What a Reckless Rogue Needs Page 8

  “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.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “It is kind of you, but there is no reason to worry.” Of course, she would never admit how many times she had gone over the events in her mind. She’d pinned the exact moment when Brentmoor joined her group at Vauxhall, uninvited. The lanterns had added a little ambiance as they’d walked along. When he’d dared her to set foot on the dark walk, she’d refused and dismissed him from her thoughts. That had not deterred his single-minded courtship, but it marked their first encounter, one she wished she could expunge permanently from her brain.

  As time went on, Brentmoor had uttered all the right words and persuaded her that he was a changed man because of her, and yet, somewhere deep inside there had always been a seed of doubt. She’d ignored it to her detriment.

  “You seem pensive,” Colin said.

  She didn’t want to waste the day thinking about Brentmoor. “I’ve had more time to ruminate than I ever wished. Today I’m going to make myself useful. Hopefully we will encounter a great deal of potential and very few problems.” Belatedly, she realized she’d revealed too much and made herself seem pathetic. So she added, “Mind, I rarely waste time ruminating.” Liar.

  “I’m grateful for your assistance,” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve been inside. It feels strange,” he said.

  Twenty-five years had elapsed. She hadn’t considered that he might feel apprehensive about entering the house, but it would be perfectly natural. He’d been only six years old when his mother had died, and his father had never returned here.

  “Whatever we find, promise you won’t be disappointed,” Angeline said.

  “To be honest, I expect the house will need numerous repairs. Whatever is wrong can be righted.” He paused and added, “Hopefully.”

  Colin opened a door and led her inside the anteroom. There was a dusty marble fireplace and a large bookcase—floor to ceiling. After he set the hamper on the floor, he pulled back the covers over a large round mahogany table.

  “It is in excellent condition,” she said.

  “The carpet beneath is faded,” he said.

  “That should have been rolled up and stored.”

  “I believe my father left in some haste after my mother’s funeral.”

  She felt a pinch in her chest at his words. Despite the many years that had elapsed, he must feel the void. Even in her exile to Paris, she’d read the news in English scandal sheets where his barely concealed identity and exploits were so easily discerned and served up a few weeks old like warmed-over gossip.

  Angeline motioned Agnes and set her to dusting the anteroom. “There’s a sturdy ladder by the shelves. When you’re done, find me.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She turned to Colin. “We’ll need at least two footmen to lift the table and someone to move the carpet.”

  With a sigh, Colin pulled out his notebook and pencil. “I’ll request the help of footmen or tenants.”

  “I could make the notations while you inspect,” she said.

  “Very well.” He gave her the notebook and pencil. Then he looked about. “There are marks on the walls where paintings must have hung.”

  “Do you recall the paintings at all?” she said.

  He shook his head. “It was long ago, and I was too young to pay attention. I imagine they’re in the attic.” He walked over to the fireplace. “There are no coals in the bin. Lord only knows what might be in that chimney.” He opened a tinderbox. “It’s empty. I’ll have to bring one the next time and see about having coals delivered. That way I can test the chimneys for any issues.”

  She finished scribbling her notes and turned to the maid. Angeline noted the marks on the black-and-white checkerboard marble floor. It needed scrubbing. The carpets and the runners on the stairs were probably dusty and possibly faded as well, but for now, she would focus on the ground floor.

  Colin looked up at the chandelier. “Cobwebs.”

  Angeline shuddered.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I hate spiders.”

  Devilment showed in his eyes as he walked his fingers along her arm.

  She swatted his hand. “Stop that.”

  His deep chuckle called to a wicked place inside of her.

  “Speaking of cobwebs, you’ll need someone to clean the chandelier,” she said, adding that to her list.

  “This way,” he said, indicating another room on the ground floor.

  “Behold, the breakfast parlor,” he said as they entered.

  She removed the covers, and he set the hamper on the bare table.

  He pulled a chair back. “The cushions are faded.”

  “I noticed the drapes are as well,” she said. “Before refurbishing anything, we should check to see if there are external blinds. If not, you’ll need to have them installed to protect furnishings and carpets from the sun.”

  “Won’t that make it awfully dim?” he said.

  “You’ll want it primarily for summer, and the blinds can be withdrawn up a pelmet when not in use.”

  “There are shutters,” he said, “but they need to be repaired.” He sighed. “We’ve barely started, but it’s clear the work is going to be far more involved than I’d expected.”

  “We don’t know the condition of the drawing room,” she said. “It’s possible the furnishings and carpets there are in better shape.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “Once we’ve had a chance to inspect everything, we can decide which projects have the highest priority.”

  He’d used the word we three times.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I assumed you wished to continue to be involved, but you shouldn’t feel obligated.”

  “I look forward to the challenge.” She already felt purposeful, and as a result her spirits had risen.

  “It’s ob
vious the place has been neglected,” he said. “I still can’t figure out what prompted my father’s sudden urge to sell.”

  “Someone expressed interest,” she said.

  “Yes, but I’d wager it wasn’t the first time,” Colin said. “I think my father is bent on marching me to the altar.”

  “The offer must have been attractive. The house hasn’t been kept in good order and has stood empty for all these years. Has he ever returned here?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “He obviously cannot bear to return, and he has no surety that you will occupy it anytime soon.”

  “I always assumed it would be mine,” he said.

  “I know it is difficult,” she said, “but he relented today. It is far from hopeless.”

  He shrugged. “It is the first time my father has ever let go of control.”

  “Forgive me for prying, but have you ever asked if you might be of assistance?”

  “I gave up years ago,” he said. “He used to take me with him when he visited the tenants, but he’s the sort of man who feels only he can do something. One of the reasons I’ve stayed away from Deerfield is because I’ve felt useless. My father will speak of what has to be done, but he won’t allow me to take over any of the responsibilities. It’s provoking.”

  “He allowed it today,” she said. “That’s a start in the right direction.”

  “Yes, but now I find myself suspicious that he has yet another plan he intends to spring on me.”

  She frowned. “When did you become so pessimistic?”

  “If I expect the worst, I’m never disappointed.”

  “But then you are never pleased, either,” she said.

  “Point taken.”

  Belatedly, she realized she was a hypocrite, but her pessimism was based on real events, not potential ones. She had plans to take control of her life. It would not be easy, because her family would not approve, but she would do it.

  He indicated a corridor to the left. “Let’s have a look in there.”

  He opened the door, and she walked inside.

  “It’s a study,” she said.

  There were covers over a desk, a standing globe, and bookshelves that reached the ceiling. He watched as she opened the drapes to discover a bay window.

  “There is excellent light in here. I should think you would enjoy working here.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Yes, the light shows all the dust on the shelves and uncovered side tables.”

  “Do you recall this room at all?” she asked.

  He sent the globe spinning. “I remember this. I thought it was a giant top at first. My father pointed out the different countries. He would quiz me to see if I remembered.”

  “Did you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes, I learned quite a few of them. I liked Italy the best because it looked like a boot.”

  She walked to the bay window again. “There is a lovely prospect of the grounds,” she said.

  He walked directly behind her. The wind scattered gold and orange autumn leaves. The faint scent of rose soap lingered on her skin. It felt almost intimate to stand so near to her.

  “I could grow attached to this room quickly,” he said.

  She stepped away and said in an overly cheerful voice, “Shall we lift the covers off the desk?”

  He wondered if he made her a little nervous. With a shrug, he pulled off the covers. There was a stand with two inkwells and four ball feet. “Clever that it rolls,” he said. His brows furrowed as he picked up the quill. “It has never been used.” Perhaps it was an indication of his father’s haste to leave all those years ago.

  He opened desk drawers and closed them.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” she asked.

  “Everything is empty.” He didn’t mention the miniature of his mother. Perhaps he would tell her later, but not now.

  “I’m sure your father would have taken important papers and correspondence,” Angeline said.

  Colin strode over to the sideboard. Inside he found a decanter and glasses. When he removed the stopper, he sniffed. “Brandy.”

  She arched her brows. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

  He laughed, poured a finger in a glass, and offered it to her. “For the discerning lady.”

  “Ladies do not drink strong spirits.”

  “Coward,” he said with a laugh.

  “If you think that taunting me will work, you are wrong,” she said.

  He leaned against the sideboard and swirled the brandy. “You’ve no idea what you’re missing.”

  “Well, then I won’t miss it. Now, if you are done trying to tempt me, which will never work, I suggest we have a look at the principle drawing room—or is there more than one?”

  He finished off the brandy. “I’ve no idea.”

  “Perhaps you will recall more about the house as we explore,” she said.

  He scoffed. “Or find buried treasures.”

  “You are entirely too cynical,” she said, marching out of the study. “It will spoil your appetite.”

  He watched her round little bottom and said, “My appetite is definitely whetted.”

  As they walked into the breakfast parlor, the aroma of fresh bread filled the air. Colin’s stomach growled, making them both laugh. “We might as well eat now,” she said. Then she opened the hamper and unwrapped the cloth keeping the bread warm.

  Agnes appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “My lady, I await your instructions.”

  “You must be hungry.”

  “If it pleases your ladyship, I’ll duck out to the barn and eat with John.”

  After she left, Angeline frowned. “It is a long walk to the barn.”

  “The alternative is to join us, and you know she would be uncomfortable. John will welcome her company.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  He opened up the hamper and retrieved a container of lemonade and two glasses. They sat next to each other where there was a patch of warm sun that made her want to curl up like a cat. They dined on cold chicken, ham, cheese, bread, and biscuits for dessert.

  “Would you care for more chicken?” he asked.

  She placed her hand over her stomach. “I’m full and fear I’ll be lethargic all afternoon if I eat any more. May I serve the rest to you?”

  “Lord, no. I’m stuffed.”

  She started packing the food, and he set the plates inside the basket. When she handed him the leftover bread wrapped in a cloth, their hands brushed. The accidental touch stirred something inside of her. She caught him looking at her with slightly parted lips. Then he took a deep breath and looked away.

  Angeline told herself she was imagining the heightened awareness between them. At any rate, she could not afford to make a misstep. He was a family friend, and she was here only to assist him. Nothing else could or would ever transpire between them.

  Unbidden, she recalled his strength as he’d swung that ax two days ago and the dark hair on his chest and forearms. He was the sort of man who made women forget to breathe, but she reminded herself that he was a rake, a man who pursued pleasure first and foremost. There were probably dozens of women he’d left in his wake. She’d made one bad mistake; she had no intention of making another.

  When she closed the hamper, there was an awkward silence.

  He cleared his throat. “Shall we investigate the drawing room now?”

  “Yes, I’m curious to see what we’ll find.”

  When he offered his arm, she took it and immediately discerned warmth from his body and the scent of him. She glanced at his profile. Although she was tall, he still towered over her. The cleft chin, straight nose, and strong jawline were familiar and yet somehow more pronounced. One dark curl fell just above his brow. She remembered that he’d despised his wavy hair, but his untamable curls were definitely part of his appeal.

  After they reached the landing, he led her inside a drawing room. She surveyed the overall space and thought
it had potential. “The carpet escaped fading here,” she said.

  He opened shutters. “You can see the reason.”

  “It is unfortunate they weren’t used in the other rooms.”

  He leaned his head back. “The ceiling appears to be in good shape.”

  She looked up as well. “Is that a portrayal of Hercules?”

  “I’m unsure.”

  “Your sisters will be delighted if you tell them it is.”

  “Well, let’s not tell them yet,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll hound me, if you’ll forgive the pun, to let them see it.”

  He went to investigate the fireplace and squatted.

  If she was a proper lady, she would not dare admire his bottom, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  “The hearth has a hob grate. You can heat a kettle,” he said.

  “You would ring for a maid.”

  He rose. “I didn’t care about the basket grate in the anteroom, but I like to make tea on the hob.”

  She stared at him. “You do it?”

  “I only have one manservant in my rooms at the Albany,” he said. “On his half day, I have to do for myself.”

  “You’re joking,” she said.

  He turned to her. “No, but tea is the limit of my domestic talents.”

  “Your resourcefulness will see you through the transformation of your house.”

  “It isn’t mine, and may never be.”

  He’d sounded a bit testy. She ought to be more careful with her words.

  “My guess was right,” she said. “The furnishings are Georgian.”

  “How can you tell?” he asked.

  “The oval cushions and the red damask fabric covering the chair and settee are distinctive of the period.” She walked to the wall. “Mark the wainscoting. In the previous century, it was used to protect the walls from the chairs. These days no one uses such an arrangement.”

  “The furniture is entirely too feminine. I need something sturdier.”

  “Your future bride might like it.”

  He fisted his hands on his hips. “Why do I suspect you are purposely trying to needle me?”

  She bit back a smile. “Since you have no immediate plans to occupy the house, I recommend you keep the present furnishings. You may find there are more pressing issues that need immediate attention.”