Second Chances

1

1

“Kiss me, Gwen!” A man’s voice, husky with passion, echoed in her ears. She knew that low voice, knew the strong hands that moved up her slender body, enticing and arousing with every clever stroke. Every night it was the same, and she was helpless to resist his ghostly seductive allure. “Hold me…yes, like that! Let me teach you, let me love you! I can show you so many things…”

His long, hard body pressed intimately against hers, and a low, panting moan parted her lips. Agile fingers teased, promising exquisite delights. Then she gasped as he moved lower, penetrating so slowly that it drove her mad with desire.

“Mitch!” Passion exploded like brilliant fireworks as she wrapped around him, drawing him deeper. Higher and higher she soared with every frantic touch, until the very universe erupted in a firestorm of ecstasy. “Mitch!”

But just like every other night…when she bolted awake, drenched with sweat and gasping raggedly for breath, her lithe young body vibrating with desperate need…

Only poignant, heartbreaking memories haunted the darkened corners of her luxurious bedroom.

She was alone.

Mitch O’Neill had taken her trusting young heart, wrapped it tightly around his fist, and then shredded it in the cruelest betrayal imaginable. She was well rid of him.

But oh God, how many more years would it take for her wounded heart to accept, and—maybe someday—even forget?

No one, looking at Guinevere Langford Thurmond in the bright morning light, would imagine her nightly dreams were ravaged by nightmares. She was cheerful, energetic, vivacious.

Her sapphire eyes sparkled like the precious gems they resembled. Rich auburn curls tumbled over her shoulders, even when she tried to secure them back in a dignified chignon. Careful exposure to the hot summer sun had overlaid her fair skin with a faint honey glow. A light scattering of freckles, her personal bane since childhood, dusted her pert nose and slender shoulders.

In every way, she was a vision of beauty and youthful joy.

But now those clear blue eyes were clouded with worry and more than a trace of frustration as she hesitated in Caerlon’s elegant foyer and knelt down beside her aging husband.

“Winston, are you absolutely sure? Isn’t there any way I can convince you to go?”

The elaborately engraved ticket was in her purse, and their chauffeur was patiently waiting for her beyond the high ivy-covered garden walls. But still Gwen hesitated, reluctant to take such a final step away from everything she’d grown to cherish.

For the last six months, she and Winston had been planning every detail of this incredible round-the-world journey. Bermuda, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, the Azores, Morocco, Tangier, and dozens of other exotic ports beckoned. Some they’d visited before. Others would be new to her wondering eyes.

Barring unforeseen accidents, it would be two whole years before she returned to this grand old mansion she’d learned to call home.

At first, Winston had been full of energy, confident that not even his failing health would hinder their extravagant plans. And she was certain the fresh sea air would do him good. He’d lost weight during his final series of radiation treatments, and his silvery hair was losing its luster.

Was it only her worried imagination, or were the lines in his distinguished face getting deeper?

“Darling, I really wish you’d reconsider. You’re too cooped up in here. You need sunlight and a change of scenery. It’ll make you feel so much better!”

“Not this time, Gwen.” Winston smiled up at her, and it was the old smile she’d come to know and love so well. Despite her growing worries, his gentle smile eased the knot of tension between her shoulders. “I have to report to the Mayo Clinic again next Monday for more tests, and God knows where they’ll send me for additional treatments. It could be weeks before I’ll return.

“Besides, you’ll be much too busy with your pet project to hover and fuss over me. And that’s exactly how it should be.” Humor infused his rich British accent as he patted her small hand. “I want you to have fun on this cruise. Make it one to remember forever! If I can’t join you mid-trip, I’ll be here waiting when you get home.”

He would be, too. That was one of his most wonderful qualities: he never made a promise unless he intended to keep it.

Arguing with him was pointless, she thought with an inner sigh. Though heaven knew she’d tried often enough over the past several weeks. But Winston’s mind was made up. Perhaps later, if he felt strong enough, he’d join her at some romantic port-of-call somewhere along their winding route. But he would not be sailing with her today.

At least she felt marginally better for having tried one last time.

“You’re so good to me!” she murmured, bending down to give him a fond hug, and struggled to ignore the mournful tug on her heartstrings when her cheek brushed against his. He’d always been so strong, so vital, despite the nearly forty-year gap in their ages. How could he have turned, almost overnight, into this pale, fragile shell of the man she’d loved so long?

He returned her embrace with genuine affection. “The best is yet to come,” he promised, running a thin hand over her riotous curls. “Now go have fun. Captain Murphy and his crew will see to your every need. And I’ll rest easier knowing you’re enjoying yourself.”

He meant that, too. So after another warm hug, and the solemn promise to call or e-mail him every night, she let herself be nudged out of the broad marble foyer, down the green-dappled walkway where he enjoyed relaxing in the afternoons, and out into the bright sunshine.

He accompanied her as far as the exquisite flowered courtyard, then locked his wheelchair’s brakes and watched her walk away.

She glowed, he thought, like a candle in the darkness. Guinevere, his eternal flame. A piece of his heart would go with her, and already he could feel it breaking just a little. But through her, a piece of his soul would always survive. That knowledge never failed to comfort him.

Then the ornate garden gate closed behind her with a quiet snap, and Winston was alone with his thoughts and his memories.

It had been difficult letting her go, watching her walk away with only one last quick, smiling glance over her shoulder. But now it was done. From here, he could only trust in God, and Gwen’s own keen instincts, to follow the course he’d laid before her.

When she learned exactly what he’d set in motion, she’d be furious. But in time, he hoped, she’d come to understand, and perhaps even to be grateful.

Tired…he was so tired! But now, finally, he could rest.

She didn’t like leaving Winston alone with only the servants and a private nurse for company. God knew they were all loyal, and would dance on flaming coals to please him. Winston Thurmond inspired that kind of fierce devotion because he was so genuinely kind and decent.

Not like some, she mused with a faint grimace, who’d smile to your face, earn your undying trust, and then stab you in the back. No, he was a throwback to an earlier age when being honorable was a virtue, and gentlemen were noble and high-principled.

He’d certainly been her Arthur, her knight in shining armor, back when she’d been so painfully young and naive! If not for him…

With an effort, Gwen thrust those troubling memories back into her past. Winston wanted her to have fun on this trip, so she would do her best even though she was secretly dreading the entire ordeal.

It seemed so strange, and somehow vaguely ominous, to be traveling alone. During the past six months since he’d been diagnosed with acute spinal cancer, they’d only passed beyond the gates of his luxurious estate to consult with a variety of brilliant doctors and specialists.

Surgery had been deemed too risky due to the cancer’s location, so he’d undergone a wide range of treatments that ranged from cautiously mainstream to wildly alternative. She’d held his hand, cared for him through the inevitable nausea, and prayed for a miracle every time they’d boarded his private jet, bound for yet another specialist.

Then about three weeks ago, just when she’d almost begun to give up hope, something had turned the tide. She didn’t know which of the treatments was finally working, but the change in Winston was unmistakable. His appetite and color had begun to return, along with his keen enthusiasm about this cruise.

She’d hoped, despite everything, that he’d be well enough to travel by today. Failing that, she’d already arranged to have someone else manage her ‘pet project’ so she could stay home with him.

But there Winston had drawn the line. He would stay home and recuperate; she would continue on as they’d planned. Too many orphaned children were counting on her to risk disappointing them.

In the end, as he’d known she would, Gwen had given in—even though she’d really rather have stayed home. A solo cruise around the world might be the height of adventure for some young women. To her, it was a terrifying undertaking. But she simply couldn’t bear to disappoint him after all he’d done to make her life so wonderful.

So here she was, regally tucked into the back of a sumptuous white limousine just like a glamorous queen or Hollywood superstar, bound for a grand event a hundred times more prestigious than the world’s biggest celebrity ball.

Gwen cast one last longing glance back over her shoulder as the limo glided smoothly away from Winston’s immense mansion. Though she’d initially been intimidated by its size and splendor, she’d come to love its elaborate dusky-red brick silhouette, its fanciful circular towers, its hundreds of silvered windows that reflected the golden morning sun.

On both sides of the long driveway, vivid hibiscus and bougainvillea bushes were just bursting into bloom. Their riotous colors reminded her of the magnificent oil painting he’d had commissioned four years ago, which now hung over the fireplace in their formal living room. Even on the dreariest rainy day, it shed light and warmth throughout the huge room.

All these fragrant blossoms would be long-gone, withered by the furnace-blaze of two broiling summers, before she passed through these gates again.

Think positive. If the doctors are right and Win is nearly through the worst of his long ordeal, there’s a good chance he can meet me in Morocco or Lisbon in just a few months. Then we’ll celebrate by traveling anywhere, everywhere, whenever and wherever the mood strikes.

Or maybe we’ll just come home and sit by the fire, she thought with a fond smile. Either way she’d be happy, as long as he was finally out of pain.

The high metal gates swung closed behind her. Forcing a bright smile, just in case Winston was watching through the remote monitor, she turned to wave out the back window.

Right after they’d been married, he’d ordered new gates to replace the older bulky ones erected nearly fifty years previously. In addition to ultra-high tech security measures, the word ‘Caerlon’ had been worked into the elaborate metal scrollwork. In her honor, he’d admitted with a wry smile, because Caerlon was the ancient Welsh name for Camelot.

Caerlon had become her home, her sanctuary. No legendary Lady Guinevere could have felt safer, more secure, behind those high protective walls. She felt a sharp pang as Caerlon bade her goodbye, then faded into the dusty distance.

For now, she assured herself with an anxious sigh. Only for now. I’ll be home again soon.

Even at highway speed, it took over an hour to reach Port Canaveral’s bustling pier district. Gwen spent the time reviewing extensive notes she’d drafted about her upcoming ports of call. So many places, so little time! She hoped there’d be at least a few opportunities to rest and relax amid all her busy duties.

Colorful storefronts zipped past when her driver finally turned off the highway. She wondered, idly, how many of them Winston owned, or at least controlled the stock majorities. He owned so many things, and she could never keep them all straight in her memory.

There were those, she knew, who considered her an ambitious trophy wife, marrying him only for his money. She didn’t let their jaundiced opinions sting, because in her heart she knew they were wrong. His vast stock portfolios, his multimillion dollar companies, and the beautiful homes he maintained in London and Paris and Switzerland, meant nothing to her.

Though she’d been just barely nineteen and he’d been fifty-seven, Winston hadn’t married her to bolster his aging ego. Her entire world had been crumbling around her ears, and he’d wanted to make things right for her.

At the time, marriage had seemed like the most logical solution. And though she’d protested, he’d worn away her resolve with the same tenacious persistence that had earned him a dozen vast fortunes.

No one had expected it to last more than a few months, at best. But despite everyone’s dire predictions—because the odds had been so dramatically stacked against them—they’d come to suit each other quite nicely.

Winston often joked that his boisterous playboy days had ended when he’d stumbled across an enchanting little fairy hiding in his rose garden. True or not, he’d turned his back on the frenetic social scene without a visible qualm. She sometimes wondered whether it was because he’d become weary of the fast-paced high life himself, or to protect her from the often-vicious media.

Relentless paparazzi had camped all around the huge estate like a horde of tormenting locusts for months after their small, private wedding, hoping to capture scandalous photos of the newlyweds. At the time, she’d been so traumatized by all the dramatic changes in her life, she’d wanted nothing more than to hide away from the entire world. Winston had provided her with sanctuary and a loving friendship that had helped heal her wounded spirit.

Over time, quiet evenings by the fireplace had become precious to both of them. And if their relationship beyond the bedroom door was purely platonic, that was no one else’s business.

What difference did it make, really, that Win had never shared her bed? She’d never asked for more than he could give, and she was content with her life.

More than content, she assured herself, feeling vaguely guilty for even a single disloyal thought. She was happy; Winston had moved mountains to ensure her happiness. He took such outrageous delight in pleasing her, it was almost embarrassing. The least she could do to repay him was try to enjoy herself on this one cruise. There would be others, soon, that they’d share together.

She would be well cared for when he died…but as always, she shied away from that morbid thought. It was easier to simply glide through each day, enjoying the wondrous gifts of Winston’s love and camaraderie. ‘Someday’ was still a long way in the future. She’d do everything in her power to make sure of that.

She was tired, she supposed; that’s why she was feeling a bit restless. The past several months had been rough on both of them. Worse on poor Win, she sighed, leaning back against the limo’s butter-soft leather upholstery. All those radical treatments had left him pale and drained until just a few weeks ago.

Now that he was recovering, maybe she’d be able to sleep a little better herself.

And if, even after all these years, she still dreamed every night of exquisite passion in another man’s arms…no one but she would ever know.