The Regency Bestsellers Collection. Bronwyn Scott

to catch a ship.

       She’s gone to the Philippine Islands, to find her mother’s family.

       She’s gone to grab the tail of her comet and soar away to a planet that deserves her.

       She’s gone to someplace, anyplace where you aren’t, you contemptible bastard.

       She’s gone to Malta.

      It didn’t matter, he vowed. Wherever she’d gone, Chase would follow her, find her, pledge his love, and beg her to come home. Nothing would deter him. There was no journey too far. No obstacle too great.

      “She’s gone to stay at Ashbury House,” Penny finished. “Across the square. Ash and Emma leave for the country tomorrow. They’re taking Alexandra with them.”

      Ashbury House. Brilliant.

      He would have rather gone to Malta.

      Chase’s reception at Ashbury House was as he expected. And, quite honestly, no worse than he deserved.

      The duke grabbed Chase by the lapels and slammed him against the wall.

      “Listen, Ashbury. I know she’s furious with me, and for good reason. But I’m trying to make it right. Just—”

      “I warned you,” the duke said in a fiendish whisper. “I told you what would happen if you hurt her.”

      “Yes, I recall,” Chase choked out. “Something about my ballocks, a closet, and a demonic cat.”

      “Oh, that’s only to start,” the duke growled low. “You clod of wayward marl.”

      “I don’t have to stand for this.” Chase shrugged off Ashbury’s grip. “And I don’t need your permission to speak with Alexandra. You’re not her keeper.”

      “I’m her friend. And you are not her anything.”

      The words gutted him. Ashbury might be correct, but Chase had to see this through to the bitter end.

      “That’s for Alex to decide.” Chase sidestepped him and lifted his voice. “Alexandr—ack.”

      Ashbury tackled him from behind, wrestling him down to the carpet and clapping a hand over Chase’s mouth. “Shut up, you blackguard,” he snarled quietly. “Not another word. Or a set of shredded ballocks will be the least of your problems.”

      Good Lord. Could there be anything worse than shredded ballocks? His stones retracted into his abdomen at the very mention. Chase could imagine only one sort of pain that could possibly eclipse that prospect.

      Losing the love of his life.

      Chase planted his boot on the floor, levered for the advantage, and flipped them both. He straddled Ashbury’s chest and stared down at his scarred face. “I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt on Alex’s account, but now I’m angry. I may not have a bloodthirsty cat, but I know a girl who can make a small bowel obstruction look like an accident, and I have a great deal of experience giving eulogies.”

      “If you so much as—”

      Chase planted his hand on Ashbury’s face. By pushing the duke’s head into the carpet pile, he lifted himself just enough to call out. “Alex!” he shouted. “I need to speak with y—”

      A set of duke-ish, entitled teeth sank into the heel of his hand.

       “Fuck.”

      Chase jerked his hand away, and Ashbury made use of the momentary confusion to reverse the power once more. Scrabbling with knees and elbows, they rolled across the carpet no fewer than three times before colliding with a table.

      Unhappily, Chase ended on the bottom of the tussle. Ashbury’s knee sank into his gut. “God Almighty, man,” Chase said. “What the devil’s wrong with you? Besides all the obvious things.”

      “You veriest varlet.” Ashbury lowered his mangled face to within an inch of Chase’s nose. “This. Is. Nap. Time.”

      Chase was nonplussed. “What?”

      The duke rolled aside, resting on his elbow as he worked for breath. “My infant son is currently upstairs, sleeping for the first time in nineteen hours. The only thing keeping me from disemboweling you here in the entrance hall, you cream-faced rooting hog, is that you’d probably wake him with all your sniveling and sobbing for mercy.”

      “Oh.”

      Somewhere upstairs, a thin wail pierced the silence.

      Ashbury closed his eyes. “I hate you.”

      “Just let me speak to Alexandra.” Chase stood and straightened his coat.

      “She’s not here.”

      “You bastard. Why didn’t you say so? You could have spared us all of this nonsense.”

      Ashbury struggled to a standing position. “I needed the exercise.”

      Chase glared at him. “The papers had it right. You are a monster.”

      Ashbury shrugged in admission.

      “So if Alexandra’s not here, where’s she gone?”

      “She went out to the shops.” A woman who was presumably the Duchess of Ashbury stood at the top of the stairs, bouncing a baby in her arms.

      “Don’t tell him,” Ashbury complained. “He doesn’t deserve to know.”

      She shrugged. “He ate the sham. And the tuna-ish. He’s at least earned the chance to talk to her.” To Chase, she said, “Alex said she had a few things to purchase before we made the journey.”

      “What sort of things?”

      “I don’t know the full list.” The duchess hesitated. “But she mentioned books.”

      Books. Of course. He should have known it would be books.

      “Do you know which shop?”

      She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

      Well, then. He’d done too much dashing about London to stop now.

      Chase would simply have to check them all.

       Chapter Thirty-Five

      The bookshop had been a mistake, Alex now realized.

      After weeks of shedding tears in her cake, a bit of shopping ought to have been a pleasant change. The prospect of escaping to the country gave her something to look forward to. Away from London, she hoped her heart might mend a bit faster. But simply being in this bookshop was opening the wound all over again.

      It wasn’t even Hatchard’s this time. She’d known that would be too painful. Instead, she’d chosen the Temple of Muses. The shop’s rotunda design had always delighted her. A set of stairs led to a balcony lining the interior dome. The shelves there were crammed with books as high as a person—a person significantly taller than Alex—could reach. This was where she always browsed first. Balcony books were better than ground-floor books. They just were. Really, anything put on a balcony was instantly improved.

      The exception today was Alex’s mood. The balcony had not lifted her spirits.

      She couldn’t help but see Chase’s eyes connecting with hers, or feel the way his charming, rakish grin had made her heart and hands flutter. It was as though she could see him before her. Breathe in his scent.

      She could almost imagine that she heard his voice.

      “Alexandra! Alexandra Mountbatten!”

      She opened her eyes and looked down over the railing.