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

by Julianne MacLean

  Some of the tension relaxed in his brother’s rigid posture, so Blake decided to leave out the part about being locked in his room while they drugged him into a stupor. At least for now.

  “We owe you a great debt,” Devon said to Chelsea and Sebastian.

  A great debt indeed. Blake had to work hard to control his hostility.

  “That is not necessary,” Sebastian replied. “I am sure you would have done the same in our position.”

  Lady Hawthorne tilted her head to the side. “My word, Lord Neufeld, your lip is bleeding.”

  Sebastian spoke with his eyes fixed on his shoes. “Yes…I walked into a door earlier.”

  She seemed to accept this explanation, while Blake could not help but wonder if Chelsea and Sebastian were terrified he was going to reveal their devious plot to his brother, who was heir to a dukedom. They were probably shaking in their shoes. And if they weren’t, they certainly should be.

  “To be clear, you have no idea how I came to be here?” he asked, forcing himself to forget about Chelsea and Sebastian for the time being.

  His brother shook his head. “No, but we may find out eventually if we can locate the people with whom you were traveling. Vincent is searching for them in France as we speak.”

  “You know who they are?”

  “Yes. We discovered that you recently became acquainted with a gentleman by the name of John Fenton. His father is Baron Ridgeley, who is the chairman of the London Horticultural Society. You went there to look into their affairs, and that’s how you met the man’s son.”

  Blake drew back slightly. “Do I have an interest in horticulture?” He could not imagine it.

  “No,” Devon flatly replied. “But our father does, and you had your reasons for familiarizing yourself with the Society.” He paused and looked across at his wife. “This is where the story of your life becomes rather out of the ordinary, Blake. I will have a hard time explaining this to you, but it cannot be avoided.” He turned to Sebastian and Chelsea. “I do apologize, but would you excuse us? This is a family matter of a somewhat private nature.”

  “Of course,” Sebastian replied. “We will be in the library.” They both stood and walked to the door.

  Blake did not so much as glance in Chelsea’s direction as she moved past, but he could feel the intensity of her mood chafing up against his own. She was anxious and apprehensive, afraid of what he was going to reveal to his family when she was no longer in the room.

  He was glad. She deserved to perspire a little.

  “Do you have any memory of our home, Blake?” Devon asked after the door closed behind them. “Do you remember Pembroke Palace where you were raised? Do you remember anything about our father, the duke?”

  “No”

  Devon sat back. “Then I shall be blunt. He is not well. He is growing old, and he is also...I am sorry to have to say this, but there is no gentle way to put it. He is going mad.”

  “Mad?”

  “Yes. We have hired the best doctors, but there is nothing that can be done for him. All we can do is shelter him from the public eye and do our best to keep him as comfortable as possible.”

  Blake sat back and contemplated this news. “I see.”

  He wanted to know if he should be grief-stricken to hear this, because presently he felt nothing but a detached sympathy for the family. He did not know the man to whom Devon was referring. He could not summon any genuine, heartfelt sorrow, for he could not picture his father’s face in his mind. There was nothing there—no images, no feelings, no wish to return home as quickly as possible to hold his father’s hand and ease his burdens.

  Only then did a true sense of mourning come upon him, as he realized he was as good as dead inside. He cared for no one. Nothing was important to him. Perhaps he would have been better off if he had drowned on the night he was lost.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he said nevertheless, aware of his brother staring at him and recognizing this appalling indifference that he could do nothing about. He was not that good of an actor. He could not pretend to be devastated when he felt only a disconnected regret for these people sitting across from him, and for the aging duke who was losing his mind. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Devon’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “There is, actually. It is something we have all been asked to do—all four of us. You, me, Vincent, and Garrett.”

  When Devon did not elaborate right away, Blake frowned. “What is it?”

  His brother bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is all so difficult to explain, Blake, but I will do my best.” He looked up. “One of the most obvious symptoms of Father’s illness is his stubborn belief that the palace is haunted and cursed. He believes that if all of his sons are not married by Christmas, a flood of biblical proportions will sweep everything away—the house, the gardens, everything.”

  “A flood? That is madness,” Blake said.

  “Exactly. Unfortunately, Father had his wishes written in his will before he was deemed insane—minus the part about the curse—and his solicitor stands by it. If just one of us does not marry, we will all be disinherited with regards to the unentailed fortune, so we have been forced to trust and rely on each other. If one of us fails to abide by the terms of the will, Father will leave all the riches to the London Horticultural Society. I will get the title and property, of course, but with agricultural prices at an all-time low, I will have a difficult time maintaining it. The rest of you will have nothing.”

  “Which is why I was visiting that particular organization,” Blake reasoned.

  “That is our assumption.”

  “But why did I go to France?”

  “From the information we gathered, the baron goes there often with his son to bring back non-native seeds and bulbs, rare flowers and shrubs, that sort of thing. But we believe also that you might have been courting his daughter. Like us, you have been looking rather urgently for a bride, and no one would be more suitable in Father’s eyes than a young woman with an interest in horticulture.”

  “Good heavens, have I proposed to her?” Blake asked.

  “We’re not sure. There have been no announcements about it, and we did not hear any news of that nature while we were investigating your whereabouts. From what we gathered, you were closer to the young lady’s brother, staying out late at night, drinking and gambling, but I suppose anything is possible.”

  Blake closed his eyes. “What is her name?”

  “Elizabeth Fenton,” Devon replied.

  Blake cupped his forehead in a hand and whispered irritably, “Bloody hell.”

  “Do you remember something?” Lady Hawthorne asked, overlooking his unseemly oath and sitting forward in her chair.

  Blake lounged back against the seat cushions and looked up at the high, frescoed ceiling. “No. But I might have said her name once or twice in my sleep.”

  “Perhaps you are in love with her, then,” Lady Hawthorne replied with a hopeful, somewhat romantic lilt in her voice.

  Blake lifted his head and spoke to her icily. “I don’t even know what the woman looks like.”

  Looking bewildered, she frowned at him. Devon frowned also.

  “What is wrong with you both?” Blake asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Lady Hawthorne’s voice was gentle but firm. “It is not like you to speak to me in that tone, Blake.”

  After everything he had been through, he was in no mood for a scolding. “My apologies, Lady Hawthorne. I will try to speak more courteously next time.”

  “You have always called me Rebecca,” she said, still sounding hurt.

  “Of course. I’m so sorry. Rebecca.” Blake turned to his brother. “Help me understand, if you will. You expect me to return to England and do my duty for you—and two other brothers I don’t recall—and marry someone by
Christmas? Possibly a woman I have no memory of?”

  “Well...”

  “What if I say no?” he blatantly asked.

  They both looked at him the same way again, as if two horns had just sprouted from his head.

  “What is the problem?” he asked.

  Rebecca cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon, Blake, but when you first disappeared, some suggested that you might have run off and deserted us as an act of rebellion because you did not wish to marry, but then we decided that that couldn’t be possible, because it is not you.”

  Devon picked up the thread of what she was saying. “She is right. Out of all of us, you are the most responsible. You have always been the voice of reason and harmony at the palace. You smooth out everyone else’s problems and quarrels. I don’t believe any of us have ever seen you lose your temper. Not once.”

  “Are you sure you are not mistaking me for a different brother?” he asked. “Because I assure you, ever since I woke up without any knowledge of who I am, I lose my temper quite often.”

  “I make no mistake,” Devon replied.

  Blake turned his gaze to the window. “Then maybe the brother you knew died on those rocks down there.”

  Looking deeply concerned, Devon leaned forward. “Let me tell you a little something about the man you are. Over the past three years, you have remained steadfast at home, taking care of everyone and everything tirelessly, while I have deserted the family to spend time abroad, and while Vincent has lived a wild and reckless existence in London. As far as Garrett is concerned, we don’t even know where he is…perhaps on a sailboat writing poetry somewhere in the Mediterranean. He does not keep in touch. You, on the other hand, have always been the rock in our family. You have always done what is necessary to hold us together.”

  Blake sat forward also. “What are you trying to tell me? That you expect me to do what you ask, because it is in my nature to be helpful and agreeable?”

  By the looks on their faces, they were both growing increasingly sick with worry.

  Blake scoffed. “Are you absolutely certain I am the brother you think I am? Because I sure as hell don’t feel dutiful or agreeable toward anyone right now. What I would really like to do is walk out of here and go find... What did you say his name was? Garrett? Yes, I have half a mind to tell you all to go to hell with your duties and expectations, because all I want to do is leave here this instant and start the hell over with my life.”

  “Good gracious,” Rebecca said.

  An uncomfortable silence ensued until his sister-in-law rose to her feet, crossed over the carpet, and sat down beside him. “I understand this must be very difficult for you to hear,” she said. “You have been through a terrible ordeal, Blake. But may I offer you some advice?”

  “If you feel you must,” he replied.

  “You are a very fortunate person to have been born into the Pembroke dynasty, and I am not just referring to your family’s wealth, power, and property, but to the devotion and loyalty of loved ones who would do anything for your happiness. Might I suggest you consider that? In the past, you have always honored that loyalty in return.”

  He glanced at his brother, who merely inclined his head in agreement.

  “So your message to me,” Blake said, “is that if I want the benefits and protection of my influential family, I must do what you tell me to do.”

  “It is not quite like that,” she replied. “We do not wish to force you into anything.”

  “The brother I grew up with,” Devon said, “would want to do it of his own free will.”

  Blake studied Devon’s eyes. “Did you marry her because you had to?”

  Devon hesitated. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. But as you can see, it worked out very well.”

  “Yes, obviously. Are you the only one who has done his duty thus far? You said Garrett is out of the country. What about Vincent?”

  “He was just beginning his honeymoon when you were declared missing. His bride waits for him at home.”

  “They are deeply in love,” Rebecca added. “As we hope you will be one day.”

  “One day...” he repeated. “You mean before Christmas. That rather puts the pressure on, does it not?”

  Neither of them gave any response, so Blake decided it was time to end this conversation. There was another rather pressing matter that required his attention.

  He rose to his feet. “If you will both excuse me, I must go and speak to my hosts. But first I would like to know when you plan to return to England.”

  Devon paused. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you intend to come with us, because we will not leave here without you.”

  Blake stood still for a moment, pondering what he now knew about his life and his future, while he regarded two very determined individuals who promised him an insurmountable family loyalty.

  He could not deny that he was curious about the other particulars of his life. He wanted to see the place where he was born and raised. His mother and father. He needed to know who he really was.

  “I am eager to go home,” he told them. “Perhaps seeing the palace will help me remember everything else.”

  “Then we shall leave in the morning,” Devon replied with relief. “At first light.”

  “So soon? It seems the rush has already begun.”

  “It began quite some time ago,” Devon somberly replied, “when our father began talking to ghosts.”

  Chapter 16

  Blake strode into the library where Sebastian, Chelsea, and Melissa sat in chairs, each with a glass of brandy.

  “We need to talk,” he said to Chelsea, then turned to the others. “If you will excuse us.”

  Melissa stood and hurried out, but Sebastian was reluctant. “I will not excuse you if you are still inclined to hit things.”

  “Hit people, you mean.” Blake was feeling impatient and did not want to dally there while dancing around the point he intended to make. “No. You already satisfied my killer instincts sufficiently well, thank you. I’m quite over it now.”

  “I’ll be all right, Sebastian,” Chelsea said, touching her brother’s arm.

  Her brother rose and crossed the room, stopping beside Blake to deliver a warning glare. “If you lift one finger to harm her...”

  They stared at each other heatedly for a few seconds, then Sebastian walked out.

  “Your brother is suddenly quite adamant to be your heroic protector,” Blake mentioned as the door swung shut behind him. “Too bad he’s so selective in that regard and didn’t come to your rescue when I was helping myself to your virtue. If you could call it that. I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”

  Chelsea swallowed the rest of her brandy and set the glass down on the end table. “Must you be so vulgar?”

  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t be. Ours was a vulgar affair from the beginning. It’s not as if there was any affection between us. You said it yourself, we were using each other.”

  He saw her throat bob as she swallowed. “What did you want to discuss with me? I take it you are leaving?”

  “Yes, first thing in the morning, and you are coming with me.”

  She drew back as if he’d swung a wooden plank in her direction. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” He paced around the room, fighting to keep his animosity under control, when so little else was within his power. Ever since he woke up on this godforsaken island, he had felt completely lost, with nowhere to go and no one to trust except this woman—and that turned out to be a bloody, ridiculous sham.

  Now he was again finding himself plunked down upon a road not of his choosing, with a family who claimed they would do anything for his happiness, while they were dragging him back to England in a mad dash so that he could marry someone—anyone—before the year
was out.

  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. “I take it this discussion is not a proposal of marriage?”

  “Certainly not. Unless such a course of action is absolutely necessary—in which case I would need to know your condition first.”

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

  How could he marry a woman he did not trust?

  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 replied. “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 you must have just realized that I will be the farthest thing you can imagine from a loving husband. You would probably be better off with your ancient cousin.”