The Regency Bestsellers Collection. Bronwyn Scott

are all well and good, but not those ideas. I know that look in a woman’s eye. I’ve seen it before, many times. You think you can convince me to settle down.”

      “You don’t need to settle down. My father was a sea captain. I was raised on a ship, sailing the globe. We were the least settled family in the world, and yet I never doubted his love for me.”

      “Wait. You were raised aboard a ship? Sailing the globe?”

      She paused in the act of packing up the unused salves and plaster. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

      “No, I think you should have mentioned it. And long before now.”

      “Does it truly matter? Perhaps I had an unconventional upbringing, but that doesn’t mean I can’t perform my duties. I had a full education. Here in England, at a proper school. I . . . I did warn you I wasn’t gently bred, and you said you didn’t care.” Her voice went small, but resonant with emotion. “Mr. Reynaud, I need this post. Please don’t sack me.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no intention of sacking you. That’s not what I meant.”

      “It isn’t?”

      “No. You should have told me straightaway because you should tell everyone straightaway. If I had your life story, it would be the first thing I mentioned to anyone. ‘Hullo, I’m Chase Reynaud. I learned to toddle aboard a merchant ship, and the Seven Seas rocked my cradle. And have I mentioned that no tropical sunset could compare with your beauty?’ The women would fall into bed with me.”

      “Don’t they fall into bed with you anyway?”

      “That’s true. But they might do so a half minute faster. Over months and years, those half minutes add up. So let’s hear the rest of the tale.”

      She put away the soap and vinegar. “My father was American. After the Revolution—”

      “The rebellion,” he corrected.

      “—he became a seaman. He’d worked his way up to first mate when they anchored in Manila harbor. Theirs was one of the first ships to open trade with the Philippine Islands. Aside from the Spaniards, of course. Anyhow, they anchored for a few months. That’s where he met my mother. And they fell in love.”

      “She was a Spanish colonist, then?”

      “Mestiza. My grandfather was Spanish, but my grandmother was native to the island.”

      Fascinating. This information solved a few mysteries that had been lingering in Chase’s mind. Life on a trading ship would have taught her the value of goods—everything from the ribbon around her neck, to telescopes and comets. He supposed her mother had blessed her with that bounty of dark hair and her delicate snub of a nose—and her father was likely to blame for her stubborn, independent streak. Those Americans just wouldn’t be told what to do.

      “So if your father was American, and he met your mother in the Philippine Islands . . . how did you come to be living in England?”

      “That’s a long story.”

      He looked pointedly at his bandaged hand. “I won’t be doing any more work tonight.”

      She paused. “After they married, my father sailed back to Boston. He promised to return once he’d found a partner and bought a ship of his own. It was only supposed to be a year, but in the end, it took him more than three. When he finally returned, he found that my mother had died. He was no longer a husband.”

      “But he’d become a father.”

      She nodded. “Most men would have left me to be raised by my mother’s family, but my father would have none of it. He took me aboard his ship, and off we went. The Esperanza was our home for the next decade. He’d named it for her.” She smiled a little. “The same way my mother had named me after him. His name was Alexander.”

      “That’s appallingly romantic.”

      “Isn’t it? And if you think that’s treacly, wait for this part. My father went down with the Esperanza in a storm. Died in the embrace of his true love, you could say. And that’s how I ended up in England.”

      “Hold a moment. There are a few bits missing from that story.”

      Such as the part that would tell him who to blame for stranding her in a strange country, alone. And whether that someone was still alive and available to be pummeled.

      She changed the subject. “How did your parents meet?”

      “Let’s see.” Chase drummed his fingers on the table. “My father was a second son. He had connections, but no money. He found a young woman with money, but no connections. He proposed, she accepted, they were married. A year later, I came along. And then we all lived miserably ever after.”

      She was quiet for a moment. “I like my story better.”

      “I like yours better, too. But coming back to the matter at hand, my history should only underscore the point. I’ve no idea what a family looks like. I cannot be a satisfactory guardian. Hell, I don’t even have dogs. Commitment isn’t in my nature.”

      “You’re simply too virile to be tied down, is that it?” Her eyes teased him. “Must be all those antlers.”

      “Don’t make light of it,” he said in a warning tone. “And while I’m on the subject, it’s inadvisable to wander the house at night in the home of a known rake. Your reputation could be compromised.”

      “I’m not worried. You said the thought of seducing me would never even cross your mind.”

      “Yes, but sometimes,” he murmured, “a man acts without thinking at all.”

      He leaned in as if drawn to her, trying to convince himself that a kiss would be for her own good. Just a little one, of course. A mere brush of his lips on hers. It wouldn’t be so very terrible of him. It would be a tiny bit terrible of him, and that was the point. To put the punctuation mark on his warning. Beware. Turn back. Here there be monsters. He’d be doing her a favor, really.

      Right. He’d bedded Venetian acrobats less flexible than his morality.

      She put a hand to his chest. “Wait.”

      Wait, she’d said.

      “Wait” wasn’t “stop.”

      “You can afford to act without thinking,” she went on, “but I have to reason things through.”

      “Reason things through,” he echoed, nonplussed.

      “Whenever I’m faced with a decision, I consider the arguments for and against.”

      “Remind me. What decision are you facing?”

      “Whether or not to allow you to kiss me.”

      He stared at her.

      “That was your intent, wasn’t it? To kiss m—” She paled in horror. “Oh, Lord. It wasn’t, was it? I’ve misunderstood.”

      “No, no,” he assured her. “It was my intent.”

      “Oh.” She exhaled, and the pretty flush of pink returned to her cheeks. “That’s good.”

      “Is it?”

      “I’m not certain yet. The ‘against’ pile is rather large.” She plucked lumps of sugar from the sugar bowl and began counting them into a heap on the worktop. “I’m your employee. You’re my employer and a shameless rake. You’re clearly trifling with me. I might lose your respect. I might lose respect for myself. I might give you the idea that I’m willing to allow further liberties—which I am not.”

      “I never imagined you were.”

      “But in the ‘for’ pile . . .” She gathered a cluster