Chelsea marched into Blake’s bedchamber, slammed the door behind her and startled him from his sleep. “I will be leaving here today.”
He sat up in a jolt on his elbows and shook himself awake. “I beg your pardon.”
“I said I want to leave.”
“No.”
She gritted her teeth. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You cannot keep me here against my will. I want to leave, so please prepare your coach. And I will need money for the train and passage across the Channel.”
Tossing the covers aside, he rose from the bed in his nightshirt. “Tell me what has happened, and how you scratched your cheek.”
She reached up and touched her face. Indeed, there was blood on her fingertips.
Blake went to fetch a handkerchief from his chest of drawers, dipped it in a porcelain bowl filled with water on the washstand, then offered it to her. While she dabbed at the blood, he pulled on his trousers and shrugged into a shirt.
Chelsea sat down in a chair.
“Now tell me what has happened,” he said, buttoning the shirt before pulling on a waistcoat.
Finally managing to calm her breathing, she looked up. “Your brother-in-law just tried to ravish me in the garden.”
A menacing thundercloud darkened Blake’s expression. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but maybe you should ask him if he’s all right.”
“Why? What did you do to him?”
“He was in bad need of a good thrashing. He ended up on the ground with a bloody lip.”
Blake nodded. “Good girl. Where is he now?”
“I left him by the cedar hedge, on the other side of the Italian Gardens. I don’t think anyone saw us. No one seems to be awake yet.” She dabbed again at the scratch on her cheek. “I cannot bear to remain here, Blake.” She passed the handkerchief back to him. “It’s time for me to go.”
“No!” he replied as he tied his cravat, seeming shocked she would even suggest it.
“Yes,” she countered.
“I told you, until we know your condition, you cannot leave.”
She looked down at the blood still on her fingertips. “That is the other reason why I am here,” she explained. “There will be no baby. I am not with child, so we are free of each other.”
She did not look up. She couldn’t. She did not want to see the relief that was sure to be as clear as day in his eyes.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes. My courses arrived this morning.”
She was aware of him crossing to the other side of the room in silence. “You don’t have to leave right away.”
“Yes, I must. You are with your wife now. It’s not right for me to be here. We must forget what happened between us and put it in the past.”
He faced her. “Maybe I don’t want to forget.”
Her gaze darted to his, and the hostility she had been working so hard to suppress finally exploded inside of her. “You have no choice in the matter.”
“There are always choices.”
“No, not in this case!”
They were both quiet for a moment, then Blake turned to face her. “I want you to go to the library and stay there,” he said. “Promise me you will not move from there until I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I am going to have a word with John.”
“Will you give him a bloody nose for me?”
“Yes,” he said as he headed for the door. “Then I’ll tell him to pack his things, because he is no longer welcome at Pembroke Palace.”
“But he is your brother-in-law,” she reminded him.
He stopped and pointed a finger at her. “Just go to the library and wait for me.” The door slammed shut behind him before she could form a reply, let alone contemplate how she truly felt about the reality of finally saying goodbye to this man forever.
Elizabeth stood at her window, trying very hard not to cry. Everything that had occurred over the past few weeks had taken a toll on her spirits, and she was not sure she could bear one more day of this heartbreak.
What was she doing here? She did not belong. She was trapped.
And her brother was a snake and a rotter. She hated him. She hated her father. And Blake—dear, wonderful Blake—he was the kindest, noblest, most honorable man she had ever met in her life, yet she could not be happy here. She was miserable. She could not eat or sleep or concentrate on anything. All her smiles were artificial. Her laughter was untrue.
Just then her husband came into view below her window. She leaned closer to the glass to see him striding across the Italian Garden ruins, then disappearing behind the hedges. A few seconds later he reappeared, turning this way and that, searching for something, or someone.
Her brother, most likely.
She put a hand to her mouth. John would think that she’d told Blake what had occurred. He would be upset with her.
But she had not told her husband…
She watched in horror from the second story window as Blake spotted John still sitting on the bench under the oak tree, then strode toward him, grabbed him by the coat lapels and threw him to the ground.
John scrambled backward like a crab along the grass, then Blake stood over him, grabbed hold of his coat to hold him with one hand, and punched him repeatedly in the face with the other.
She covered her eyes. She could not watch.
When she looked out again, Blake’s brother Devon was running across the lawn toward them, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. No shoes, no shirt, no jacket…He must have dressed in a hurry after witnessing the brawl from his window.
Blake thrust John up against the tree and shouted at him—though she could not make out what he was saying. Devon grabbed hold of Blake’s shoulders and tore him away. John crumpled to the ground and curled into a ball, clutching his stomach.
Blake said something to Devon, left John on the ground, and started back to the house. He walked quickly. Was he coming to see her? Would he want to know what she had witnessed?
But no, he did not know she’d been there. Someone else had told him what happened, and he’d responded like an enraged lover.
All at once, truth and clarity found a path to her mind.
She sank down into a chair and closed her eyes. For the longest while she could not move, then she lifted her eyes and said, “Enough.”
A few minutes later she walked into Blake’s empty bedchamber and closed the door. She searched frantically through his drawers and over his desk until she found the box with all his sketches.
I draw everything, he had said.
She took the box to the bed, climbed up onto it, and looked at every picture—the landscapes and portraits and all the beautiful, exquisite nudes—then came across a portrait of Chelsea with her father’s secret insignia sketched into the corner.
Flopping back onto the feather pillows, she began to weep. They were not tears of sadness, however. They were the sweetest, most wonderful tears of joy, because everything was going to be all right now. Somehow, it was going to be all right.
“This just arrived for you, my lady,” a footman said. He stood in the corridor outside the library, holding in his gloved hand a letter upon a silver salver.
Chelsea picked up the sealed letter, thanked him, then closed the door and returned to her chair. She recognized the seal and penmanship. It was a note from her mother, who must have sent it immediately after Chelsea left the island on that final morning.
Breaking the seal, she unfolded the heavy paper and sat down in front of the fireplace.
My dearest Chelsea, it began…
She read the entire letter, then lowered it to her lap and covered her mouth with a hand. She read the first paragraph again, and noticed how fast her heart was beating. Was it true? Could it really be true?
After instructing Devon to keep an eye on John so he would not flee the palace like the coward he was, Blake ran up the stairs to the library, praying that Chelsea would still be there. If she had gone to her room to pack her things, he would stop her. He would not let her go. Not now, when he felt such intense exhilaration and needed to describe it to her.
He had never imagined that thrashing a man could feel so bloody good. He had certainly not felt such satisfaction when he clouted Chelsea’s brother. That was different. Sebastian had deserved it, no question, but Blake had not enjoyed it.
This was odd. Yet somehow, it was not. There was an explanation for it. He had a suspicion.
Could he call it a memory?
He pushed through the door of the library, expecting to find the room empty, but Chelsea was there, slouching low with her head resting on the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, a letter dangling from her fingertips.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and he halted where he stood on the carpet. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“Yes,” she replied, sitting forward and looking down at the letter she had been reading. “This was delivered to me while you were outside. It’s from my mother. She had a great deal to say to me.”
Blake strode forward carefully, waiting for her to elaborate, hoping she had not already decided to shut him out completely. He wanted to know what was happening in her life. He wanted to know why there were tears in her eyes, and to make them disappear if he could.
But then he recognized that they were not tears of sorrow, but something else, something much more profound…
“She has apologized,” Chelsea told him. “She said she was wrong to want to force me to marry Lord Jerome when I do not care for him, and that she regrets her actions on that final night, when we quarreled on the staircase.”
“That is good news,” Blake said, remaining a short distance away. “I am pleased to hear it, Chelsea.”
She cleared her throat and wiped a tear from her cheek. “But there is more. She has confessed something else to me—that she has lived her entire life smothered by shame and regret because she trapped my father into marrying her, by arranging for them to be caught in a kiss at a ball.”
Stunned, but curious, Blake moved closer.
“She knew my father didn’t love her,” Chelsea continued, “but she was in love with him and did it to secure a proposal. She has never told anyone about it, not until now, and has felt guilty about it all this time. But when she learned what I was trying to do with you, it made her feel less guilty, because suddenly she was not alone in her duplicity. Since I was attempting to do the same sort of thing, it made it seem more normal to her. But then when I refused to continue with the plan and admitted my remorse, she had to face her own as well. I left without saying goodbye, and she blamed herself for what she had forced me to do—because of her ambition and strategizing—all for the sake of a title.”
Blake sat down in the seat opposite Chelsea. “What will you do? Will you forgive her?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I must. She regrets her mistakes, and heaven knows, we all make them. I certainly have. And I do love her. How could I not? She is my mother. With all her faults and failings, I still love her.”
“So she has changed her mind about forcing you to marry your cousin?” he asked.
Warmth filled Chelsea’s eyes. “I believe she has, because of the regret she said she felt, and because there is more news. The morning we left Jersey, Melissa was terribly ill. She fainted and fell down the stairs. Naturally the doctor was sent for, and he discovered something wonderful, Blake. My sister-in-law is expecting a child. My brother is going to have a baby—an heir, possibly. She is more than three months along. The whole time you were with us in Jersey, she was expecting and none of us knew it. I am so happy for them.” She smiled through her tears and covered her mouth with a hand. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It is,” he replied, as a feeling of euphoria flooded his heart. Chelsea’s happiness was his own.
“But what about you?” she asked, folding the letter on her lap. “What happened when you went to see John? Did he plead for mercy? I hope so. And if he did, I hope you refused.”
“Yes, he pleaded, and I refused him. Quite repeatedly in fact.”
She smiled at him. It was the most mischievous and luminous smile he had ever beheld, and for a moment his heart stood still.
He could no longer deny the truth. Nothing had changed. Whether she was carrying his child or not, he loved her now as he’d loved her in Jersey—before he learned of her plan to use him to beget an heir for her brother. Despite all of his mistakes and her foolish, irrational schemes and decisions, they were connected, and there were no words for what he felt.
Except for love, but even that was not enough. It was beyond love. It was complete and total knowledge and understanding, and it was the most devastating feeling in the world, because she would leave him now. Her life in Jersey was no longer in jeopardy. She could return there without fear for her future.
More important, he was married to another woman, and he had to let this one go without argument or any contact in the future. He could not have her, and would never know paradise again. Not in this lifetime.
“You looked happy a second ago,” she said, her own happiness draining from her face. “Now you look like someone just dropped a bucket of cold water over your head.”
He was not sure what to say. She was exactly right.
But somehow he found words. “I think I remember something.”
She sat forward. “What is it?”
“I remember thrashing John.”
She inclined her head with a look of concern. “But that just happened, Blake. Are you feeling all right?”
He nodded. “What I mean to say is—I remember fighting him before. Every time I woke from a restless sleep and wanted to strangle someone, it was him. I think we were fighting each other when I lost my memory.”
She shook her head as she tried to understand. “But they said you collided with another ship and the boat went down. When do you think you fought with him? Before that?”
“But did the boat really sink?” he asked. “Have there been any reports of such an event?”
“I don’t know. What do you suspect? That there was no accident, but that he threw you overboard?”
“Possibly.” He put his hand to his side. “I think he stabbed me.”
She glanced down at his hand covering his abdomen.
“I remember…I remember fighting with him on the deck of the ship. It was raining and windy, and the boat was careening everywhere. I had no clothes on, and I fell back against the rigging. I was bleeding. The pain was excruciating.”
He stood and paced around the room, searching through the chaos in his mind, remembering the brutal blows he had just delivered to John in the garden. He remembered the sensation of his knuckles connecting with the man’s jaw, then he turned to Chelsea.
“He broke into the cabin where I was sleeping, and stabbed me in my bunk, then I chased him up onto the deck.”
“Was Elizabeth there?” she asked. “Did she see this?”
“No, she wasn’t there. I don’t know where she was.”
“Did he throw you overboard? Because that would be murder, Blake. If you remember it, you must send for the magistrate.”
He shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “No, there was a collision. I remember it now. We hit the other ship when I was still in my cabin. I woke up and there was water on the floor, and that’s when John came in.”
“But it makes no sense,” she argued. “Why would he want to kill you when the boat was sinking?”
“Because he didn’t want his sister to be married to me, and wanted to ensure I went down with the ship?”
Chelsea stood up. “That makes no sense either. You are the son of a duke.”
He faced her. “I hope it’s true.”
“You hope what is true?”
“That he does not want me as his brother-in-=law—because if he or she wanted this marriage reversed, I would not quarrel. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would. I would never have married Elizabeth. Then I would be free. Free to marry you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “No one can turn back time, Blake.”
Yet time seemed to be standing still.
“We’ve made too many mistakes,” she continued. “We can’t change that. What we had together was wrong. All we can do now is forgive each other. You’re a married man, and even if you weren’t, you have no obligation to me now. I am not carrying your child.”
He strode to the door.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped, but kept his back to her. “I am going to speak to Elizabeth. Because if I can’t have what I want, maybe I can at least have my memories back. And maybe I can have justice, too.”
“I hope you can,” she said. “You deserve a full and happy life, Blake. Despite all that has passed between us, I will never forget the time we spent together, and I will wish you well. Do what you must. Find out why John tried to kill you and make it right.” Her voice filled with melancholy, but remained steady. “Then we will say goodbye and part as friends, because I wish to put this experience behind me. I want my dignity back, and I believe I will find it in Jersey.”
He swallowed uneasily, then walked out to search the palace for his wife.