What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(12)

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.