The Regency Bestsellers Collection. Bronwyn Scott

Indecently close. Chest-to-chest close. And if not for a few layers of fabric . . . the kind of closeness that meant skin on skin.

      God.

      Baffled, he attempted a self-protective step in retreat. A force resisted. “What the devil?”

      His hellion wards collapsed on the bed with laughter.

      He looked down. They’d been tied together with a length of rope. Tied and knotted, it would seem. Apparently while he’d been lost in her fiery eyes, the girls had managed to loop a rope about the two of them—and then cinch it tight.

      “Oh, dear.”

      “You little . . .” Chase wriggled, attempting to turn and chastise them. He succeeded only in craning his neck. “Come back here at once.”

      “Daisy, do you think there’s cake in the kitchen?”

      “I heard there’s jam, as well.”

      The girls linked hands and skipped toward the door.

      “Don’t you dare.” Chase hopped in their direction, dragging Miss Mountbatten with him. “Get back here, or I’ll—”

      Or he’d what? Shut them up in the nursery? Send them to bed without their tea? He’d tried all those punishments, to no avail. His well of threats had run dry.

      “Rosamund!” he bellowed.

      “Oh, I answer to Sam now.”

      “Sam? Where did this come from?”

      “It’s right there in my name. Ro-SAM-und.”

      “You can’t answer to Sam. That’s absurd.”

      “It’s not absurd at all. Ask Miss Mountbatten. Her friends call her Alex. I want to be called Sam.” She beckoned to Daisy. “Come along. The kitchen is just waiting to be plundered. Maybe there’s custard.”

      They disappeared, shutting the door behind them.

       Chapter Twelve

      Chase strained in the bindings, attempting to wriggle loose. His movements only seemed to make the ropes tighter.

      To add to the predicament, all that wriggling began creating other problems. Virile-man-with-a-functioning-cock problems.

      Be calm, he told himself. This was hardly his first time dealing with an unwanted cockstand. He could coax it down.

       Cricket. Think about cricket. That’s what they say, isn’t it?

      Unfortunately, Chase didn’t know much about cricket. His knowledge began and ended with heavy balls and long, rigid bats—not particularly helpful right now.

      “How the devil did they manage to do this?” he asked.

      “Knots were among our pirate lessons.”

      He rolled his eyes. “Of course they were.”

      “They’re an essential part of seamanship,” she said, as if this should be an acceptable excuse. “I’ll have us out of this in a trice. They’ve only learned the simplest types so far, and they made the mistake of leaving me one hand to untie it.” She moved her free hand along the rope lashing them together. “Now where is the knot?”

      “At the small of my back, unfortunately.”

      She had her arm around him as far as she could reach. As if they were locked in an embrace.

      “Just a little further. Aha.” Her fingers traced the contours of the knot where it lay against the small of his back. “A simple reef knot. I’ll have it loose in moments, if I can just . . . find the proper . . . angle.”

      She moved up and down, sliding along his body to angle for a better grip. If he had any hope of subduing his swelling erection, it quickly evaporated.

      No cricket could save him now, unless he took a bat to the head.

      Alex felt it. The thick, hard ridge pulsing and growing against her belly. Her fingers froze in place. She’d already been overwhelmed by the scent and heat of him, and the solid wall of his chest. But this? The crude, unmistakable proof that he was feeling it, too? It set her brain spinning.

      Thank heaven he was so tall. At least she was staring, crimson-cheeked, into his waistcoat rather than his face.

      Ignore it, she told herself. Think of celestial navigation.

      But his swelling groin proved difficult to ignore. Its size was an inconvenient wedge between them, making it even harder for Alexandra to work the knot loose. She would have a devil of a time freeing it with one hand.

      “Perhaps we should talk.”

      “Yes,” she jumped to answer. “Let’s talk.”

      “So your friends call you Alex.”

      “It’s simpler. Alexandra is quite the mouthful. And your friends call you Chase, I gather.”

      “It’s Charles, properly. But ever since school, I’ve answered to Chase.”

      “Ah. So your schoolmates gave you the nickname.”

      “No, I chose it.”

      “You chose your own nickname?” She laughed to herself. “That is a bit pathetic, I’m sorry to say.”

      “The name didn’t fit my lifestyle. Charles is dull. Chase sounds roguish. Exciting. No woman wants to cry out, ‘Oh, Charles! Yes, Charles!’ in bed. I mean, would you?”

      “Er.”

      “Forget I said that.”

      Alexandra would try, but she doubted she would succeed.

      “Tell me about your schooling,” he said.

      “My schooling?”

      “Boring lessons, grim schoolrooms. If by chance you had any dour, dried-up, snaggletoothed headmistresses, I’d love to hear about them right now. In detail.”

      “My least favorite teacher wasn’t dried up or ugly at all. She was quite pretty, as a matter of fact, but she would spank us for misbehaving.”

      “Really,” he said, groaning weakly.

      “A smart thwack of the ruler, straight on the backside.”

      “On second thought, let’s not talk.”

      She managed to snag a fiber of rope with her fingernail. “I think I’m making progress.”

      “Thank God,” he breathed.

      “I’m not certain I can loosen it without a bit more slack. Is there any way you can press just a bit closer? A few moments, no more. All I need is a half inch.”

      He made a strangled noise. “If you must, but do it quickly. Otherwise we’re going to move a good seven inches in the wrong direction.”

      “What?”

      “Never mind.”

      Alexandra leaned in, turning her head so that her cheek rested on his chest. His chin settled atop her head, heavy and square. The hollow thump of his heartbeat drummed in her ears and echoed in her belly.

      For a moment, she forgot all about the knot. And the nursery, and the children, and anything else in the world that wasn’t his hard, lean male body. She was wrapped about him like a sailor lashed to the mast in a storm. And then his hand gripped her hip and pulled her closer still. As if they were lovers in an embrace.

      He exhaled a shaky breath. The sigh gave her just enough space to work with. She wiggled her trembling fingers into the loop of rope, then pulled.

      There. The