The Chases came to me all at once. For my first books, I wanted to write about people who were affected by their times, and 17th century England seemed like the perfect storm of political and social upheaval. So the Chase siblings were born: strong personalities forged through childhood experiences of war, exile, and tragedy.
After their 7-book series, I was ready for a new direction but I wasn’t willing to leave the Chases behind! They felt as real to me as my own family. So I created a new generation of Chases in the elegant Regency era. I had a lot of fun tying these characters together across the centuries. Though over a hundred years had passed, traces of the original Chases are woven into the Regency novels, hidden in old portraits, hereditary traits, and family legend (the truth of which astute readers will know better than the Regency Chases do!).
My daughter and I are now writing Chase books set in the Renaissance era, so the tradition continues. Will I ever write about a different family? I can’t say for sure, but I'm not ready to walk away from the Chases yet!
I love to keep in touch with my readers! Join my e-newsletter to receive free and bargain book suggestions each week as well as new release bulletins. And if you fall in love with the Chase Family, I'd be thrilled to see you in my Readers’ Group on Facebook, where I share sneak peeks and gather suggestions from my favorite readers!
There are so many great romance novels out there—thank you for choosing mine. I so hope you’ll enjoy Tristan and Alexandra’s story.
Happy reading!
To see the Regency Chase Family Tree, click here!
For Terri Castoro,
critique partner extraordinaire.
Thanks for sticking with me
through thick and thin.
PROLOGUE
Cainewood Castle, the South of England
Summer 1808
IT WAS ALMOST like touching him.
Lady Alexandra Chase usually sketched a profile in just a few minutes, but she took her time today, lingering over the experience in the darkened room. Standing on one side of a large, framed pane of glass while Tristan sat sideways on the other, she traced his shadow cast by the glow of a candle. Her pencil followed his strong chin, his long, straight nose, the wide slope of his forehead, capturing his image on the sheet of paper she'd tacked to her side of the glass. Noticing a stray lock that tumbled down his brow, she hesitated, wanting to make certain she caught it just right.
Someone walked by the open door, causing Tris's shadow to flicker as the candle wavered. "Are you finished yet?" he asked from behind the glass panel.
"Hold still," she admonished, resisting the urge to peek around at him. "Artistry requires patience."
"This is a profile, not oil on canvas."
True, and she often wished she had the talent to paint, like her youngest sister, Corinna. But the fact that she was missing something Corinna had—that elusive, innate ability to see things others missed and convey them in color, light, and shade—didn't keep her from taking pride in her own hobby.
Alexandra made excellent profile portraits.
She'd been asking Tris to sit for her for years, but he'd never seemed to find time before. "You promised you'd sit still," she reminded him, knowing better than to read malice into his comment. "Just this once before you leave."
"I'm sitting," he said, and although his profile remained immobile, she could hear the laughter in his voice.
She loved that evidence of his control, just like she loved everything about Tris Nesbitt.
She'd been eight when they first met. Her favorite brother, Griffin, had brought him home between terms at school. In the many years since, as he and Griffin completed Eton and then Oxford, Tris had visited often, claiming to prefer his friend's large family to the quiet home he shared with his father.
Alexandra couldn't remember when she'd fallen in love, but she felt like she'd loved Tris forever.
Of course, nothing would ever come of it. Now, at fifteen, she was practical enough to accept that her father, the formidable Marquess of Cainewood, would never allow her to marry plain Mr. Tristan Nesbitt.
But that didn't stop her from wishing she could. It didn't stop her stomach from tingling when she heard his low voice, didn't stop her heart from skipping when she felt herself caught in his intense, silver-gray gaze.
Not that he directed his gaze her way often. It wasn't that he was unfriendly, but, after all, as far as he was concerned she was little more than Griffin's pesky younger sister.
Knowing Tris couldn't see her now, she skimmed her fingertips over his shadow, wishing she were touching him instead. She'd never touched him, not in real life. Such intimacy simply didn't occur between young ladies and men. Most especially between a marquess's daughter and an untitled man's son.
The drawing room's draperies were shut, and the resulting dimness seemed to afford them an odd closeness alone in the room. She traced the flow of his cravat illuminated through the glass onto her paper. "Where are you going again?" she asked, although she knew.
"Jamaica. My uncle wishes me to look after his interests. He owns a plantation there; I'm to learn how it's run."
He sounded sad. During this visit he'd seemed sad quite a bit. "Is that what you wish to do with your life?"
"He doesn't mean for me to stay there permanently. Only to acquaint myself with the operation so I can make intelligent decisions from afar."
"But do you wish to become his man of business? Do you want to manage his properties? Or would you rather do something else?"
He shrugged, his profile tilting, then settling back into the lines she'd so carefully drawn. "He financed my entire education. Have I a choice?"
"I suppose not." Her choices were limited, too. "How long will you be gone?"
"A
