What a Reckless Rogue Needs (4 page)

“No, I will not leave you in this condition. Obviously you are in a state.”

“For the last time, please leave,” he gritted out.

Her eyes widened. “You’re furious.”

“If you have any sense, you will leave. Now go.” God, why did she of all people have to witness his ire?

“You cannot stay out in the cold in that thin, damp shirt. You will make yourself very ill and worry your family.”

His nostrils flared. “Please go before I say something I regret.”

“Go ahead, but you’ll not stop me.” She unrolled his left sleeve and then his right. He looked at her from beneath his damp lashes. Her plump breasts rose and fell with each visible breath. He made himself look away. She might be comely and curvaceous, but she was trouble.

When she lifted her lashes, her eyes grew huge as she looked at the dark hair showing through the V in his shirt.

“What is it?” he asked. He rather hoped the husky sound of his voice would scare her off.

She cleared her throat and appeared to be looking over his shoulder. “You cannot go about with your cravat undone.”

He huffed. “That’s rich.” He’d gone about with far fewer clothes on many occasions, but he thought better of mentioning that in her presence.

She lifted her chin, stepped closer, and closed the three buttons of his shirt. Her scent was familiar—something flowery. That thought reminded him. “Don’t. I stink of sweat.”

She flipped his shirt points up. “My nose will survive.”

He watched as she pulled the two long tails of linen to an even length. Then she hesitated.

He winked and deftly wrapped the cloth round his throat. “Perhaps you could tie a knot?”

She managed on the third try. “It looks awful. I would make a terrible valet.”

“A lady valet?” He envisioned a naked woman undressing him. “Brings to mind a number of possibilities.”

She drew her large paisley shawl closed. “Mind your tongue.”

Naturally he thought of several wicked uses for his tongue, but he pushed that out of his thoughts.

She looked up at him, her green eyes full of questions. “What possessed you to wield that ax?”

“Never mind.”

“You looked enraged.”

He retrieved his coat from the limb but said nothing.

“What were you angry about?”

“An unpleasant conversation.”

“So you walked out without hat, gloves, or greatcoat?”

He had no intention of explaining anything to her. “I’m made of sturdy stuff.”

Her gaze slid over him. “Yes, I noticed.”

“Like what you see?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I should have known you would say something indelicate.”

“I warned you I’m not fit for company.” If she had any sense, she would have fled after seeing him hacking that tree limb.

“Really, you must change into dry clothes as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do.” He started to slide his arm through the sleeve of his coat when she stepped forward to help him.

“I can manage.” He didn’t want her help. He wanted her to leave him in peace.

“I insist. Now lift your arm.”

He knew she would persist, so he allowed her to help.

“Your shirt is damp with perspiration, and the coat only traps it.”

“Angeline—”

“No, I refuse to listen to your arguments. You’ll catch your death out here. You must return to the house immediately.”

“It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you stand in the cold,” he said. Truthfully, the brisk wind was more than a little uncomfortable, but he’d be damned before he admitted it.

“Your nose is red,” she said.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “So is yours.”

When she took his arm, he matched his pace to her slower one. They strode past the folly, and a gust of wind blasted them. He couldn’t completely hide his shiver and regretted leaving behind his outerwear now. Next time he would just throw something into the fire. Of course, he hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, but he was rather pessimistic about those chances.

She pushed her bonnet ribbons out of her face. “Something is clearly wrong. What happened?”

“I do not wish to discuss it.”
Especially with you
.

“It might help to talk,” she said. “Sometimes just airing your grievances helps you see matters more clearly.”

Oh, good Lord. The one thing that drove him to drink was a woman who wanted to talk about feelings. But he knew enough about women to realize she wouldn’t leave it alone. “My father and I had a difference of opinion.”
That is all you need to know.

“You quarreled,” she said.

Her persistence irritated him. “You need not concern yourself.”

“Is this about Sommerall?” she asked.

He halted. “How did you know?” he demanded.

She lifted her chin. “If you wish me to answer, you will avoid using a harsh tone.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said. Damnation. He did not want her poking into his affairs.

“It is quite obvious that you’ve had a nasty shock.”

This was an unfamiliar side of her, but to be fair, she was no stranger to difficulty. “I’ll sort it out.” But he was far from confident.

“I overheard my father mention that someone was interested in purchasing Sommerall,” Angeline said. “It has been unoccupied for many years.”

“I beg your pardon, but this is not a matter I wish to discuss.”
Leave me alone.

“Oh, my stars. You do not want the marquess to sell.”

“Angeline—”

“That is why you’re so angry,” she said.

He halted. “Of course I’m furious. My mother is laid to rest there.”

“Surely you can persuade your father not to sell. I would think he would cede the property to you.”

He shook his head and started walking again. “He will—if I do his bidding.” They skirted around the thick, gnarled roots of an old oak. “I want the property, but that is insufficient for my father.”

“What did you propose?” she asked.

“To take care of all needed renovations, but we could not agree on the terms.”

“I don’t understand. What is it that your father wants?”

“Proof that I’ll honor my commitment.” His father’s lack of trust burned deep.

“The only way to prove you will abide by your obligation is to allow you to begin,” she said. “I fail to understand why this is a problem.”

He glanced at her. “My father proposed a different way for me to demonstrate responsibility.”

“What is it? Clearly you find it abhorrent.”

He laughed without mirth. “Marriage.” He should have kept that between his teeth, but his head ached with the anger still infusing his blood.

She stopped him. “That is ludicrous,” she said in an outraged tone. “Forgive me, but your father goes too far.”

“I share the sentiment, but it matters not.” His breath misted in the cold wind. “My father owns the property and can do what he wants.” His father intended to manipulate him like a marionette.

“Marriage does not assure responsibility. We both could name dozens of irresponsible people who are married,” she said. “The king, for example.”

“My father’s demands are unreasonable. Where am I to find a bride in the middle of the countryside?” he said. “It’s not as if I can pluck her like an apple off a tree.” He didn’t want to marry now, and by God, he certainly didn’t want to wed under duress, but he didn’t want to lose Sommerall.

They walked in silence for a while, and then she said, “There is the little season in London.”

“It will look as if I’m desperate.” He huffed. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose I am.”

“You are hardly desperate,” she said. “Dozens of ladies in London would leap at the opportunity to marry an earl.”

“I’d no idea you were so romantic.”

“Oh, yes, I’m waiting for my shining knight in rusty armor.” She regarded him with raised brows. “And you?”

“A local milkmaid.”

“I’m tempted to say you’ll find a way, but that will not help,” she said.

He hesitated, but plunged in anyway. “Why did you break your engagement with Brentmoor?”

She didn’t respond immediately.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Obviously, it is a painful topic, and I intruded.”

“It could have been far worse,” she said.

He frowned. “How so?”

She met his gaze. “I might have married him.”

I might have married him.

Angeline marched into her room, yanked the ribbon loose beneath her chin, and slapped her burgundy velvet bonnet on the bed. She’d owed him no answer at all, but the words had spilled off her tongue. Had she learned nothing?

Upon seeing the maid’s wide eyes, Angeline took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Marie, will you help me with the spencer?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Angeline lifted her chin while the maid helped her out of the tight sleeves. “Thank you, Marie. That will be all.”

After the maid left, Angeline sat on the edge of the bed. Why had she responded to Colin’s question earlier? She ought to have upbraided him for his impertinence. Unfortunately, his question had caught her off guard, and she’d blurted out the words. She’d likely piqued his curiosity, but she’d no intention of satisfying it.

Angeline realized she was overreacting, because she was sensitive about the subject. While his question had been impertinent, she had commiserated with him. She understood all too well how it felt to have a parent dictating one’s decisions, but she swore that when this house party ended, she would move into the dower house where her grandmother once lived. There would be a dustup, but she could not continue to live like a child in her parents’ home. She was thirty-one years old and determined to live independently for the rest of her life. It would not be easy, but she would live comfortably on the trust her grandmother had left for her.

After all that had happened to her, she’d known that marriage was out of the question. She knew how others would view her, but that was nothing new. Angeline intended to make what she could of her life.

A tap sounded, and her mother opened the door. “Angeline, why are you sitting here? I expected you in the drawing room over an hour ago.”

“I just returned from a walk.”

Her mother’s lips thinned. “Gather your sewing basket and join us in the green drawing room.”

Like all ladies, she’d learned the art of needlework at a young age. She was in no mood to sit for hours with her embroidery, but she knew it would be rude if she did not put in an appearance. There was no need to rush, however. “I will join you after I finish this chapter in my novel.”

The duchess arched her slim brows. “Directly, Angeline.”

When the door shut, Angeline inhaled sharply at her mother’s command. To be ordered as if she were a young girl set her teeth on edge. It was one more reason to seek her independence. No matter how much she loved her mother, Angeline could not spend a lifetime beneath her thumb.

Perhaps she would have been better off if she had married Brentmoor, even despite his betrayal. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted for independence. Doubtless Brentmoor would have ignored her in favor of his married mistress. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if she could push the awful memory out of her brain. Of course, she could not have married him after what had transpired. Truth be told, it would have been horrible. Ironically, they had both left England after the scandal erupted. He’d fled his creditors, and she’d fled the gossips.

There was no point in antagonizing her mother by procrastinating any longer. She retrieved her sewing basket and walked to the landing. When she saw her father, she hurried her step. “Papa, wait.”

He frowned. “Is something awry?”

“Oh, no.” She smiled despite his harsh expression. “I was hoping we might—”

“Your mother is expecting you in the drawing room,” he said, and turned away.

Her hand trembled, and she dropped her basket. She knelt, and her eyes blurred as she retrieved the needles and embroidery thread. He’d taught her to play chess and vingt-et-un. They used to read together and discuss books. They had been close, until the awful day she’d broken her engagement. She’d disappointed him, and now he barely spoke to her. A familiar ache settled in her chest. Her father’s rejection hurt one hundred times more than Brentmoor’s betrayal.

Angeline dashed her hand beneath her eyes and rose. She took a deep breath, knowing it was critical that she appear unperturbed in the drawing room. The last thing she wanted was to alert her mother, and she most certainly did not want to worry Penny, who knew little about the awful events that had led the duchess to take Angeline to Paris.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Out of necessity, Angeline had learned to keep her head high, even in the face of condemnation and worse.

When she walked into the drawing room, she greeted everyone and decided to sit with Penny and the twins. The duchess regarded her with lifted brows.

Angeline smiled. “Forgive me for being late. I accidentally dropped my basket.”

“You are here, and that is all that matters,” the marchioness said.

Angeline brought out her sampler and threaded a needle. Her mother insisted that keeping busy helped to lift one’s spirits, but for Angeline, needlework left her with too much time to dwell on the past. She preferred vigorous walks, because she felt free from all the constraints in her life.

“You are quiet, Angeline,” Margaret said.

“Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”

“What were you thinking about?” Bianca asked.

Angeline smiled a little. “That I have not spent time with a needle recently and need to practice my skills. What are you embroidering, Bianca?”

Bianca held up her sampler.

Angeline blinked. She couldn’t make out whether the embroidery represented a tree or an animal. So she settled for an innocuous reply. “Oh, how…unique.”

“It is Hercules,” Bianca said. “I thought I should
immaritalize
him.”

Bernadette elbowed her sister. “Immortalize, you silly goose.”

Penny clapped her hand over her mouth, but a giggle escaped her. “Sorry, Mama,” she said, lowering her chin.

The marchioness smiled. “Do not fret, Penny. Last week, Bianca embroidered a skull and crossbones.”