The Regency Bestsellers Collection. Bronwyn Scott

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.”

      At last, he relented.

      Chase opened the front door in a clear invitation for the duke to leave.

      Before departing, he addressed Chase. “If you hurt her, in even the slightest way, I will eviscerate you.”

      “Understood.”

      “I mean it, Reynaud. In fact, gutting would be too good for you. I will subject you to my cat.”

      “Your cat?” Chase laughed. “To mewl at me, I suppose.”

      “Trust me. We’re not speaking of the average cat.”

      Alexandra spoke up. “I can attest to this.”

      “I’ll strip you bare, tie your hands behind your back, smear salmon on your manly bits, and lock the two of you in a wardrobe. Once he’s clawed your ballocks to shreds, I’ll crush whatever remains of you to a bloody, formless pulp.”

      “Good Lord.” Chase sounded a little awed. “That’s remarkably vivid. Did you plan all this out just for me, or do you keep a list of gruesome threats to use as the occasion arises?”

      “Just stay away from her, king of codpieces.” He grabbed Chase by the front of his shirt. “Or I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

      Chase shrugged off Ash’s grip. “Too late on that score.”

       Chapter Twenty-Three

      Once the Duke of Arse-bury finally left and took his feline torture plans with him, Chase turned to Alexandra. He crossed his arms. “Well, I hope that puts paid to the matter. Are you convinced?”

      “Convinced of what, precisely?”