nothing. He simply 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, you might have wished you hadn’t.”
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 replied. “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. “I feel exactly the same, but 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, and somehow, miraculously, she made all the emptiness disappear. Desire took its place, so he sought out her beautiful mouth and pressed 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 thighs and sliding into her depths.
He kissed her again, and relished 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 while—both generously and greedily.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have 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 awestruck 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, she arched her back beneath him and dug her nails into his back. A moment later his own body began to quicken, and he took his pleasure freely, without concern for his vow earlier that day, when he had promised to take precautions and 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 passions were unassailable.
With a groan of release, he let his body sink to rest upon hers. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.”
He was still inside her.
“Perhaps there is no need for you to move,” she replied, wrapping her arms and legs around him. “I would keep you here with me forever if I could.”
This was what he had needed earlier—this closeness. It made everything that was lost to him seem unimportant.
They lay together, drained and exhausted, until he peeled his sticky body from hers and rolled onto his back.
“Will you stay all night?” he asked, staring up at the ceiling.
She hesitated, and he turned his head to look at her.
“I should say no,” she replied.
“Why?” he replied with a rush of dread.
“Because I fear you will be a danger to me.”
“In what way?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”
He rolled to face her and tucked a lock of her long hair behind her ear. “I won’t be a danger to you tonight, Chelsea. I promise. I only want to hold you.”
She inched closer, snuggled close to him, and said nothing, even though she knew deep down that in his arms was exactly where the danger lay.
Chapter 10
“You’re all I have,” Jack whispered later, after he made love to Chelsea a second time that night.
She was completely satisfied and fulfilled 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.
“How do you mean?” she asked.
He stared up at the ceiling and ran his thumb back and forth across her bare shoulder. “I mean that from my vantage point, there is no one else in the world who cares anything for me. I have no thoughts of any loved ones to give me a sense of importance. I feel as if I could draw my last breath tomorrow, and no one would notice or care. Except for you.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “That is not true. I would not be the only one. That is only what you feel because you cannot recall any of those people who care for you. In reality, they do exist and are probably sick with worry and searching for you at this very moment. You just don’t know it.”
She kissed him tenderly on the mouth, then lay back down again, thinking about all the friends and acquaintances he must have, the siblings and cousins, uncles and aunts and parents.
; Somewhere in a hidden place inside her, jealousy surfaced, because those people would know so much more about him than she did—for she knew nothing, only that he could be whisked away from her tomorrow, like a leaf on the wind, if someone arrived to claim him.
But that was selfish, she knew. It was wrong to think such things, to resent those people in his life, so she closed her eyes and strove to strengthen her heart just a little and enjoy this time with him without feeling too deeply, for she did not know how long it would last.
“I want to remember my life,” he said, still stroking her shoulder, “but at the same time I do not. What if I don’t like it? What if I am vindictive or dishonest, or at odds with a family I despise? What if I am married to a woman I hate?”
She leaned up on her elbow again and listened to his fears with secret apprehensions of her own.
“Or a woman you love,” she added.
His expression stilled and grew serious. “That almost seems like a worse possibility.”
“Because you would always have to live with the knowledge that you were unfaithful to her.”
Because of me, and this thing I have asked of you. Chelsea grew uneasy.
“Yes.”
“But you’re not wearing a ring and you don’t behave like a married man,” she reminded him, hoping to ease his mind, as well as her own—for what would she do if he did have a wife? She had taken that possibility very lightly before when she decided to begin this affair. She had stuck her head in the sand, shutting her eyes against all the possible consequences that might cause pain in the future.
She had not wanted to face any of that. All she had wanted was to become this beautiful stranger’s lover and therefore escape her marriage to Lord Jerome. Clearly, such thinking had been superficial. She had not known how profound or vulnerable her emotions would become in such a short time.
“You’re right,” he replied as he raised his hand to rub at his forehead. “Nor do I feel like a married man. But I am quite certain I do have responsibilities. Just in the last few minutes, I have begun to feel some concern—as if I am supposed to be somewhere or be doing something, and that it might be rather urgent.”
When a Stranger Loves Me (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 3) Page 9