Kitabı oku: «The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection», sayfa 11
Chapter Twenty-One
“Chase? Chase.”
Chase tore his gaze away from the clock. “Hm?”
“And . . . ?” Barrow gave him an impatient look. “What did you want to do about the mining interests?”
“Which mining interests?”
“The ones we’ve been discussing for the past hour. The coal in Yorkshire. Is this jogging your memory?”
“Right. The coal. Sorry.”
Memories weren’t Chase’s problem. His mind was full to bursting with memories. The problem was, they were all memories of Alexandra beneath him, naked, gripping the bedsheets in ecstasy. Even if his body was in the study with Barrow, his mind was downstairs in his retreat. Which wasn’t even his retreat anymore. Over the past fortnight, it had become their retreat.
Chase straightened in his chair and sifted through the report before him. “Hold on to the mines. The seam is nowhere near exhausted, and the demand for coal will only increase.”
“Agreed.” Barrow dipped his quill and bent over the writing desk. “Chase, I know how you feel about me meddling in your personal affairs, but this is different. You must put a stop to it.”
“To what?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing with Miss Mountbatten.”
Chase looked up sharply. “What makes you think I’m doing anything with Miss Mountbatten?”
“Oh, come along.” Barrow threw down his quill. “Whenever she’s in the room, you steal hungry glances at each other. It’s obvious.”
“It is not obvious.”
Barrow lifted his eyebrows, and Chase realized too late that he’d given himself away.
“That’s not what I meant. It’s not obvious because it’s not happening.”
“Work on that ‘gentleman’s retreat’ seems to have stalled. You haven’t demanded my opinions on satin bedding or erotic etchings in weeks.”
“I was going to solicit your preferences on perfumed sensual oils,” Chase said idly, “but then I decided not to spoil your Christmas present.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Cha—” Alexandra popped her head around the door. Her lips clamped shut, and her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh. Mr. Barrow. I didn’t realize you were here. I beg your pardon for interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Barrow said. He slid a meaningful glance in Chase’s direction. “We were discussing nothing, apparently.”
“If that’s the case . . .” Alex came out from behind the door and entered the room. “Mr. Reynaud, I thought you’d want to know that Rosamund and Daisy are ready.”
Ready? Ready for what?
Once again, Chase had completely lost hold of his faculties. Because she stood in the doorway, dressed in a gauzy, daffodil-yellow frock, and the only readiness that mattered was how ready he felt to pull her into his arms.
She stole his breath away.
He rose to his feet. Etiquette didn’t require a gentleman to stand when a member of his house staff entered the room. Alexandra knew it, and her expression reflected the awkwardness of his gesture.
But Chase was unrepentant. A man rose to his feet for a lady, his queen, or a divine being, and she was at least one of those—if not all three.
“I have them dressed and ready for the outing.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “You do recall promising them an outing? I spoke to you about it the other evening, and you said yes.” Her eyes took on a saucy gleam. “Rather emphatically.”
Cheeky minx. Only the Devil knew how many times she’d heard the word “yes” from his lips on any of several recent evenings. She must have tricked him into agreeing to this when he was insensate with pleasure.
He said, “Barrow and I have a great deal of business to attend to.”
“Please. I’ve promised Rosamund and Daisy. The girls will be so disappointed.”
She’d promised them? Damn it. Broken promises were something he avoided at all costs. And the simplest way to avoid them was to not make any in the first place. Tonight he would give her a stern talking-to about making promises on his behalf.
And perhaps a light spanking just to underscore the matter.
But that would be later. As for this afternoon . . . that fetching yellow frock just begged to be out of doors. He wanted to see the breeze whip the flimsy muslin about her legs, wanted to watch her untie the ribbons of her bonnet with a gloved hand and then give him a bashful smile.
And what he didn’t want was to spend another afternoon in this study with Barrow.
“Give me an hour to make a few arrangements,” he said. “Tell the girls we’ll be going to the park.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
When she’d gone, Barrow turned to him and said dryly, “Oh, that wasn’t obvious at all.”
“Do you know, I’ve been thinking.” Chase reached for his coat and hat. “We spend entirely too much time together.”
“I can’t disagree.” Barrow tapped his quill on the edge of the inkwell and continued in a quiet, serious tone. “Be careful, Chase. She’s not the only one who stands to be hurt.”
“Don’t worry. The girls have no idea.”
“I wasn’t referring to the girls. I meant you.”
Chase snorted. “Now you’re just being absurd.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” Chase answered as he quit the room, sounding far more authoritative than he felt.
“Are we there yet?” Daisy dragged her feet along the well-trodden path.
Chase didn’t even break stride. “No.”
“You might slow the pace a touch,” Alex suggested in a murmur. “For the girls’ sake.”
And for mine.
After trotting alongside him for nearly a half hour, she and the girls were breathing hard and perspiring in the summer’s afternoon sun. They’d reached the halfway point of Hyde Park now, where the Serpentine widened into a lake.
“Are there ices in this park?” Rosamund asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Chase replied.
“We were promised a treat. Not a military march.”
Daisy halted in the path. “Millicent has dysentery.”
Chase groaned. “She does not. She was perfectly well a moment ago.”
“The grueling pace was too much for her. Now she could die at any moment.”
Alexandra decided to intervene. “Here.” She untied the ribbon knotted at her nape, removing her coral pendant and tying it about Millicent’s neck instead.
“But that was your mother’s,” Daisy said.
“Millicent may borrow it for the day. It’s especially effective against dysentery. And Mr. Reynaud promises to walk a bit more slowly.”
“Actually, we don’t have to walk much farther at all,” Chase said. “There’s your surprise, girls. It’s waiting over there, on the bank.”
When Alex saw what he’d pointed out, her stomach knotted. A neat little skiff bobbed atop the rippling water, tied to a tree branch at the side of the lake. The miniature craft had been gaily painted, and it boasted a crisp white sail and a jaunty red flag.
“You . . . you mean to take the girls sailing on the lake?”
“No, we’re going to skate on the lake. Yes, sailing—if you can even call it that, on this small scale. And I don’t mean to take only the girls. You’re coming, too.”
“Oh.” Her throat worked, but it felt like trying to swallow paper. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll wait on the bank.”
“Nonsense.” He stripped off his coat and draped it over the tree branch before turning up his cuffs. “You must be dying to get on the water again. This is hardly a voyage on the open sea, but it’s something. As close as I could give you at the moment.”
The dear man. He’d arranged this not only as an outing for the girls, but as a gift to her. Now she could understand the reason for his determined clip through Mayfair and across the park. He’d been excited.
Inside, Alex wanted to weep. Everything in her screamed for escape. But how could she disappoint him?
Use your common sense, she told herself. Be rational. As he says, this isn’t a merchant ship bobbing about a wild, stormy sea. It isn’t even a wherry on the Thames. It’s a skiff on the Serpentine, on a Tuesday in August, smack in the middle of London. There isn’t any true reason to be afraid, so stiffen up and get on with things.
She took his hand.
His eyes warmed. “That’s my girl.”
Her heart flapped and fluttered like a loose ribbon caught by the wind.
The girls had climbed aboard the skiff and begun preparing for their maiden voyage as proper pirates. Millicent was placed at the fore of the craft, like a mermaid decorating the ship’s prow.
As the girls unfurled the skiff’s tiny sail, she kept watch on their every move. “Rosamund, come away from the side at once.”
Chase stretched his arm across her back in a stealthy motion. “Take the afternoon off, Miss Mountbatten. I’m relieving you of your governess duties today.”
She could take the afternoon off from being a governess, perhaps. But she couldn’t take an afternoon off from being herself. She was still that shivering girl in the dark, caught between pelting rain and a hungry sea. She was still that stammering woman in Hatchard’s, entranced by roguish green eyes and the scents of sandalwood and mint.
Alex was still Alex. Chase was still Chase. And she could no longer deny that she was mad for him, despite there being every rational argument against it. She’d been ensnared by infatuation the moment they collided in that bookshop, and now she couldn’t imagine ever getting free.
This hopeless yearning would be the end of her. Or at least the death of her common sense.
“I brought provisions.” He withdrew a tiny corked jug from his pocket and lifted it triumphantly. “There’s grog.”
The girls celebrated with rousing huzzahs. Chase unstoppered the jug and passed it to Daisy, who struggled to lift it to her lips.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered in Alex’s ear. “It’s just water and molasses.”
“They’ll have stomachaches.”
Chase clasped the skiff’s prow and grunted as he pushed the craft off the bank. The girls’ second round of cheering was even more rousing than the first. He kept one boot firmly planted on the bank and had the other in the boat, keeping the skiff close.
Then he motioned to Alex. “Come, then. I’ll hand you in.”
She hesitated a few feet from the water. Panic rose in her breast. Her heart thundered so fiercely she couldn’t hear anything but her own frantic pulse.
I can’t. I can’t do this.
“Truly, I’ll wait here. It’s too small for four.”
“No, it’s not,” Rosamund argued. “There’s plenty of room.”
Daisy propped her hands on her hips. “Mr. Reynaud, you must make her come along.”
“I agree. If she won’t come willingly, piracy is the only choice.” Chase lunged, took Alex by the waist, and lifted—parting her from the safety of the bank and swinging her into the boat.
“I can’t,” she said. “Please. I can’t.”
As Chase moved to deposit her on the bench of the skiff, she clung to his neck. From the boat, Daisy tugged at her skirts.
She began to thrash, unable to think of anything other than fighting her way back onto the bank. The boat only tipped further, making everything worse. In her scrambling panic, she made a wild kick.
A kick that connected with Millicent, sending her flying through the air.
The doll landed with a splash in the center of the lake.
Daisy shrieked.
At first, the doll’s wooden head kept her afloat, and for a few seconds it seemed all would be fine—just row to the center, fish her out with a long stick, and she’d be only a bit worse for the adventure. She’d survived far greater trials.
But as her wool-batting body started to soak through, the unthinkable occurred.
The resilient, indestructible, death-defying Millicent—and with her, Alexandra’s coral pendant—began to sink.
“No!” Daisy screamed. “She’s drowning!”
Chase set Alex back on dry land. “Not on my watch.”
He had his boots and his waistcoat off in a matter of seconds. A talent gained over years of hasty disrobing, no doubt. Once he’d stripped down to his shirt and trousers, Chase dived in.
He swam out to the center of the lake, making directly for the area where the doll had disappeared. Again and again, he dived beneath the water and remained submerged for long seconds before surfacing empty-handed.
Every time he sank out of sight, Alex held her own breath. Daisy was inconsolable. Even Rosamund clung to Alex’s side.
Seven times now, and no result. He had to be growing fatigued.
Alex cupped her hands around her mouth to call to him. “Mr. Reynaud! Come back to the bank!”
“No,” he shouted in reply, pushing his hair from his brow. “Not without that bloody doll.”
He went under once again and this time he stayed out of sight for what seemed like ages. Alex was beside herself. He could have been overcome with fatigue, or fainted from lack of air, or become tangled in reeds . . . There were scores of ways a man could die in the water, and she’d witnessed far too many of them.
Dolls were replaceable. In some cases, resurrectable. Her corales might be all she had left of her mother, but they weren’t flesh and blood. Nothing else mattered right now. Nothing but him.
“Chase!” she cried.
At last, he surfaced. Not in the center of the lake, but close to the bank, taking her unawares. He emerged from the water with a spray of fanfare, his translucent shirt pasted to his torso and his hair slicked back. Like Poseidon rising from the sea—hoisting a waterlogged doll in place of a trident.
Chase Reynaud, god of the Serpentine.
And oh, he looked ready to enjoy a bit of worship.
He grinned at her, the horrid man. As if he hadn’t just given her the fright of her life, and the past ten minutes were an expected element of any outing in Hyde Park.
He presented the doll to Daisy. “She took in some water, but I think she’ll pull through.”
Instead of hugging the doll, Daisy attached herself to Chase’s leg, clinging to him with all four limbs. Alex rather wished she could do the same.
Chase shook his leg, and Daisy held tight. He looked to Alex. “You’re the sailor. How does one remove a barnacle?”
It felt damned good to be a hero for a change—even if he was a fleeting, insignificant one.
However, on the way home from the park, Chase’s glow of triumph faded to exhaustion, both of body and of mind.
When they arrived back at the house, Alexandra herded Rosamund and Daisy up the stairs at once. “Baths first, girls. Dinner second.”
Chase decided these were excellent ideas. Once he’d scrubbed the mud and lake water from his body, he took supper in his study and opened a bottle of claret to keep him company while he went over yet another folio of estate papers.
It was nearing midnight by the time Alexandra joined him. They seemed to have chosen similar activities—her plaited hair was slick from bathing and she carried a book tucked under her arm.
“Wine.” She sighed. “What an excellent idea.”
“Join me, please. Rescue me from the fluctuating corn prices of 1792.”
He poured her a glass of claret, and she accepted it eagerly, downing half the glass in one go. He’d asked the servants to lay a fire tonight, even though it was summer.
“I wasn’t certain you’d be coming down. I thought perhaps you’d have fallen asleep, too.”
“It was quite a struggle to settle the girls into bed. An hour of reading from Robinson Crusoe, plus two dishes of custard each.”
“Custard? I expressly made a prohibition against custard.”
“Then next time you can put them to bed,” she teased. “Since you know all the best methods.”
“I suppose I can let it go. This time.”
“Even after they fell asleep, my own nerves needed a bit of soothing.” She traced the rim of her wineglass with her fingertip. “Nothing like an hour or two staring into the telescope for that. When I focus on the stars and the spaces between them, all my other cares fade into the dark.”
Chase hated that she had other cares at all. He especially hated that so many of them were his doing.
“You are quite the hero now,” she said.
“Bah.”
“I’m so sorry about it. It was all my fault.”
“No, it was mine. I shouldn’t have tried to force the matter. I didn’t realize how frightened you were.” He cocked his head. “So tell me something. Why would a sea captain’s daughter, raised aboard a merchant ship, be afraid of the water?”
Her terror had been palpable that afternoon. Hesitation would be understandable. Her father had been lost at sea. But true panic? Perhaps there was more to it than that.
He sensed she didn’t want to answer the question. He decided not to press.
“I’m curious, too,” she said. “Why would a man with a good heart, willing to dive into a lake to save a bedraggled doll, be afraid of raising two orphaned girls?”
“It wasn’t only the doll.”
“I know. Thank you.”
She touched the coral pendant where it lay at the base of her throat. He was glad to see it where it belonged. She’d knotted it onto a new length of ribbon—this time, a rich sapphire blue.
“You’re so good at this,” she went on. “The comforting, the caring. You’ll make an excellent guardian. Residing with you would be worlds better for them than any boarding school.”
“Maybe they’ll like school. I liked school.”
“Naturally you did. Your school was mischief and sport and studies of actual subjects. Not embroidery and etiquette. You were taught to go out and conquer the world. They will be taught to live in a satin-lined pocket. I know. I attended one of these schools. And just like Rosamund and Daisy, I was sent there by relations who wanted nothing to do with me.”
“This is different.”
“Is it? You’re rejecting them. Just as everyone else has done. Don’t believe they don’t feel it. And if you send them away, they are never going to trust anyone again. They just want your attention, can’t you see? Even if they have to tie you with ropes or douse you with water, or devise a different death for a doll every morning. Sometimes I think Daisy does it just for the excuse to hold your hand once a day. And you ought to see the way Rosamund looks at you when you’re too occupied to notice. She’d never admit it, but she’s desperate for your approval.” She reached for his hand. “Chase, they love you already.”
The words rocked him. But they changed nothing. He could not, should not be responsible for anyone’s well-being. Even if he cared for—or, God help him, loved—that person. To cave to his desire for companionship would be selfish in the extreme.
“It’s impossible, Alexandra. Unthinkable.”
She gave an exasperated groan. “You’re always saying that.”
“And for good reason,” he said firmly.
“What good reason is that?”
“The last time I promised to look after someone, he ended up dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dead?
Alex searched his eyes. Her impulse was to dismiss his words, assume he must be exaggerating. But his intense, defiant gaze spoke of something beyond accidents or misunderstandings. Regret. Guilt. Pain.
So much pain.
“Tell me.” She made it a demand, rather than a request. Whatever secrets he had, he needed to purge them before they devoured him from the inside out. “Chase. Tell me.”
The doorbell rang.
“Son of a whore,” she muttered.
He was taken aback. “I’ve never heard you curse.”
“I try to avoid using profanity. But I grew up around sailors. I certainly know how.”
The late-night visitor abandoned the bell in favor of pounding at the door. Chase started toward the door as if to answer it himself, but apparently a servant beat him to it. The caller didn’t wait for an introduction, but stormed directly into the room.
“Where’s Alexandra?” he demanded gruffly.
“I have a better question.” Chase stepped between Alex and the intruder. “Who the devil are you?”
Alex smiled. “He’s the Duke of Ashbury.”
Truly, it couldn’t be anyone else. It wasn’t as though there were two tall, dark, imposing dukes in England bearing scars on one side of their body from a misfired rocket at Waterloo. Ash’s scarred face gave him an intimidating, even fearsome appearance. But Alexandra knew him to be tenderhearted beneath the scars, and utterly devoted to his wife.
He also made an excellent friend.
“Ash.” Alex emerged from the shadows and rushed to him, giving him a hug before he could deflect it. “But why have you come to London? I hope there’s nothing wrong with Emma or the baby.”
“Emma and the baby are fine.” He looked over her shoulder, sending a glare in Chase’s direction. “As for what I’m doing in London, I’m here to plant my boot in someone’s arse.”
“I thought you’d given that up.”
“I thought so, too. But this employer of yours has me coming out of retirement. I came as soon as I heard you’d taken up residence in this place.” He walked past her to stare down Chase face-to-face. “You deserve to know what a worthless scoundrel he is, Alex.”
“Yes!” Chase exclaimed. He reached for Ashbury’s hand and pumped it in a vigorous greeting. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to tell her myself, but she won’t listen.”
Ashbury looked more than a bit thrown by Chase’s invitation. He gave Alex a what-the-devil-is-he-on-about look.
Alex could only shrug in response.
“Be seated, the both of you.” Chase went to the brandy decanter on the sideboard. “Ashbury, can I pour you a drink?”
“I brought my own.” Ash pulled a flask from his coat pocket and uncapped it.
“Even better,” Chase replied, pouring himself a brandy. “Do go on. Don’t wait on me.”
Alex sat on the divan, since she knew neither of the men would sit until she did. They might not be sterling examples of upright gentlemen, but they were perfectly capable of behaving themselves when they wished. Ash took an armchair.
Ash turned to Alex, ignoring their host and speaking in a low, serious tone. “Listen to me, Alexandra. This man is a known libertine. Even before my injuries, I knew of his reputation. Everyone knows. He is unwelcome in any good family.”
“See?” Chase returned, pulling up a chair and joining the group. “Exactly as I’ve been telling you, Miss Mountbatten. I am the most wretched of rakes.”
“I wasn’t unaware of Mr. Reynaud’s . . . popularity with ladies,” Alex said carefully.
“Has he touched you?”
Oh, had he ever. But what happened between them wasn’t any of Ash’s concern. “Not in any uninvited manner.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Now, now.” Chase shifted forward in his chair. “Be honest, Miss Mountbatten.”
“I am being honest. Mr. Reynaud has not subjected me to any unwanted attentions, nor taken advantage of me in any way.”
Ash looked suspicious, but he didn’t belabor the question. “Regardless. His sexual escapades are merely the tip of the iceberg.”
“Oh, I haven’t even acquainted her with the tip,” Chase said merrily. “Not properly.”
“Just ignore him,” Alex told the duke. “Go on.”
“Three years ago, there was a sordid, suspicious business with his cousin.”
“I’d been wondering when we’d get to this.” Chase took a large swallow of brandy. “This is the good part. Pay attention.”
Ash gave Chase an annoyed look. “Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here.”
“I presume you mean the old duke’s son,” Alex went on. “The one who would have been the heir, had he not died.”
“The cousin didn’t merely die,” Ash said. “He was killed.”
“Surely you’re not accusing Mr. Reynaud of murder.”
“He might as well,” Chase said. “My cousin didn’t die at my hand, but I killed him just the same.”
Ashbury rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to interrupt me every ten seconds, you may as well do this yourself.”
“You know, that’s a fine idea.” Chase set aside his brandy. “I’ll take over, Ashbury. There are a few sporting magazines on the tea table if you need to amuse yourself in the meantime.”
Ash harrumphed.
Chase leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees and folding his hands together. “He was the youngest of my three cousins, and the best of the lot. Meant for the church, not the dukedom. But my middle cousin died in the war, and the eldest had a riding accident not long after. And then suddenly . . . Anthony was the heir. Twenty years old, no experience of the world or preparation for the title. Still grieving for his older brothers, and so naïve. My uncle sent him to London for the Season. I was supposed to show him the town, give him some exposure to society, help him make friends. I promised I’d look after him. And . . .” He sat back with a sigh. “I failed.”
“That’s a generous summary,” Ash put in.
“I’m getting to the details, Ashbury.” Chase continued, “It’s probably no surprise that my ideas of society and culture were somewhat different from my uncle’s. I took my cousin around to the clubs. Pleasure gardens. The theaters, both respectable and less than so. He needed some true experience among his peers. Enough confidence to hold his own. One night, we began at the club. Then it was on to the opera dancers. By the time we arrived at the gaming hell, we were having a right jolly time. Looking back, he was deeper into his cups than I realized. I wasn’t precisely sober, either. An alluring bit of satin skirt floated by. I was flirtatious; she was willing. I told myself Anthony would be fine. He had to learn to look after himself eventually, didn’t he? So I left with her. And I never saw my cousin alive again.”
Alex was tempted to offer some crooning words of sympathy, but she didn’t want to interrupt him when he so clearly had so much more to say.
“He accused a man of cheating at the vingt-et-un table. The fellow denied it, but Anthony wouldn’t let the matter go. It was the sort of row I could have smoothed over in a matter of seconds, had I been there. But I wasn’t there. So the argument escalated. They went outside and . . .” Chase rubbed his face with both hands, and when he looked up again, his eyes were red. “Had I been keeping watch on him as I’d promised, I could have saved him.”
“Perhaps you didn’t want to save him,” Ashbury said. “It’s rumored that you killed him yourself.”
“Ash.” Alexandra was aghast.
“No one saw this ‘fight’ happen in the alleyway. Reynaud was conveniently nowhere to be found.”
“I told you, I was with a—”
“A woman, yes. Which woman was that, again?”
Chase’s jaw tensed, as though he didn’t want to answer. “I couldn’t give you her name. I never learned it.”
“How convenient.”
Alexandra spoke up. “Surely you don’t believe he killed his cousin in cold blood.”
“Perhaps not. But the suspicions are not wholly unreasonable. As next in line, Reynaud stood to benefit directly from his cousin’s death.”
“I should think you know better than to heed that sort of gossip,” she said.
“He’s only relating facts,” Chase said. “I did directly benefit, and there are many who suspect that my cousin’s death was no accident. And then I wrangled legal control from my uncle a few years later. Your friend is not the first to deem it remarkable that I went from fourth in line for the title to presumptive heir with power of attorney, in the span of a few years.”
“Remarkable, indeed,” Ash said.
“But don’t believe the rumor that my uncle’s illness is some sort of ruse. When he viewed the lifeless body of his third and only remaining son, he suffered an apoplexy on the spot. The old man’s been paralyzed and unable to speak ever since,” Chase said bitterly. “So you see, I couldn’t have planned it—but if you’re conferring with the gossips, it worked out well for me anyhow. Is there anything I’ve forgotten, Ashbury?”
Ash rose to his feet. “The bit where you’re a base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate.”
Chase snapped his fingers. “Oh, yes. That, too. Whatever it meant.”
“Ashbury only swears in Shakespearean,” she explained.
The duke turned to Alexandra and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alex, I hope you see him clearly now.”
See him clearly?
The suggestion that Chase would devise a plot to kill off his cousin and wrest legal control from his uncle was absurd. She knew Ash loved Shakespeare, but this wasn’t a performance of Richard III.
Not to mention—if the Duke of Ashbury meant to convince her Chase was a villain, he ought to have sent someone else. Someone without a history of inspiring wildly untruthful rumors.
“Reviled throughout London, hm? Sounds remarkably like someone else I know. And dearly care about. A duke who not so long ago skulked about London styling himself the Monster of Mayfair.”
“That’s entirely different.”
“And yet the rumors were equally contrived and false.” Alex shook her head. “You know, you two have so much in common. You ought to be friends.”
“We are nothing alike,” Ash sputtered.
“No one could possibly confuse us,” Chase agreed.
“Of course not,” Ash continued. “One of us is a repulsive monster, and the other was scarred at Waterloo.”
She spoke over their protests. “You should see yourselves. You’re giving me identical scowls right this moment.”
“I am not scowling,” the two men said.
In unison.
While scowling.
For her part, Alex couldn’t resist a smug smile. “Well, you seem to share one thing in common—the belief that I can’t be trusted with my own decisions. Ash, you don’t need to worry. You know I’ve always been the most sensible of the group. I have a good head on my shoulders, and I keep my feet on the ground. I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to remain here with him, Alex. Come stay with me and Emma. We’d be happy to have you. And if you’ve developed a sudden passion for child minding, we can put you to work.”
“I truly appreciate that. But I can’t leave without completing the job I was hired to do. The girls need me. More to the point, they need him. He isn’t . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He isn’t what others think. He isn’t what he thinks.”
“You don’t—”
“Please send my love to Emma and the babe. And my congratulations to the proud father, as well.” She kissed his cheek. “Go home to your family.”
