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.”
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,
