by Dare, Tessa
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?”
“That I am the worst of all possible guardians. That it doesn’t matter what I wish to do, or even if I love those girls. If I care about them, I should not, must not take the responsibility of caring for them.”
“Oh, that? No, I’m not convinced of that at all.”
He smacked his hand to his forehead and groaned. “Alexandra, come along. I couldn’t even look after a twenty-year-old young man. This wasn’t a case of my cousin falling into a bit of youthful mischief. I failed to keep him alive.”
Her look went soft, and her voice went softer. “Chase, I’m so sorry.”
“Damn it, do not be sorry.”
“Why shouldn’t I be sorry? You lost your cousin in an act of tragic violence. It’s natural to feel sympathy.”
“Were you not listening? I gave my word to my uncle. I promised I’d keep close watch on him. I broke that promise—in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time. He was stabbed outside a gaming hell and bled to death in the alley. Alone. And where was I? In a seedy inn, in bed with a woman whose name I did not know. So don’t make excuses for me.”
She took a step in his direction. “I’m—”
“I mean it.” He held her off with an outstretched hand. “Don’t do it, Alex. Don’t try to hold me with my head in your lap, and kiss my tortured brow and stroke my hair, and tell me I’m blameless and misunderstood.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I hadn’t intended to do any such thing.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, then. Good.”
Damn.
She sat on the divan and patted the space next to her, inviting him to sit, too. He found himself helpless to refuse. Unsurprisingly. He had never been able to resist a woman’s invitation to closeness. That was the root of all his problems.
She angled to face him, propping her elbow on the back of the divan and leaning her head on her hand. She looked beautiful and thoughtful, and even more beautiful for being thoughtful.
“You made a mistake,” she said. “And not a small one. A grave one, with terrible consequences. You broke a promise to your uncle, and you deserted your cousin when you ought to have stayed at his side. Did you wield the knife that spilled his blood? No. But you weren’t there to prevent it, either.”
He swallowed back a lump in his throat.
“If you feel guilty, I won’t try to dissuade you. In truth, I’d respect you a great deal less if you didn’t feel regret.”
“What do you mean, you’d respect me less? When did you start to respect me at all?”
“I’m not certain. But it must have happened at some point. If it hadn’t occurred beforehand, you rescuing Millicent from the Serpentine would have sealed my regard.”
“That was sheer stubbornness. That cursed doll wasn’t going to die for good. Not if I could help it.”
She smiled a little. “I know. And that’s why I believe you’ll make the girls an excellent guardian. Because you’ve made mistakes and you’ve learned from them.”
“I’ve learned, yes. I’ve learned that I’m not to be trusted with that kind of responsibility.”
“Your only true responsibility is to love them. Everything else will fall in line.”
She ticked off a sequence of statements on her fingers. No sugar lumps or liquor decanters about, he supposed.
“You care for them. They worship you. Financially, you can provide for their every need. They’re bound to break things, and you’ll get to hammer them back together.” She was down to her little finger. “Without them in your life, you’ll be alone.”
That last one twisted like a dagger in his chest.
She held out her hand, fingers extended. “Look, Chase. It’s as plain as the fingers on my hand. All you have to do is reach out to them. And then hold tight.”
She didn’t understand. Chase didn’t doubt his capacity to love. Rosamund and Daisy had captured his heart within hours of entering his life. The problem was, he couldn’t imagine ever ceasing to despise himself—and that was his downfall, again and again. Self-loathing was what drove him to the distraction of a woman’s embrace. Not boredom, not lust. Concentrating on a woman’s pleasure was the only way he could forget his shame. When a lover wrapped her legs tight about his waist, when he heard a husky, feminine voice begging him for more . . . for a few blessed minutes, he felt something other than worthless.
And then afterward . . .
Well, was there a word for being less than worthless? Because the moment lovemaking was over, he felt that.
No matter how many times he vowed that he’d stop—telling himself he ought to be man enough to shoulder his well-deserved guilt, rather than go burying it in the depths of a lady’s bountiful cleavage—inevitably, he caved to temptation. The nights were too dark and quiet. Memories took advantage of the emptiness, rushing in to fill the void the way rainwater collected in a ditch.
The way blood filled the cracks between cobblestones.
The way handfuls of dirt filled a grave.
The clubs, the parties, the brandy . . . they helped, but they helped only so much. Perhaps he’d manage a week of celibacy, sometimes two. But in the end, he always gave in.
How the devil could he vow to take care of these girls? He couldn’t even keep the promises he made to himself.
“Consider the rumors that swirl about me,” he said. “How can I raise those girls in any respectable fashion when people believe me a murderer? You heard the duke. There’s no denying that his death worked to my
benefit.”
“Very well,” she said. “A good part of the ton doubts your character. Perhaps they even have reason to do so. But by withdrawing from polite society you’ve made certain they don’t have any evidence to the contrary. Seeing you dote on a pair of young girls, and watching you encourage and protect them as they grow into remarkable young women . . . that would probably cause some to reconsider their opinions. Don’t you think?”
Everything she said was so relentlessly logical. Of course it was. She was always sensible.
He hadn’t realized how badly he’d been craving this. Someone who didn’t have any wish to accuse him or forgive him, but to sit down and discuss the facts of the matter in a calm, rational way.
“If you give them the chance, people will see that you’ve changed, Chase. You will see that you’ve changed.”
God. He wanted so desperately to believe her, and he almost could—here, now, staring deep into her lovely eyes and feeling her looking deep into his. He trusted her opinion of his character more than he trusted his own. She made him want to be better. She always had, from the first.
But when she left him, he’d be lost all over again. It would never work, unless . . .
Unless he didn’t let her go.
Keep her close. Make her stay. Make her yours.
He dragged her into his arms and kissed her.
There was no more contemplation in his mind. No more logic or reason or sense. Only a wild impulse that roared to life inside him and pounded in his blood like an ancient drum. One his cave-dwelling ancestors likely pounded in some torch-lit mating ceremony followed by a buffet of raw antelope. Each beat resonated as a primal urge.
Want. Need. Take. Claim. Mine.
He laid her back against the divan, trailing a path of hot, openmouthed kisses down her neck, grazing her shoulder with his teeth. He hiked her nightclothes with one hand, pushing them up to her thighs and reaching beneath to find the heart of her. The place where she was wild and needing and uncivilized, too.
After parting her with a light, sweeping touch, he pushed two fingers into her heat. She wasn’t as ready as he typically made her with caresses of both hands and tongue. But he had no patience for finesse tonight. He probed deep, relishing the tight grip of her sex and the gasps he wrenched from her throat.
He reached down to unbutton his trouser falls and free his cock. He slid the thick, hard shaft up and down her sex, grinding and rubbing against her until she was wet for him. Then he backed off to pump his hand over his length, slicking himself with her essence. With his hips, he spread her thighs wide and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance.
“Alex, please. Let me have you. Take me in.”
“Chase, wait.”
“I want you,” he murmured. “I need this. To be inside you, make you mine.”
Mine.
Once he’d spoken the word, it echoed in his every heartbeat.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. “I know you don’t want this. Not really.”
“The hell I don’t.” He thrust his erection against her thigh, offering her ample proof.
“That’s not what I mean. I know how you feel about intercourse. Or fucking, if you want to call it that.”
“I don’t want to call it that.” Not now, not with her. He pulled away from her, breathing hard.
“You always do this. Let your body take the lead when you want to hide your heart. Right now, you’re hurting. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You think you could take advantage of me.” He chuckled. “Well, aren’t you precious.”
“Well, aren’t you patronizing.” She stood up, pulling down the hem of her shift and dressing gown. “Good night, Chase.”
She left the room.
Chase let his head fall backward on the divan and stared up at the ceiling. She was wise to pull away, but wrong about who’d be taking advantage of whom. He would have been using her. Not in the same way he used his other lovers, but using her just the same. Pushing her to accept him, redeem him. Cover up all the sins and flaws he didn’t want to face deep within himself.
God damn his eyes.
He needed to leave. Get out of this house, remind himself of who he was—before he hurt her in some irretrievable way.
Fortunately, Chase knew just the place.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A week spent in Hertfordshire was guaranteed to quash even the mildest erotic desires or romantic longings. At least, Chase had counted on it working that way for him. Clearly the local residents managed to persevere in marrying and procreating, but they weren’t lodged at the Belvoir estate. They didn’t spend their days trying to coax details of sheep manure and crop rotation from a skeptical land agent who’d managed the farmland for longer than Chase had been alive. They didn’t spend their nights rattling about in a cavernous, half-empty mansion, followed by the eyes of disappointed ancestors hanging in their portrait frames.
And they didn’t spend a tense hour sitting at the bedside of an aged, brokenhearted man who’d lost his powers of speech and movement but had retained the ability to fix Chase with a watery blue glare that shouted without words: This is your fault.
The neglected pasture, the empty silence, his uncle’s bedridden state and lack of an heir.
This is your fault.
So no. He shouldn’t have thought of Alexandra or the girls at all.
Damn it, his plan had failed miserably. All cursed week long, he’d fought the temptation to go back. It was like Reynaud House anchored one end of a rope, and he’d spent the week tugging at the other end, flexing every last muscle he had in resistance. All he’d earned for his trouble were aches.
Each evening, he fell asleep wishing Alex was nestled beside him.
Each morning, he woke wondering what Millicent had died of today.
During his ride back to London, it grew worse. A raincloud split directly above him, rinsing the sheep dung and dust off his back, and leaving him cold, shivering, and desperate to be home.
And by home, his heart meant with them.
Upon his arrival, Alexandra rushed to him with arms outstretched in welcome. God. He nearly dropped to his knees. The journey had rendered him weary, muddy—shed of all his dutiful intent. If she embraced him, he wasn’t sure where he’d find the strength to resist.
He braced himself, hand on the staircase banister.
Instead of catching him in a hug, however, she circled him, thrusting her hands deep into his pockets with bossy movements. Her hands were full of small, round mysteries, and she stuffed them into every possible place, jabbing him in the ribs and chest.
“Sweetmeats for the girls,” she explained, seeing his baffled expression. “So you don’t return empty-handed.”
He could only stare at her.
“You could have warned me you were leaving,” she chided. “You should have at least warned them. Soothing their feelings wasn’t easy. But I told them they must expect your absence from time to time. You’re a duke’s heir, an important man with duties and so forth.” Once she’d deposited her candies on his person, she stood back and smoothed his lapels. “I taught them a song while you were gone. It’s a sea chantey, but I took out the crudest parts. They’re eager to sing it for you.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, then.”
“No. Not tomorrow, either. Nor the day after that. I’m not going to applaud their songs, or stuff my pockets with candy and gifts.”
“It’s only a song and some sweetmeats.”
“You know very well it’s more than that.”
Irrational anger built a blaze in his chest. He’d exiled himself for a week to break these ties, only to return and find she’d been undermining him all the while. How dare she lead Rosamund and Daisy to believe they could be a family? If he must hurt them, better it be now than later. The last thing he needed was Alexandra building up their hopes.
Or his hopes, for that matter.
He caught her by the arms. “I have never made Rosamund or Daisy promises. Not one. Now you’ve made them in my stead, setting them up for disappointment. If those girls get their hearts broken—no, when those girls get their hearts broken—it will be your fault, Alexandra. Not mine.”
He expected her to wince. Shrink from him, wounded by his words.
Instead, she tilted her head and surveyed him with curious eyes. “Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine. And I meant every word I just said.”
“You don’t look well. Your face is rather pale. Are you fatigued from the journey?”
“If I’m exhausted, the journey has little to do with it. I’m bone weary of having this conversation over and over again.”
She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. “You’re feverish.”
“I am not feverish, for God’s sake.”
Chase supposed his face was flushed with heat. And maybe her face had gone wavy at the edges. Perhaps his iron grip on the banister felt essential if he wished to remain standing. But all those things were entirely due to anger, not illness.
“Chase,” she said tenderly, looping her arm through his. “I think you should go upstairs and lie down. I’ll bring you some tea.”
“Stop fussing over me.” He shook off her arm and tromped up the stairs, at a great cost of effort. Someone seemed to have painted this staircase with treacle while he was away. “Haven’t you been paying attention at all? I am infuriated. With you.”
“Of course you are,” she crooned.
Good God. What would it take to get this message across? Did she need it spelled out in maritime flag signals?
He stopped on the landing of the staircase, out of breath. “Don’t want you here. Don’t want them here. Going to put a sign on the door tomorrow. No Females Allowed. Not even doll ones.”
“No females whatsoever? That might interfere with your plans for the Cave of Carnality.”
“You interfered with my plans for the Cave of Carnality. Another thing I hold against you.”
Her amused little smile made his head swim with frustration.