What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(19)

He gritted his teeth. “I will apply myself to the business of choosing a bride next spring during the London season.”

“I’m not inclined to listen to promises you may or may not keep. The answer remains no.”

He forced himself to stay calm. “I am more than willing to wait to occupy Sommerall until I wed, but meanwhile, I wish to see what needs to be done. Surely you cannot object.”

“As a matter of fact, I can and I will,” the marquess said.

“Give me three months to find a bride,” Colin said. It galled him to think of having to make such an important decision so quickly—a lifetime one at that—but he couldn’t let Sommerall pass out of his hands.

The marquess drummed his fingers on his desk. “Have you requested your stepmother’s assistance to find a bride yet?”

“No, but—”

“You have not made any efforts to abide by my conditions for gaining the property. The answer is an unequivocal no.”

Colin would not give up easily. “Very well, I will consult Margaret.” How she would find him a bride mystified Colin, but he had to make the effort.

The marquess stared at him, his eyes piercing into Colin’s. Colin wanted to shift and look away, but he refused to let his father win.


The clock chimed, and the marquess rose. “It is time for breakfast.”

“Father, if you will give me a few more minutes, I will explain my long-term plans.”

“I’ve made myself clear and have no intention of rescinding my decision.” The marquess rounded his desk. “Shall we repair to the dining room?”

Colin thought about strangers trampling over his mother’s grave, and it made him ill. He had nothing to remember her by except a grave, one that ought to be revered. All these years, he’d taken for granted that the property and his mother’s resting place would be there when he was ready to face them. He’d thought he had all the time in the world. Now he was in danger of losing what little he had of his mother.

His hands fisted. There were things he needed to know, things that no one had ever spoken about since his mother’s death. He would not give up, no matter what, because she deserved more than to be forgotten. She deserved to be remembered.



Colin made a point of walking alongside Angeline to church. His father had suggested they walk since the weather was clear. Colin slowed his pace so that he could speak to Angeline privately. “You will no doubt be delighted to know that my father refused,” he said.

Angeline glanced at him. “Why?”

“The same reason,” he said.

“Do not give up,” she said. “We will think of some way to change his mind.”

He wagged his brows. “You don’t happen to know any respectable single lady friends who might wish to wed me?”

She’d not heard from any of her friends since her broken engagement, but she would not tell him that. “Do you think I would recommend a friend marry a notorious rake like you?”

“Perhaps I could reform.”

She snorted.

Once they reached the church, both families filled the pews in the front, designated for the marquess, his family, and his illustrious friends. Colin would have preferred sitting in the last row of pews where he could close his eyes and nap through the sermon. Alas, he was out of luck and found himself jerking to attention after Angeline thrust her elbow into his side.

He leaned closer to her and whispered, “I will exact revenge.”

“You may try.” She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I would not advise it if you wish me to assist you.”

Why was his only hope of help coming from the shrew?



After a nudging from the marchioness, the marquess invited Reverend Quimby and his wife to dine at Deerfield that evening. Colin escorted Angeline and sat between her and Mrs. Quimby. That lady continually tittered about her good fortune to be seated next to such a handsome gentleman as Lord Ravenshire. Angeline reminded herself not to roll her eyes, but it was difficult when Mrs. Quimby monopolized all of Colin’s attention. Meanwhile, Angeline was stuck making polite conversation with Reverend Quimby, who spoke at length and in minute detail about his plans for a spring garden. By the time the trifle arrived, Angeline was fighting the urge to yawn.

At long last, the marchioness led the ladies to the drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed their port. Angeline smiled when Bianca persuaded Penny to play a duet with her on the pianoforte while Bernadette turned the pages.

Mrs. Quimby approached with clasped hands. “Lady Angeline, we have yet to have a coze. Shall we repair to the window seat?”

“Of course.”

After they were seated, Angeline turned to Mrs. Quimby. “I understand you are new to the neighborhood. I assume Mr. Quimby came into the living recently.”

“Yes, we have been here only three months,” she said. “We were in Hampshire previously. Mr. Quimby’s second cousin has a lovely property there. Are you acquainted with Baron Overton?”

Clearly Mrs. Quimby wished to brag about her connections. “No, I am not,” Angeline said, tapping the toe of her slipper.

“Harwell is a very fine property, indeed,” Mrs. Quimby continued. “In fact, I just had a letter from Lady Overton this week.”

Now would be a good time to excuse herself, but when she attempted to speak, Mrs. Quimby interrupted her. “There is another property near Harwell, though not as grand. Do you know Woodham Hall?”