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

by Julianne MacLean

  “I am. I don’t know why. I just feel it.”

  Her stomach jerked and joggled before their eyes.

  “Did you see that?” Blake said, laughing. “That is how you know it’s a boy. Obviously he has two gigantic feet, and he’s as strong as an ox.”

  Chelsea laughed, too, and looked up at her husband with love.

  “What shall we name him?” she asked. “We have not yet decided, and we only have a few more weeks. Have you given any more thought to Theodore, after your father?”

  Just then Sebastian and Melissa emerged from inside the house with baby James and crossed the terrace toward them.

  “This just came for you,” Sebastian said. He handed Chelsea a letter.

  She swung her legs to the ground, sat up on the edge of the lounge chair, broke the seal and began to read the note. “It’s from a London publisher,” she told them, rising heftily to her feet. “They want to publish the story I sent them, and they want to see more of my work. They want to see everything I have written!”

  Melissa, who was bouncing baby James in her arms, exclaimed with delight. “That’s wonderful, Chelsea! I always knew we would see your stories in print one day. Congratulations.”

  Chelsea lowered the letter to her side and looked at Blake. “I cannot believe it.”

  “It’s true,” he said.

  She smiled. “I daresay it is. But I could never have sent them this story without your confidence and encouragement, Blake. Thank you.”

  He stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. “It was your talent and imagination that won their esteem, darling. I had very little to do with it.”

  “You’re going to be famous,” Melissa interrupted.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Chelsea replied, laughing at the idea. “I suggest we see how well my story is received before we make that claim.”

  “Who is going to be famous?” her mother asked, coming around the side of the house as she returned from her evening stroll. At her side was Dr. Melville, her fiancé. They had been walking on the beach, exploring the sea caves.

  “Our very own Chelsea,” Sebastian said with pride. “One of her stories has been accepted for publication.”

  “How extraordinary,” her mother replied, but the initial excitement in her eyes quickly died away. “I hope you are not going to write under your own name. My wedding is only three weeks away. I cannot possibly arrange it with another scandal looming. We only just tiptoed out from under the last one.”

  Chelsea took her mother’s concerns quite seriously. “I do have time to think about it,” she said. “But either way, you will be married and long returned from your honeymoon by the time the book is printed. I predict your wedding day shall proceed without a single hitch.”

  Lady Neufeld looked up at Dr. Melville. “Only three more weeks. Then we will be strolling the beaches of Monaco.”

  A seagull sang a shrill song over their heads, and the sun glowed like a great ball of orange fire in the twilight sky.

  “Shall we go inside and dress for dinner?” Sebastian asked, addressing Melissa, who nodded and carried little James toward the door.

  Later that night, after a quiet dinner with her husband and family, Chelsea lay in bed beside Blake, warm and safe in his arms as they looked out the window at the full moon. “I am so glad I found you that day,” she said softly. “Imagine if I had not gone walking...”

  He kissed the top of her head. “You saved my life.”

  She snuggled closer to him, laid her hand upon his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “Just as you saved mine. I never knew happiness like this was possible, Blake, and now I have everything I ever dreamed of. I am so grateful.”

  As he lowered his lips to hers and they basked in their feelings of love and completeness, the ocean waves surged and exploded onto the rocks outside their summer retreat, and their baby kicked his little legs in her belly, immensely eager to greet the world.

  Read on for an excerpt from the next book in the Love at Pembroke Palace Series.

  Married By Midnight by Julianne MacLean

  Excerpt from Married by Midnight

  It was a marriage of convenience…until love walked in.

  For seven years, Lord Garrett Sinclair–handsome illegitimate son of the Duke of Pembroke–has been traveling abroad with no intention of ever returning home to Pembroke Palace… until his father commands that he must marry by Christmas or lose his inheritance forever. Haunted by a tragic accident that has hardened his heart, Garrett entrusts his brothers to seek out a bride who will agree to a marriage in name only. Her reward? A sizable share of his inheritance–payable immediately after the wedding night.

  Lady Anne Douglas has been ruined by scandal and disowned by her father. Facing a life of poverty and spinsterhood, she leaps at the generous terms of the marriage contract to ensure her independence. But the charade of a two-week engagement proves more of a challenge than either anticipated when they cannot resist the intoxicating lure of the marriage bed. Anne knows they will part ways after the wedding. Will she dare risk her heart for two weeks of pleasure in the arms of an irresistible rogue? Or will her surrender become her undoing after a most unexpected turn of events mere hours before the wedding?

  “You can always count on Julianne MacLean to deliver ravishing romance that will keep you turning pages until the wee hours of the morning.”—Teresa Medeiros

  Married by Midnight

  Excerpt Copyright © 2020 Julianne MacLean Publishing Inc.

  Chapter 1

  After the worst spring England had witnessed in over a century—marked by torrential rains, swelled rivers, and flooded fields that destroyed the summer crops—the country was now covered in a hostile blanket of crusty white snow. It had been a harsh winter with daily temperatures well below freezing, which was not at all normal for England’s temperate climate. It began in early November and seemed to go on without end—for there had been no respite from the fierce, bitter winds and constant spray of sleet and snow. And it was not yet half over.

  Sitting by the hearth in her uncle’s stone manor house in Yorkshire, shivering beneath her heavy woolen shawl, Lady Anne Douglas was beginning to wonder if England was cursed, for this was completely incomprehensible.

  A sudden blast of ice pellets struck the windowpanes, and the dogs began to bark downstairs. Tugging her shawl about her shoulders, Anne rose from her chair and crossed to the window. She looked down and saw a large black coach pulling to a halt in front of the house. It was a striking image against the pure white landscape. Not to mention the fact that they’d had no visitors for a month—for who in their right mind would venture out into such abominable weather?

  The dogs continued to bark like ferocious beasts in the front hall while Anne watched two gentlemen in elegant black overcoats and top hats alight from the vehicle and hurry up the steps. One of them carried a black leather portfolio.

  She leaned forward and touched her forehead to the frosty glass, but lost sight of the visitors as they reached the front entrance. There was some commotion below as the door opened and the dogs were put into a separate room, where they continued to bark and growl.

  Who were these men, Anne wondered, and what did they want? It must be an extremely important matter of business to bring them all the way to the outer reaches of Yorkshire on such a bitterly cold day.

  A half hour later, Anne was summoned to the drawing room. Her uncle stood before the fire while the two mysterious gentlemen callers sat in chairs with their backs to the door, facing the sofa. As soon as Anne was announced, they rose to their feet, turned, and regarded her with interest. She stared back at them with an equal measure of curiosity, mixed with a twinge of concern.

  They were both exceedingly handsome with dark, chiseled facial features, muscular builds, and striking blue eyes. Brothers surely, for not only were they similar in
appearance, they wore the same expression of inquisitive intelligence.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” her uncle said, moving closer and dragging her into the room. “Come over by the fire so our guests can get a good look at you.” He shoved her to stand on the threadbare carpet. “She may not be pure, but I daresay she’s appealing to the eye.”

  The gentleman on the left cleared his throat and gave her a look of apology as he bowed courteously. “Lady Anne, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.” He fired an irate glance at her uncle, who blinked at him in the muted gray light fighting its way in through the frosty window.

  “What’s wrong?” her uncle Archibald asked. “Oh. I have not made the proper introductions, have I? Lord Hawthorne, allow me to present my niece, Lady Anne. Anne, this is Devon Sinclair, Marquess of Hawthorne, and his brother, Lord Blake, both of Pembroke Palace.”

  A shiver of apprehension rippled up Anne’s spine. These were very auspicious guests indeed. Their father was the Duke of Pembroke, one of the highest-ranking peers in the realm. His palace, filled with priceless art and antiquities, was considered one of England’s greatest treasures. Some said their Italian Gardens were so beautiful they brought even the most cynical, hard-hearted men to tears.

  Hadn’t she recently heard the gardens were damaged?

  But what were these illustrious gentlemen doing at her uncle’s manor house, three weeks before Christmas, so far from their home in the middle of a raging snowstorm?

  “Good afternoon,” she said.

  When she met the marquess’s cool blue eyes again, he inclined his head at her, as if studying her temperament.

  “Your uncle speaks highly of you,” he said.

  I doubt that. She had the good sense, however, not to speak her mind.

  Lord Hawthorne gestured toward the sofa. “Will you join us?”

  Her gaze darted back and forth between the two guests and her uncle. They all stared at her as if she were some sort of odd novelty in a glass case.

  “Please, Lady Anne,” Lord Blake said, as if he recognized her reluctance and wished to set her at ease.

  She studied him for a moment, experienced an inexplicable whisper of calm, and took a seat.

  “We understand you spent the past four years caring for your ailing grandmother,” Lord Hawthorne said. “A dutiful and selfless pursuit,” he added.

  “It wasn’t duty,” she explained. “It was love.” Her late grandmother—God rest her dear, sweet soul—had been the one person who never judged Anne or mistreated her after her terrible fall from grace.

  “We are sorry for your loss,” Lord Blake said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Lady Anne was an excellent nursemaid and companion,” her uncle added. “As I said before, she may not be pure, but she is loyal.”

  Anne regarded the marquess steadily. “Do you wish me to be a companion to someone?”

  A hush fell over the room. “No,” he replied. Then he turned his eyes to the baron. “May I request a moment alone with Lady Anne,” he asked, “so that we may discuss this proposition in detail?”

  “There is no need for any further discussion,” Archibald replied. “I have already accepted on her behalf. We need only make the arrangements, though I would like to have my solicitor involved.”

  Anne frowned. “Your solicitor, Uncle? What sort of proposition did you agree to? If it concerns me, am I not to be consulted?”

  Another tension-filled silence descended upon the room—this time heavy as lead.

  Lord Hawthorne stood. “I must insist that you excuse us, sir. It is imperative that your niece understands the particulars. We will speak with her in private.”

  At long last, her uncle rose from his chair. “If you insist, Lord Hawthorne, I must defer to your wishes. But rest assured that your proposal will not be refused. It will happen, whether she likes it or not.”

  As soon as he left the room, Anne challenged the two men. “What, exactly, will happen?”

  “Nothing, if you do not wish it,” Blake replied. “I assure you, Lady Anne, we are not tyrants, and we have other prospects if you refuse—which is your right—but we wish you to know that you are at the top of our list.”

  “What list?” she asked, nearly horror-struck by the possibilities.

  There was a quiet pause until, at last, Hawthorne answered the question. “We require a practical young woman to marry our brother before Christmas,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He took a moment to explain. “Our brother needs a wife, but he does not desire a love match, nor does he wish to enter the marriage mart and begin a complicated courtship. He simply wants a contractual arrangement with a woman who understands the situation and desires the same sort of freedom.”

  “What sort of freedom are you referring to?” Anne asked. “I do not understand.”

  “No, of course you do not,” Hawthorne replied. “I fear we have not explained ourselves adequately. Please allow me to tell you everything. This time I shall start at the beginning.”

  “Did I hear you correctly?” Anne said. “Your father is going mad?”

  She could not believe it. The Duke of Pembroke was one of the greatest aristocrats in England. The family had a celebrated history, like no other. The Duchess of Pembroke enjoyed an intimate friendship with the queen.

  “That is correct,” the marquess replied. “He believes all four of his sons must marry before Christmas in order to thwart a family curse.”

  “What sort of curse?”

  Appearing uncertain how best to explain, Hawthorne paused. “In the spring,” he said, “our father believed we would all be washed away by a flood. Now we are in danger of freezing to death, and he expects the palace to shatter like glass if this weather continues. Under any other circumstances it would not matter, except that he has changed his will to disinherit us if we do not respect his wishes. Thankfully, Blake, Vincent, and I found matrimonial bliss earlier this year, but there is one more.”

  “Another brother? What is his name?”

  “Garrett. He is the youngest and has been living abroad for a number of years. Until very recently, he refused to yield to our father’s demands, for he is not exactly...compliant. But we received a letter from him eight days ago. He has finally agreed to come home and fulfill his duty. He is ready to take a wife and secure all our inheritances. There is also a substantial sum of money he will receive on his wedding day if he marries in time, so he is motivated.”

  Anne could not help herself. She laughed out loud. “Why in God’s name have you chosen me? Surely the son of a duke could have any woman he wanted.”

  “As I said before,” the marquess replied, “he has no interest in a love match. He wants a woman who will not need to be romanced­­—a practical woman who will agree to perform a charade, so to speak, and who will leave Pembroke Palace when he returns to Greece, shortly after the wedding takes place.”

  “We will live separate lives?” Anne asked, to confirm her understanding.

  “That is correct, but you, too, will have freedom. With the allowance Garrett receives as a wedding gift, and the inheritance due upon our father’s death, he will provide you with a lifetime annuity. You will be free to live wherever you please. You could purchase a house in London, for example. Or perhaps you would prefer the country. Either way, there will be funds for a very comfortable living with a house full of servants—for the rest of your life.”

  Anne took a moment to consider all of this. It was not an unattractive offer. Quite the contrary, she felt as if she had just discovered a buried treasure in the garden. It did not seem real.

  “What about children?” she asked. “Would I be expected to bear him sons?”

  “No. He is the youngest of four. I am the eldest and my wife and I are already expecting a child.”

  �
��Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” He paused.

  “Will the marriage have to be consummated?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It must be legally binding to fulfil the terms of our father’s will.”

  Anne swallowed uneasily. “What if I become pregnant?”

  Lord Blake cleared his throat uneasily. “All of that is outlined in the contract. If a child is conceived, you may choose to raise him yourself, or relinquish him to the care of our family, whereby he would be raised at Pembroke.”

  Anne gazed toward the door and wondered if her uncle was outside, listening to these details.

  “Do you require time to consider it, Lady Anne?” Lord Hawthorne asked. “Because if you wish to accept our proposition, we have the contracts already drawn up. If you are not inclined, however, we would prefer to know immediately so that we can move on to the next candidate as quickly as possible.”

  She glanced at Lord Blake, who tapped his finger on the leather portfolio that rested on the table beside him. “The contracts are right here, my lady, awaiting your perusal.”

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “No,” he said. “Christmas is not long off. We have only three weeks to satisfy the terms of the will.”

  She rolled the idea over in her mind. “Mmm...I do see the basis for your impatience. If there is no wedding, you will all be cursed. Financially, at least.”

  “Indeed.”

  She folded her hands on her lap. “What if your brother does not approve of me? Does he know about my sordid past? My shocking reputation?”

  She had no illusions about her reputation and her marriage prospects, for she had done the unthinkable four years ago when she ran off to elope with her handsome young tutor. Since then, she had given up all romantic fantasies about her future. Until this moment, she had been fully prepared to live out the rest of her days as a spinster.