What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 9

Hercules ran into the water closet.

"d.a.m.n dog," the marquess shouted.

"Chadwick," Margaret said in a shocked tone.

"Pardon me," he said gruffly. Then he stomped over to the water closet door. Hercules sprinted past the marquess. "Ames!" he shouted.

The butler hurried his step. "Ah, I'll get a maid to clean," Ames said, and rang the bell.

"Why has our home turned into a spectacle?" the marquess demanded.

"My dear, it may have escaped your notice, but our home has always been a spectacle of one sort or another," Margaret said.

Colin leaned closer to Angeline. "Notice the dog is smiling."

"And so are you," she said.

After Angeline went upstairs for her cloak and bonnet, the marquess beckoned Colin to join him in his study. "I wish to make it clear that this is only a preliminary measure. With Lady Angeline's help, you will make an inventory of everything that needs to be done."

"I understand, and I am ready to begin," Colin said. He tamped down his excitement, but this was real progress.

"I am not finished," the marquess said. "My original condition still stands. You must find a bride or I will sell the house."

His father had given in on the inspection, and Colin figured he could maneuver around his father's insistence on marriage, too. "It is quite possible the repairs will take many months," Colin said. "I will focus on making the house habitable and then I can begin my search for a wife when the spring season begins." He thought a minute and added, "It would be best if I had a home before acquiring a bride."

The marquess rolled his eyes. "There are two hundred rooms at Deerfield. You could take your pick. You will not divert me. You have six weeks."

For G.o.d's sake, not again. He meant to placate his father. "I intend to start a family in a few years." Forty sounded like a ripe, old age to give up his bachelor life.

"I have an offer for the house and have no intention of waiting for you to make up your mind," the marquess said. "If I do not insist on marriage now, you will continue to chase courtesans and actresses. All of the repairs will be for naught, because you will spend all of your time in London and let Sommerall fall to rack and ruin again."

"I need a few months to find a bride," Colin said. "It is a reasonable request. After all, it is a lifetime decision."

"You have precisely six weeks. That is my condition. You will either abide by it or I will sell the property. Now, you will excuse me. I'm off to shoot birds."

Colin gritted his teeth. Somehow he had to circ.u.mvent his father's ludicrous marriage requirement.

After Agnes climbed up next to John, the driver, Colin helped Angeline inside the carriage and sat with his back to the horses, facing Angeline. What the devil was he to do about his father's decree? The man was unreasonable. He knocked the roof with the cane he only used in the carriage. A few moments later, the vehicle rolled off.

"Something is wrong," Angeline said, raising her voice to be heard above the horses' hooves. "You were elated earlier."

"I do not wish to shout at you."

"Very well." She stood and swayed as the carriage turned.

He was on his feet in an instant. When the carriage hit a b.u.mp, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the seat beside him. He inhaled the scent of roses and freshly ironed linen, no doubt from the petticoat. The scents of a woman. Dangerous.

He would hold his breath-or breathe through his mouth.

Her bonnet was askew and her skirt was hiked up, revealing her silk-clad calves. Very long, slender calves. He imagined matching long thighs. No, he would not. This was Angeline-the shrew. He was not attracted to her. But she'd agreed to help him, and he needed her advice.

She tried to pull her skirts down, but obviously she was sitting on half of them.

"Don't worry, the skirt isn't going anywhere," he said.

"It will wrinkle," she said, squirming.

"Good Lord. Stand up and I'll hold your waist while you pull down the skirt."

"You will do no such thing."

He grinned. "I promise I won't squeeze."

Her glare could torch a man-in all the right places.

"Up you go," he said, placing his hands on the natural curve of her waist. Lord, she had a narrow waistline. As she pulled at her flimsy skirts, she revealed a deliciously rounded bottom. Naturally he imagined his hands on her derriere, and his groin tightened.

After she finished pulling and wiggling to his delight, he took her hand to steady her as she gingerly eased onto the leather seat. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, all innocence.

She sniffed. "I meant to ask you that question. You were happy at breakfast, but something transpired afterward. You were in a state again."

He released a gusty sigh. "My father still insists I marry."

"I think he is testing you," Angeline said. "It is an unreasonable demand. You might as well ignore it."

He met her gaze. "There is a new problem. He gave me six weeks to find a bride."

"That is outrageous," she said.

"Yes, but my father is adamant."

"He did, however, approve of the renovation," she said. "That is a big step."

"Do you not see the problem? I might spend a fortune and lose the property because I have no bride. All of my efforts might be for naught, except to beggar me."

She shook her head. "The marquess knows that it is impossible for you to find a suitable wife out in the middle of the country. I think you should set it aside and focus on the house. Once he realizes you are serious and industrious, he will likely extend the time frame for you to find a bride."

"And if he doesn't? I can't take that risk."

"What else can you do?" she said.

He looked at her. A long moment elapsed. If he married Angeline, all of his troubles would disappear in a snap. But good Lord, Angeline?

She met his gaze, and they both looked away. Had the same thought occurred to her?

After an uncomfortable silence, she said, "I do not envy you."

"Your parents aren't pressing you to marry?" he asked.

"I'm not besieged with suitors," she said. "Frankly, I'm relieved."

He didn't believe her. "Oh, come now. Every woman wants to marry. That is what ladies do."

"I'm not every woman, and I have no intention of marrying."

"That sounds like pride talking," he said.

"No, it is me talking."

"You can't live independently."

"My late grandmother left me a fortune. It is in trust, of course, but I can live comfortably enough at the dower house."

"You can't be serious," he said. "You would prefer to live as a spinster rather than marry?"

"That is my plan," she said, "whether you believe me or not."

"You are joking."

"No, I am not."

"I doubt Wycoff will approve," he said.

"I am thirty-one years old, as you well know. I do not need his approval."

"Every lady I have ever met views marriage as the Holy Grail."

"Not this lady," she said.

"Do you realize what you're missing?" he said.

"Such as intemperate and adulterous rakes, rogues, and roues?"

He looked astounded. "You are serious."

"We need to concentrate on the work that needs to be done. If you worry about the marriage issue, you are likely to feel overwhelmed. Think about accomplis.h.i.+ng one thing at a time," she said.

"Did someone give you that advice?"

"I came to that conclusion myself." She turned her attention to the window, letting him know she would not elaborate.

She clearly did not wish to discuss her decision, but he thought it odd. He suspected her decision was born of pride and perhaps fear. No doubt her engagement to Brentmoor had caused her more than a little grief.

He still could not fathom why she'd gotten involved with Brentmoor. The man was well known for high-stakes gaming and multiple liaisons. She could not claim ignorance of his character. Perhaps Brentmoor had convinced her that he'd turned over a new leaf and reformed, but that also brought to mind another question: Why had Wycoff allowed the man to court his daughter? The duke was no fool.

Was it possible she'd carried on a secret romance with Brentmoor? He mentally shook off the thoughts. Whatever had occurred was none of his affair.

Granted, he'd led a rake's existence for years, but he'd only dealt with sophisticated women. He never went near the innocent belles or single ladies; he avoided anything that might result in getting a leg shackle. At any rate, he wasn't one for a grand romance. He'd leave that nonsense to radical poets and besotted swains.

More than anything, Angeline needed real occupation. Last night, she'd tossed and turned in bed. She would be here for only a month. When the house party ended, she would return to Worthington Abbey and make the announcement to her family. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother and father would disapprove, but there was nothing they could do to stop her.

It would be far better to move into the dower house as soon as possible, but thoughts of Penny worried her. Her sensitive sister would be overset, but Angeline would make sure that Penny knew she could visit at any time. There would be much to accomplish. She would have to hire a cook and a few servants. Perhaps she would even buy a gig and learn to drive it. It wasn't the life she had always envisioned, but she would make the best of the situation.

She could well imagine her mother imploring her to make one more attempt during the spring season, but Angeline had no intention of exposing herself to society again. She knew exactly what would be in store for her, and she refused to play into the hands of the gossips.

She worried about her father's reaction the most, but eventually even he would come to terms with her decision. Unfortunately, ever since the debacle with Brentmoor, he had all but avoided her.

It would be better for all of her family if she lived quietly and independently in the country. Her mother and father would take Penny to London in the spring, and while it hurt to know that she would never be able to see her sister at her come-out ball, Angeline knew it was for the best. She'd learned she was strong enough to withstand many things, but she could not bear the thought of her poor reputation hurting her sister.

Sommerall, one hour later Colin carried the heavy hamper. "Cook must have packed enough food for an army. Honestly, I don't know what she was thinking."

"The fresh bread smells wonderful," she said, "and I smell biscuits." She reached inside. "They're still warm," she said, popping one in her mouth.

"You're like a greedy child sneaking a biscuit," he said.

"We both used to steal biscuits when we were children," she said.

He huffed. "I don't remember anything of the kind."

"You ought to remember. We were nine years old, and I stole two biscuits, but you got caught with your hand in the jar. As I recall, you got your hand rapped for it."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Now I remember. You escaped all punishment. I was a gentleman even as a child and took your rap on my hand."

"Hah," she said.

While John took the horses to the barn, they walked up the steps. When Colin turned the key, Angeline had the oddest sensation that she'd done this once before with him. The feeling was so strong she felt as if it had truly happened.

He ushered her inside, and there was a familiarity just at the edges of her thoughts, although she couldn't point to anything specific. They would have been young children at the time the marquess had closed up the house. Most likely she was imagining something that had never happened, and even if it had, there was no significance attached to it.

Colin removed his gloves and ran his finger along the marble hall table. "Dust," he said with a frown.

"After so many years, the dust should be much worse," Angeline said. "Obviously, someone has cleaned it before, though not regularly."

Agnes set her basket on the floor and applied a feather duster to the table and the gold-framed mirror above.

"We can set our gloves here and hang our wraps on the pegs," Angeline said, removing both. "Thank you for persuading me to accompany you. Painting screens, embroidering, and playing the pianoforte seem so frivolous. Helping you restore Sommerall will give me a sense of real achievement. I feel invigorated already."

"I never realized that ladies might grow bored with their lives."

"I doubt I count as the average lady," she said. Then again, she doubted the lightskirts he consorted with spent their days embroidering proverbs in genteel drawing rooms.

"Angeline, I won't pry, but you mustn't let the actions of a dishonorable man dictate the rest of your life."