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

For a disoriented moment, his woolly brain refused to cooperate. He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. Two glasses? In the bedchamber? Had someone else been here?

When the door opened, he stood to face it. A redheaded woman in a rumpled green gown entered. He vaguely recalled meeting her backstage in the actress’s dressing room at the theater the previous night. “What happened?” he asked, his voice croaking.

She huffed. “I should think it bloody obvious.”

Oh, Lord. “Did we…?”

“Are you daft? You were so foxed I couldn’t wake you,” she said. “I had no one to help me undress.”

Relieved, he blew out his breath. Given his inebriated state last night, he doubted he would have been sensible enough to use a French letter. “Sorry, Lila,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “My name is Lottie.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“You were drunk as a sailor,” she said. “That’s how.”

He felt as if a carriage had run over him. “I must beg your pardon, but the landlord doesn’t allow women in the rooms.”

“That didn’t trouble you last night.”

Someone banged on the door, startling him. He met Lottie’s gaze. “Stay here and be silent,” he said.

She scowled. “What? You mean to hide me?”

“Well, yes. Please be quiet,” he said under his breath. “The landlord will fine me if he discovers you here.”

The knocking sounded again, this time more insistent. Colin’s temples throbbed as he walked to the door. “I’m coming,” he called out.

“Not likely,” Lottie said, snickering.

He halted at the ridiculous double entendre and glanced over his shoulder. “Go back into the bedchamber. You can’t be seen here.”

She leaned against the door and grinned. “Tell the landlord I’m your sister.”

He huffed. “I’m sure he’s heard that before.”

Her raspy laughter grated on his nerves. In a thoroughly bad mood, Colin strode across the small parlor and yanked the door open.

His oldest friend, Harry, stood there. “Sorry to wake you, old boy, but it is almost noon.”


“Thank God,” Colin said, ushering his friend inside. “I thought it was the landlord.”

Harry blinked as he clapped eyes on the actress. “Oh, I say, bad timing.”

“Don’t worry,” Colin said. “Lila is just leaving.”

“Lottie,” she said in an exasperated tone. Then she turned her attention to Harry. “You’re a looker.”

Harry took her hand and bowed over it as if she were a grand lady at a ton ball. “Enchanté.”

Colin located his purse and handed her a shilling. “This should cover the cost of a hack.”

She scowled. “You wish to be rid of me?”

“Not at all, madame,” Harry said, ogling her décolletage.

Colin released a loud sigh, rummaged in the purse, and produced another shilling.

She lifted her brows. “Is this all I can expect after staying the entire night?”

“You had the use of a soft bed,” Colin said.

She put her hands on her hips. “I had to keep my gown on.”

Harry eyed the voluptuous actress’s charms. “I suppose it’s more expedient that way.”

“He left his boots on,” Lottie said with a sniff.

Harry shook his head. “Bad form, old boy.”

Colin gave Harry a pointed look. “Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes.” Harry took a letter out of his pocket. “This was mistakenly delivered to my rooms earlier this morning.”

Colin took the letter and regarded Lottie. “I wish you many standing ovations.”

She donned her cloak. “I certainly didn’t get one last night.” With that riposte, she marched out the door.

Harry burst out laughing and collapsed on the cast-off sofa.

“Stubble it,” Colin said. He walked over to the table and broke the seal on the letter. “How much do I owe you for the post?”

“Nothing. You paid mine the last time,” Harry said. “Who sent you a letter?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet.”

“Aren’t you a slow top today,” Harry said.

“I’ve got the bottle ache.” He set the letter aside and rubbed his temples. He’d suffered a lot of bottle aches lately.

“Where’s your man servant? He could make you a concoction.”

“It’s his half day.” Colin added coals to the dying fire. Afterward, he walked to the kitchen, pumped water into a kettle, and returned to the parlor. He measured leaves in the teapot and set the kettle on the hob. While he waited for the water to heat, he opened the letter and scowled.

“Well?” Harry asked.

His nostrils flared. “It’s from my father.”

“What does he say?”

“He requests my presence at Deerfield Park.” Colin rose, slapped the letter on the table, and started pacing. “Damn him.”

Harry lifted his brows. “Is something wrong?”

“There definitely is something bloody damned wrong. My father wants to sell Sommerall.” Colin gritted his teeth at the thought of strangers taking possession.