What a Reckless Rogue Needs (3 page)

Any lady but her.

Why was so much beauty wrapped up in a she-devil package? Perhaps he wasn’t being fair. They had not spoken in ages, but given her acerbic remarks tonight, he doubted she’d changed.

She snatched her gloves. In her haste, she dropped one.

He retrieved it. “You seem a bit flustered. I hope I did not make you vexatious.”

“You flatter yourself.”

“There you are wrong. I have my faults, but excessive vanity is not one of them.”

She covered an obviously feigned yawn. “I shall refrain from asking about your other excesses.”

“Angeline,” the duchess said, “will you play again or do you intend to dawdle?”

The rosy flush staining Angeline’s face spoke volumes, but she recovered quickly and popped up from the bench. “I shall dawdle. I do it so well.”

The twins marched over to the pianoforte and set up their sheets. Colin took the opportunity to escape Angeline. “Pardon me while I turn the pages for my sisters.”

“How very charming of Ravenshire to turn the pages for the twins,” the duchess said. “He shows his care for his sisters.”

Angeline made a concerted effort not to roll her eyes. She’d always struggled to keep her thoughts from showing on her face, but it was particularly difficult when her mother made a big to-do over the simple act of turning pages. The duchess had obviously chosen to forget Colin’s dissipated reputation, but Angeline had not.

She turned her attention away and spotted Penny hunching her shoulders in the window seat. “Excuse me, Mama,” she said, and hurried off before her mother could detain her further. Penny smiled a little when she sat beside her.

“Are you enjoying seeing the twins again?” Angeline asked.

“Oh, yes. They are quite vivacious,” Penny said. “Unlike me.”

Angeline squeezed her sister’s hand. “You have many talents, Penny. You play very well and your watercolors are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Penny said, “but I wish I had the gift of conversing easily. I always think of something clever to say after I’m alone.”

“Better to think before you speak,” Angeline said. “I learned that the hard way, but let us not dwell on our faults. The grounds at Deerfield are beautiful. Perhaps we could go for a walk this week if the weather holds.”

“I would like that very much.” Penny bit her lip.

“What troubles you?” Angeline said.

“It is of no consequence,” she said.

“You know that you can tell me anything.” She worried that her mother might have inadvertently let something slip about her broken betrothal in front of Penny this evening. Angeline knew she couldn’t protect her sister forever, but she did not want to reveal the circumstances while they were away from home.

Penny clasped her hands in her lap. “Bianca and Bernadette were speaking about our come-outs next spring, and all of a sudden I realized that I would be among an enormous crowd. I just know that I’ll be a wallflower.”

She hugged Penny. “Sweet sister, you will do very well.”

“You will be there,” Penny said. “I could not possibly make my debut without you.”

“You mustn’t worry.” But even as Angeline spoke, she wasn’t entirely certain she would be able to attend. While a few of her mother’s steadfast friends had called upon them in Paris, there were more than a few English ladies who had cut their acquaintance. She dreaded broaching the topic. Her sister was sensitive, and Angeline saw no reason to worry Penny months ahead of time, but Angeline was concerned. She prayed her scandal would not touch Penny, because that would hurt far more than Brentmoor’s duplicity.

Colin bid the guests good night as they retired for the evening. The marquess had not moved from his spot on the sofa. As usual, Margaret was straightening the cushions, something she ought to leave for the servants. Then she pulled a stool over to her husband.

“Margaret,” the marquess said in a warning tone.

She hesitated. “I thought you might wish to put your feet up now that the guests are gone.”

Colin sat in a winged chair and leaned forward. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“I’ll keep it,” the marquess said.

Good Lord. His father was like a child. He hadn’t wanted the stool until he realized someone else did.

Margaret curtsied. “Well, I’ll leave you to your discussion.”

“You may expect me in half an hour, Margaret.”

Colin brushed at the nonexistent lint on his trousers. Did his father have to announce his intention to bed his wife in front of him?

After she left, the marquess polished off a brandy and regarded him with amusement. “Did you think I’ve become so ancient that I’ve lost my virility?”

He turned his head aside. “I don’t want to know your intimate business.”

“Are you blushing?” Of course he wasn’t, but damnation, no man wanted to know about his father’s marital relations. “I’m here because you requested my presence to discuss the sale of Sommerall.”

The marquess clasped his hands over his slight paunch. “You are curt this evening. Perhaps you have forgotten who supports your lavish lifestyle.”

His quarterly funds hardly counted as a “lavish” lifestyle, but Colin refused to be distracted. “I stopped at Sommerall earlier today. Are you aware the key is missing?”

“It is not missing,” the marquess said. “I retrieved it some time ago to keep vagrants out.”

Colin nodded. “I’ll come to the point. I want Sommerall.”

The marquess huffed. “For what? You spend all of your time in London. The property has remained unoccupied for years. The furnishings and paintings are covered with sheets. God only knows what sort of nests are in the chimney. The place needs to be occupied. I see no reason to let it rot when I have an offer.”

Colin clenched his jaw and reminded himself to hold his temper. A row would serve no purpose. “I have a plan—”

“Not tonight.” The marquess groaned after he moved his feet off the stool and stood.

Colin’s eyes widened. “Are you unwell?”

“Of course not,” the marquess said. “Go on now. I’ll meet you in my study after breakfast.”

“If you will listen—”

“Tomorrow,” the marquess said.

“I only want a few minutes of your—”

“You will meet me as directed,” the marquess said.

His father had always insisted upon having control of everything, including the last word. Colin gritted his teeth, stood, and bowed. “Good night,” he said.

After Colin left, the marquess winced when his knees creaked. Little wonder. He’d tramped all over the property with Wycoff earlier today. He’d always been active, either riding or walking along the property. He personally inspected repairs and drainage issues. Only a fool would allow others to make the decisions, and he was no fool.

He was doubly glad that he was as fit as ever, as he didn’t want anything to interfere with the shooting. Every autumn, he and Wycoff had a fine time shooting birds—or rather attempting. Aiming their guns at birds was a better description. They rarely ever bagged one, but that didn’t matter. He enjoyed spending time with his oldest friend. He thought about inviting Colin, but the marquess knew it was time to teach his son a lesson. That was the reason he’d requested his reckless son’s presence at the house party.

The marquess sighed. He had heard more stories than he could count about his son’s debauchery, gaming, and dissipation. He should not be surprised. After all, he’d been quite the rakehell in his day, but he had decided it was past time that Colin settled down. Once the marquess made a decision, he stood by it.

He’d known his threat to sell Sommerall would infuriate his son, but he’d been fairly certain that Colin would have made excuses to avoid the house party and Angeline. The pair had never gotten along since her come-out. Margaret had told him in confidence that Colin had reserved the first dance, but there had been a dustup when he’d shown up late and foxed. That was years ago, but they had remained estranged all these years. Seemed ridiculous to him, but what was he to do about it?

But now his old friend Wycoff was worried about his eldest daughter. She’d gotten herself in a tangle over jilting a beau, and Wycoff worried about her future. The marquess sympathized, as he had his own problems with Colin.

Reason told him that Colin wanted Sommerall because his mother was buried there, God rest her soul. The marquess assumed his son wanted the property badly or he would have stayed in London to continue his typical rakehell pursuits.

His son had a plan. No doubt it was quite inventive. Colin, for all of his reckless ways, was shrewd. The marquess was interested to see exactly what his son had devised in such a short period of time. Of course, he would not make matters easy on Colin. In truth, matters could take a wrong turn, but he figured he had a decent chance of succeeding.

He chuckled softly, remembering how his own father had given him a blistering lecture many years ago. God knew he’d been as wild as the proverbial March hare in his day, but like his father before him, the marquess intended to force his son to leave behind his raking for good.

The next morning

C
olin had just sat down with a plate of baked eggs, bacon, and a roll when he heard his father shout outside the dining room. “I’d better investigate,” he said.

Naturally, everyone at the table followed him into the great hall, where the marquess stood holding the funniest-looking puppy Colin had ever clapped eyes on. It was a wrinkly pug with a black snout.

“Bianca, Bernadette!” the marquess roared.

The twins padded into the great hall with widened eyes. Colin suspected his sisters had perfected their innocent expressions.

The pug wriggled in the marquess’s hands. “Be still, animal.”

“Oh, Papa,” Bianca cried. “You found Hercules.”

“In the water closet,” the marquess shouted.

Angeline walked up beside Colin. “Oh, dear, your father is overset,” she said under her breath.

Hercules licked the marquess’s hand.

Colin covered his grin at the affronted expression on his father’s face.

“This animal is an abomination,” the marquess said.

Colin approached his father and tried to ignore the distinctive odor of urine. “Father, are you all right?”

“Do I look all right? This sorry excuse for a dog ruined my boots.” He looked over his shoulder. “Ames!”

The butler strode into the hall.

“Throw this disgusting canine into the dustbin,” the marquess demanded.

“Nooooooo,” the twins cried out simultaneously.

Margaret gathered the girls in her arms. “Hush, Papa will not throw Hercules in the dustbin.”

“Oh, yes, I will!”

Fat tears welled in Bianca’s and Bernadette’s eyes.

Colin folded his arms over his chest, knowing his gruff father wouldn’t be able to withstand their tears. Doubtless the twins knew precisely how to manipulate him.

Ames held out his hands for the dog.

The marquess narrowed his eyes at his daughters. “He stays in the kitchen. I do not want to see him above stairs ever again or he goes. Do I make myself understood?”

Bianca and Bernadette ran to the marquess and hugged him. “Oh, Papa, thank you,” Bianca said, sniffing.

Bernadette brushed her finger under her eye. Colin was fairly certain it wasn’t a tear, but he must credit his sisters for their theatrical performance.

The marquess patted his daughters awkwardly and addressed Ames. “The water closet floor needs to be cleaned.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The marquess sat on a chair, removed his boots, and signaled a footman. “The smell will never come out. Burn them.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The twins volunteered to take Hercules to the kitchen. Colin suspected they would sneak the pug to their room at the first opportunity.

“Colin, we will meet in my study in thirty minutes,” the marquess said.

He inclined his head and thought his father looked rather undignified as he walked up the steps in his stockings.

Precisely thirty minutes later, Colin rapped on his father’s study door.

“Come in,” the marquess said.

When he entered, his father continued writing. “Be seated,” he said.

Colin jiggled his leg, an old habit.
Be calm; be confident.

The marquess sanded the paper, folded it, and applied a seal. When his father opened a new letter, Colin forced himself to relax his jaw. He understood his father’s silent message: patience.

He did not expect this interview to be easy. His father would likely interrogate him, but he was prepared.

The marquess set the letter aside. “You requested this meeting. I will hear you out, but I am disinclined to make a gift of the property simply because you are my son.”

Colin lifted his chin. “I understand. However, I am willing to take responsibility for all needed repairs.”

The marquess folded his hands on the polished desktop and regarded him with a patronizing expression. “I received an excellent offer. The prospective buyer is willing to make the purchase and see to any needed repairs. It will cost me nothing, but I will certainly gain from the sale. You probably do not have sufficient funds for renovations.”

Colin had expected this argument. “I understand that I would have to make a considerable investment.”

The marquess huffed. “You mean
I
would have to make the investment.”

“Only if you wished to contribute,” Colin said.

“Well, how else would you finance this venture? Beyond your quarterly funds, you have no other source of income.”

Colin knew that he would shock his father. “I’ve made investments in shipping.”

The marquess snorted. “So you’re literally waiting for your ship to come in.”

This is business. Keep your emotions out of it.
“I’ve been investing a considerable portion of my quarterly funds since I was twenty-one.”

The marquess stared at him in a stupefied fashion. “You jest.”

“No. I figured money was the key to my independence.”

“You did it in the event I cut off your funds.”

Colin smiled a little. “You did threaten once or twice.”

“With good reason,” the marquess said. “That affair de coeur with Lord Ogden’s wife could have ended with you planted six feet under.”

He’d been only twenty when Lady Ogden had seduced him, but he didn’t want the conversation to veer off into a blind alley. “First things first. I will take care of estimates for the repairs. If I find that it is currently beyond my means, we could draw up an agreement in which I repay you for the cost of any required loan.” Surely his father would not object.

The marquess tapped his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. “It may well require the services of an architect and all manner of workers. Why should I contribute funds when I have a perfectly good offer?”

“I understand, but I’m more than willing to make a partial payment now,” he said.

The marquess narrowed his eyes. “You failed to answer my question.”

“The primary advantage is that it keeps the property in our family.” Surely he would not sell when his mother was buried there.

The marquess steepled his fingers. “You intend to occupy the house soon?”

“First I intend to inquire about the best men to provide estimates for the work.”

The marquess stood and looked out the window. He was silent for a long moment.

Colin restrained the urge to speak. His father would reveal his concern in his own good time. Interjecting at this point would be foolhardy.

The marquess turned around. “Suppose I approve this plan. Will you personally supervise the renovations?”

Colin frowned. “I certainly intend to make inquiries on the progress.”

“I see.”

“Whatever it is that concerns you, I’m sure I can provide a solution.”

“What happens if there is a problem while you’re in London? Do you expect me to take the reins while you’re carousing?”

“Of course not. I plan to journey to Sommerall once a quarter.”

“And the remainder of the time? Are you willing to give up chasing lightskirts, gaming, and swigging spirits to oversee renovations that might take years to accomplish?”

He doubted it would take years, but he recognized that his father was testing him. “If a problem arises while I’m in London, I will make the journey home.”

The marquess shook his head. “The answer is no.”

Colin was taken aback. “I’m willing to make concessions.”

“I, however, am not. Your responses to my questions were unsatisfactory. You have no real interest in Sommerall.”

“Of course I have an interest in Sommerall or I wouldn’t be here,” he said.

“Precisely,” the marquess said.

Colin winced. “I realize that I’ve been distant of late, but I will remedy the situation.”

“Forgive me, but I have doubts. As I recall, the last time you came home was Easter, and you departed before a sennight. If it were only the one time, I would make an exception, but you’ve kept your distance from all of us for years. Now you expect me to award Sommerall to you when you haven’t earned it. Based upon your notorious behavior, I think it would be foolhardy for me to trust you. You are unwilling to supervise the work, and that tells me you have no intention of leaving behind your wild exploits in London.”

“I will make the journey—”

“My answer stands. If you were truly interested in Sommerall, you would personally see to the work, but you’ve no intention of mending your rakehell ways. I know you’ve become a two-bottle man, and before you accuse me of spying, I assure you I’d rather not know. Unfortunately, gentlemen are competitive and like to rub it in a man’s nose when his heir spends much of his time engaged in disreputable pursuits.”

For pity’s sake he was thirty-one years old and getting a lecture, but he decided to pacify the marquess. “Father, I know I can—”

“Enough. You’re unwilling to commit to this venture. Under the circumstances, you give me no choice but to sell Sommerall.”

Colin clenched his teeth, imagining spending months alone in the countryside. But if he didn’t agree, he’d lose Sommerall forever.

He walked over to the hearth in an effort to calm himself. The worst possible thing would be to let his frustration show, and he couldn’t let Sommerall pass out of his hands.

“Is there anything else?” the marquess said.

Colin took a deep breath and faced his father. “How much is the pending offer?”

“Even if you have sufficient funds to make the purchase, I won’t sell it to you. Obviously, the property doesn’t mean enough to you to make the necessary sacrifices.”

“My mother is buried there,” he said, struggling to keep the tone of his voice even. “How can you sell Sommerall?”

“I’ve already stated my reasons for selling it and won’t repeat them. The meeting is adjourned. Close the door on your way out.”

Colin was breathing like a racehorse. “You cannot sell it.”

“You’ve no say in the matter,” the marquess said. “You’ve shown insufficient interest in Sommerall and your family. I regret having to say no, but based on your actions, I find it difficult to believe you care about anything except gambling, drinking, and wenching.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do whatever you require.”

“Very well. You need to prove to me that you have matured and are ready to settle down.”

“That’s the point of allowing me to—”

The marquess cleared his throat. “You will give up your dissolute pursuits and choose a wife.”

A strange sensation gripped him as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet. “A wife?”

“You heard me. A female, preferably a respectable one.”

What the devil? Colin frowned. Had he heard correctly? “I think I should focus on renovating Sommerall first. Marriage can come later.”

The marquess took a pinch of snuff and sneezed into a handkerchief. “You’ll continue along the same rakehell path. One day you will thank me.”

Not bloody likely
. “Do you mean to drive me away?”

“Do not be tiresome, Colin. It is past time you give up your wild ways.”

He took two steps toward the door with every intention of leaving Deerfield, but his father’s voice stayed him.

“I know you don’t like me ordering you about, but my own father curbed my wild ways. You may not believe me now, but I’m doing you a favor. When a man has a wife and children, he leaves behind his selfishness because his family means more to him than dissipation. In your case, enough is enough.”

“I intend to wed in the future,” he said.

“You’re thirty-one years old, the perfect age for marriage. You will adjust your mind to your new responsibilities.”

He turned around. “We’re out in the middle of the country, for God’s sake. Do you wish me to wed a maid?”

The marquess picked up another letter and broke the seal. “If you require assistance, I imagine your stepmother or the duchess would be happy to help you.”

He’d walked right into a trap.

Colin clenched his jaw as he strode out of the house. He was shaking with hot anger and left the house without a hat or greatcoat. He barely felt the cold. When the sun speared through the birch trees, he squinted. Ahead, there were mounds of fallen brown and orange leaves, but he took no pleasure in the autumn scenery.

He strode faster and faster along the leaf-strewn path. His blood must be boiling a thousand degrees or more. How dare his father demand he marry? For God’s sake, it was the nineteenth century, not the fucking Middle Ages.

He felt as if he would explode at any moment. In the distance, he saw two laborers hacking at a huge tree limb on the ground. All he knew was that he needed to smash something to control the rage racing through his veins. His breath frosted in the air as he strode faster and faster, his fists locked tight. When Colin reached the laborers, they pulled on their forelocks and looked at the ground.

“Stand back,” he said in a growl.

He jerked off his coat, threw it on a lower limb, and untied his cravat. The two laborers’ eyes widened as he rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. Colin’s nostrils flared as he hefted the ax and brought it down in a giant arc. Splinters flew. He pressed his boot on the limb for leverage, gritted his teeth, and pulled the ax out with a groan. Then he stepped back and swung the ax over his head again. He grimaced as he pulled it out and swung it again…and again…and again with a guttural roar each time. Chunks of bark flew everywhere. One more swing cracked the limb in two.

“Colin!”

The feminine cry startled him. Salty drops of sweat stung his eyes as he spied Angeline running toward him. “Hell,” he muttered.

He let the ax drop and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. He glanced over his shoulder at the two laborers. “Go on,” he said gruffly. They pulled on their forelocks again and retreated as if they’d just witnessed a madman. He certainly felt like one.

The cold wind picked up, blowing through the damp linen of his shirt. He gritted his teeth.

Angeline reached him. “You’ll make yourself ill in nothing but that thin shirt,” she said breathlessly.

“Angeline, leave. I’m not fit for company.” He picked up the ax again. “Go,” he said.