What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2) By Vicky Dreiling
To my late father, Benny Gregory. Miss you, Daddy.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Michele Bidelspach for your insightful comments. You’re an amazing editor.
To Lucienne Diver for all the guidance, fantastic ideas, and fun, too. I know how lucky I am.
To everyone at The Knight Agency—you guys rock.
To Kati Rodriguez for knowing exactly what I need before I know it. You continue to wow me with your ideas and suggestions.
To all the team at Forever Romance for the fantastic covers and great ideas.
Huge thanks to Carrie Andrews—best copy editor ever!
Most important of all, I wish to thank all the readers who let me know you enjoy my books. May the Magic Romance Fairies be with you.
Prologue
Eton, December 1798
Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, was only eight years old, but he knew bad things could happen.
He sat on a hard bench with the other boys waiting to go home. Normally, the boys were boisterous and bawdy, but under the stern eye of the headmaster, they fell silent, save for the occasional sneeze and cough. Most everyone had already left for Christmas holidays, including his friend Harry. Each time the door opened, frigid wind swirled inside, and even a warm coat and supple leather gloves were insufficient to block the miserable draft.
Footsteps stamped outside again, the sound a prelude to the door opening. Colin held his breath, but someone else’s father arrived. Where could his papa be? His chest felt hollow inside, but he mustn’t let on that he was scared, because the older boys would taunt him.
The door opened, letting in a cold blast of wind, and another boy jumped up, this time to leave with a servant. Colin’s stomach knotted up. He hoped it was Papa who came to the door, not a footman. The hollow place in his chest made him feel alone and scared, but he clasped his hands together and forced himself to hold all the fear deep down where no one could see it. He had to do it or the older boys would sniff it on him like day-old sweat and make his life hell when the term started after the holidays. He’d learned to duck the older, bigger ones and use his fists to defend himself when he couldn’t get away.
Sometimes he welcomed the fights, because it let him pound out all the fury and frustration inside of him. Two years ago, his papa had told him the angels had taken Mama to heaven. He’d been old enough to understand that she’d died and wouldn’t come back, no matter how much he’d prayed for a miracle.
Now it was getting later, and there were only three boys left, including him. What would he do if Papa died and no one came for him? Would he have to stay at school all by himself? Papa had told him there was nothing to fear, but he had to clasp his shaky hands together even harder.
He must be brave. That’s what Papa had told him when he first came to Eton. Colin made himself hold all the scared feelings inside, even though his chest hurt.
The door opened again. Colin held his breath once more and let it out in a whoosh when he saw his father. He grabbed his satchel and jumped to his feet.
“Are you ready to come home?” his father said, smiling.
He nodded. Papa’s hand on his shoulder made him feel safe, and he hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. They walked out, and a few snow flurries swirled in the air. He tried to catch one on his tongue as they walked down the steps to the waiting carriage. He climbed inside, and Papa gave him a woolen rug to keep him warm. The carriage rolled off, and the clatter of the horses’ hooves along with the motion made him sleepy. Papa put his arm around him, and he sagged against him.
It was dark when Papa woke him in the carriage and took him inside the inn. He was so very tired he didn’t remember anything until Papa woke him the next morning. After he washed and dressed, Papa took him downstairs for breakfast. Colin’s stomach growled like a dog, and he ate every bite of his eggs and toast. Papa laughed and mussed his hair.
Then a man called a porter took their bags to the waiting carriage. Colin climbed inside, and after Papa sat beside him, he took a deep breath. “There is something I must prepare you for.”
Colin stiffened. When grown people said things like that, it meant something bad.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” Papa said.
He held his breath anyway.
“You have a new mother,” Papa said.
He let out his breath, but he was confused. “Where did she come from?”
“I met her while you were at school. She is my wife and your stepmother,” Papa said. “She will live with us.”
He didn’t want a stepmama. He wanted his mother.
“All will be well, son.”
He didn’t believe it. Nothing would ever be well again. His mama had died and left him.
“You will meet her today,” Papa said.
Colin felt as if the bottom of the carriage had dropped away.
Chapter One
London, 1821, The Albany
Colin awoke with an aching head and his tongue as dry as the Arabian Desert. He must’ve drunk enough claret last night to fill the bloody Thames.
He sat up on the edge of the mattress, only to realize he’d slept in his boots. A ray of sunshine speared through the drapes, blinding him. He shaded his eyes and turned away. The remnants of his drunken spree sat on a chest: two glasses and three bottles.