“For God’s sake, we were working.”
“You ought to have donned it before coming downstairs. It is a mark of respect for Lady Angeline and for Wycoff.”
Colin stiffened. “He took it as an insult?”
“No, he would not have mentioned it, but Wycoff is eaten alive with guilt over his daughter’s misbegotten engagement. When I saw your cavalier manner with her, I grew concerned that he might misinterpret your familiarity.”
Colin rubbed his temple. Damn it all. He had been familiar with her, and there had been that moment in which he’d felt the insistent tug of sensual awareness. “You approved of the two of us working together. If I did not treat her in an amiable manner, I believe she would take it as an insult.”
“Son, I agree, but you are missing the point. The cloud of scandal hangs over Wycoff’s entire family. It is very likely that Margaret will have to sponsor Penelope this spring. Lady Angeline’s future is…uncertain. You never even questioned why I brought Wycoff to Sommerall.”
He gritted his teeth. “If Wycoff was concerned, he should have spoken up beforehand.”
“He did not express concern, but I brought him there to reassure him that all was well. As a father, I can only imagine how I would feel if it was one of your sisters.”
Colin inhaled sharply. The very thought of a scoundrel even breathing near one of his sisters made his blood boil.
“I see you understand now.”
He gripped the back of the chair. “I would kill any man who dared to trifle with one of my sisters.”
“I sincerely hope not, since dueling is officially illegal and you are my heir. However, feel free to beat any man to a pulp who expresses even the slightest interest in the twins.”
“Father, I do not want to treat Angeline differently because of what happened to her. I imagine she’s faced too much of that already.”
The marquess clapped his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “You reaffirmed my belief in you. However, this does not mean you are off the hook.”
He frowned. “What?”
“If you want Sommerall, you must find a bride. I tire of hearing about your many lightskirts and drunken escapades. A wife will cure that. You might want to consult Margaret. She has some distant cousins.”
“After the house is in decent shape, I will make every effort to find a wife.” In a year or two.
“I’ve managed to put off the buyer, but he won’t wait forever. You will make an effort.”
Colin figured his father was bluffing. He would manage to put it off as long as possible.
“There you are,” Margaret said. “I was beginning to worry.”
“It is my fault,” Colin said. “I insisted upon discussing the renovations and delayed our return.”
The marquess shrugged. “He is determined.”
“You missed the news,” the duchess said. “Angeline received a letter from her friend Charlotte. She did not realize Angeline had returned home. Soon my daughter will be able to renew her acquaintances after a long absence.”
Angeline’s smile looked frozen.
“We are making plans for the spring season,” Margaret said. “I believe a Venetian breakfast would be just the thing.”
He saw the duke pouring a drink at the sideboard and joined him. Wycoff downed the brandy and poured another. His grim expression looked foreboding. Colin poured a finger and swirled the liquor. “Thank you for allowing Angeline to assist me. She’s quite knowledgeable.”
“They are making too much of that letter,” he said under his breath.
Colin was at a loss to reply. He sipped his brandy and grew increasingly uncomfortable when Wycoff poured an exceeding amount of brandy. If he kept this up, he’d be foxed in no time.
Angeline approached. “Papa, will you play chess with me? It has been ages since you last trounced me.”
“Not tonight,” he said gruffly.
She winced.
“Excuse me.” He set his glass down and quit the drawing room.
The devil. The man might feel guilty, but he ought to be kinder to her. Colin set his own glass aside. “Come, play backgammon with me.”
She looked a bit shaken. “I fear I will have trouble concentrating.”
“We will make it appear we are playing. It will give us a chance to talk.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“You would do me a great favor. Otherwise, I will be called upon to turn the pages at the pianoforte, and you will have to listen to their plans.”
She nodded. “Very well.”
He seated her at the game table and sat across from her. “I will set the pieces out, and we will throw the dice and make our moves while we talk. Now, tell me what is awry.”
“Everything, but that is hardly new.”
“Angeline, your father said the ladies were making too much of the letter.” He paused and handed her the dice. “Throw them to make it appear we’re really playing.”
She threw the dice and moved one of the backgammon stones. “I lied about Charlotte’s letter.”
He threw the dice and moved a stone. “Why?”
She picked up the dice and dropped them. “I didn’t want Penny to hear. She knows nothing about the scandal.”
“She knows something is wrong.”
Angeline made her move. “I mean to keep it from her as long as possible.”
He suspected Penny knew more than she let on, but he said nothing of that to Angeline. “Did your friend mention Brentmoor in her letter?”
She met his gaze. “He has returned and is married to the widowed Lady Cunningham.”
“I see. She will regret it when he spends her entire fortune. Is she a friend?”
She listlessly dropped the dice. “No, a distant acquaintance.”
“It’s understandable that the news would discompose you, but you are well rid of him.”
She met his gaze. “She is the one I found in bed with Brentmoor.”
He winced. “I’d no idea.”
“Adultery is hardly news in the ton.”
She rolled and moved the stones. “Foolishly, I assumed he would never return because of his creditors. I did not count on him marrying an heiress.”
Colin scooped up the dice and rolled, but her pale complexion worried him. “He is likely to spend himself into debt again. Men like him are their own worst enemies.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Help me understand.”
She rolled the dice. “I thought if he was gone forever, that others would forget. I foolishly held out hope that with time, I could repair my reputation. Now that he has returned, I must face the truth. I will always be a pariah.”
“You may not believe me, but you did the right thing by crying off.”
She moved a stone. “I knew something was wrong, and I ignored my instincts.” She paused and said, “To my detriment.”
The clock chimed.
“It is very late,” Angeline said. “Shall we retire for the evening?”
He assisted her out of the chair and put away the game. As she quit the room, he wondered anew why she’d ever gotten involved with Brentmoor. The back of his neck prickled. Something had gone terribly wrong. Why else would the duchess have taken her to Paris? Multiple possibilities occurred to him. One made him pause. He’d heard stories about increasing women who fled to the continent to bear a secret child. More often he’d heard of elopements. But all of this was nothing more than conjecture. He hoped for her sake that it was merely betrayal.
The next day, Colin and Angeline traveled early in the morning to Sommerall. Colin wanted to ensure they arrived in a timely manner. The marquess had made arrangements for men to bring a wagon with coal, lanterns, fuel, and tinderboxes to the property along with footmen to move the heavier furnishings and remove the faded carpets.
Angeline put on an apron in preparation for working in the attic. She’d worn sturdy half boots and pulled a mobcap out of her apron pocket. When she stood before
the foyer mirror, she slipped on the cap. Colin walked up behind her and snatched it off.
Agnes tied her apron and couldn’t quite hide her smile as she took the hamper and walked toward the breakfast parlor.
“Give the cap to me,” Angeline said, reaching for it.
He stepped back and put the cap behind him.
She ran behind him and tried to grasp the cap, but he held it over his head.
“Give it to me,” she said.
“You must ask politely.”
She scowled. “Please return my cap,” she muttered.
“Muttering is hardly polite.”
She inhaled. “You…you are horrid.”
“Take off that apron,” he said.
She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon? You will not order me about.”
“You will not dress like a maid.”
“Be practical. The attic is bound to be dusty.”
“I forbid it,” he said. “You are a duke’s daughter and a lady.”
“You are ridiculous.” She poked around in her other apron pocket and pulled out her old gardening gloves.
“You will not need them. You may supervise Agnes.”
“I am not a wilting flower, and I most certainly am not afraid of a little dust in the attic. The gloves will protect my hands. I do mean to work. In case you’ve had a memory lapse in the last hour, let me remind you that we have very little time available to us.”
When the clatter of hooves sounded, Colin opened the door and stuffed her ugly cap in his inner coat pocket. “The coal has arrived.”
“I’ll set Agnes to cleaning out the ashes in the hearth.” She hurried up the stairs.
He turned around and admired her bottom as she ascended the steps. What red-blooded man wouldn’t have a look?
The footmen brought in the coals along with lanterns and two tinderboxes. He led them to the drawing room where Agnes finished sweeping and stepped back.
Two other footmen moved the heavy tables and took the carpets to the wagon. The marquess’s steward would ensure the carpets found good homes.
“Agnes, help me put the covers over the furniture,” Angeline said.
Colin shrugged out of his coat and strode over to her. “Take my coat please.” He rolled up his sleeves and noticed Angeline watching him.
He tossed the covers over the furniture, smiled, and took her arm. “Step out into the corridor in the event the flue isn’t working and smoke billows out.”
“You had better come along,” she said. “You don’t want to get your shirt and cravat dirty.”
He leaned down and said under his breath, “I’m a man. We like dirty things.”
She narrowed her eyes and marched out into the corridor. His shoulders shook, and he figured she’d give him a tongue-lashing after the footmen left.
A few minutes later, a weak fire started. Colin held his breath, hoping smoke wouldn’t fill the room. He didn’t even want to consider the damage to the painted ceiling.
With the application of the bellows, a fire crackled and no smoke billowed out into the drawing room. He exhaled. “Success.”
When the footmen stepped back, Angeline instructed Agnes to dust the interior shutters.
Colin made sure she wasn’t paying attention and tossed her ugly cap into the fire. Then he directed the footmen to dump the coal ashes.
Angeline faced him. “I am coming with you to the attic. There is much to be done there, and we will not waste time arguing over the matter.”
Her brows knitted. “Where is my cap?”
He shrugged. “Did you lose it?”
Her eyes narrowed and she held out her palm. “Give it to me.”
“I can’t. It’s gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?”
He shrugged.
“You will pay for this.”
He grinned. “I look forward to your punishment.”
She regarded him suspiciously, as well she should. “No doubt it has something to do with dirt.”
Her saucy reply tickled him, but he’d better focus on the work. He lit one of the lanterns and escorted her up two flights of steps to the attic. The dormer window was grimy, but he set the lantern on a scarred table. He put his hands on his hips and looked around. Then he made his way past several trunks. “Ah, just what we need.”
When he returned to her, he held carpet pieces. “We can kneel on these.”
“Very handy,” she said.
He pointed at one trunk in the corner. “That is the one I went through yesterday. The strap is broken, and there’s nothing of value to me.”
“I imagine the servants or tenants would appreciate the yarn, quills, and handkerchiefs.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re here, because I was ready to toss it all in the rubbish bin.”
He pushed a heavy trunk forward. The muscles in his upper arms strained. She placed one of the carpets before a trunk and knelt, but her eyes kept returning to his bulging biceps. She fumbled with the straps, mostly because she couldn’t take her gaze off him.
He interrupted her ogling and strode over to her. “Let me unbuckle them.”
She stood just as he took a step, and she bumped into him. He caught her shoulders, and there could not have been more than a few inches between them. The moment suspended as their gazes met. His big hands were warm and strong. Her toes curled in her slippers.
“Pardon me,” he said, stepping aside.
She released her pent-up breath. Dear God, did he rub a secret bait salve on himself to lure unsuspecting females? While she continued to recover from their physical encounter, he worked on the straps of a trunk as if he were completely oblivious to her.
When he tried to open the trunk, he muttered something under his breath, likely a curse. “It’s locked.” He straightened his tall frame. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and see if there is anything I can use as a lever.”
He left the attic door open as he strode down the corridor. She released a ragged breath. Sanity returned slowly. She was not attracted to him. Not at all. Liar. Granted, she would have to be dead not to notice the bulging muscles in his arms and his incredibly muscular thighs. But she could not, would not allow her attraction to him to bloom. It would be madness. She’d fallen under one rake’s spell, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
God help her. Angeline thought a few prayers might be in order for her salvation.
She needed distraction from thoughts of Colin’s all-too-enticing athletic body. Angeline walked through the crowded attic to force her thoughts elsewhere. There was an old bookcase with scratches in the wood—a tenant might find that useful. She located a pair of scales, a flask, and a sword propped up against the far wall. There was a bust, too. She removed her gloves and fingered the smooth marble. Was it his grandfather?
When she turned, she happened upon a tall wig in a box. It reminded her of her late great-grandmother. Why in the world did the ladies back then wear those horrendous wigs? They were truly hideous and probably hot as well. What a lark it would be to don the wig and surprise Colin. She would no doubt startle a laugh out of him when she pranced around in a ridiculously high wig.
She started to reach inside the box to extract the wig. Then something moved. A mouse poked its beady nose out. She jumped back and screamed.
Colin walked up the stairs with a big mallet. He figured he could break the lock with it. He reached the second landing, and a scream sent him running. His heart stampeded as he ran. The devil. What if Angeline had fallen and gotten hurt?
She turned the corner and ran toward him. Relief flooded his veins. He dropped the mallet and caught her in his arms. “Are you hurt?”
She was shaking uncontrollably. “N-no. The-there w-was a m-mouse in the w-wig.”
“Oh, Lord.” He held her tightly, relieved to find her unharmed. “You scared me.”
She clutched him. “Stupid m-mouse.”
“Hush now. You’ve had a fright.” She shivered again, and
without thought, he caressed her spine. Eventually her trembling subsided, and he was all too aware of her soft, feminine body pressed against him. When his groin tightened, he knew he’d better put distance between them, and he reluctantly released her.
“I’m so mortified,” she said, looking up at him.
“You needn’t be.”
She looked at the mallet. “What in heaven’s name were you planning to do with that?”
“Break the lock on the trunk.”
“Oh.” She frowned and worried her hands. “I suppose we should return to the attic.”
He laughed and picked up the mallet. “Angeline, I’m fairly certain the attic is the last place you wish to go. Tomorrow I’ll bring a mousetrap or two.”
“There’s so much to do,” she said. “I feel badly for slowing our progress.”
“One day will not make that much difference,” he said. “By the way, did you find anything of value in the bedchambers yesterday?”
She hesitated. “I went through all the rooms.”
“Why are you hedging?”
“There’s a nursery,” she said.
His neck prickled. “Where is it?”
“Colin, don’t go in there.”
He set the mallet down and started opening doors. She followed him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you yesterday.”
When he opened the door to the nursery, he strode inside and immediately tore the covers off the rocker. He went over to a shelf where a tin box sat. When he opened it, a look of wonder crossed his face. “My tin soldiers. I always wondered what became of them.”
“I didn’t notice them yesterday.”
He frowned at her. “It is in plain view. Something is amiss. You might as well tell me.”
She sighed. “There is a cradle underneath the cover.”
He whipped it off. Inside was padded bedding. He felt no shock or melancholy. Only numbness.
She slipped her hand through his arm. “I hope you will forgive me. I thought to spare you.”
He patted her hand. “I understand, but I prefer to confront things.”
“Yes, I think it is for the best. Shall we return to the attic? If the mouse decides to make another appearance, I’ll let you confront it.”
What a Reckless Rogue Needs Page 11