What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(20)

“No, I do not.” The woman’s conversation was boring in the extreme.

“A young man has inherited the property. Lady Overton said he is quite handsome or so I have heard. Oh, dear, his name is escaping me. How could I forget?”

“There is no need to fret,” Angeline said. “I’m sure it will come to you.”

The marchioness hurried to the window seat. “Angeline, will you play for us?”

“Of course.” She would do anything to escape Mrs. Quimby’s dull conversation, but she must be polite. “Thank you for the coze, Mrs. Quimby.”

As Angeline walked away, she looked at Margaret. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Mrs. Quimby means well, but she has a tendency to prattle,” Margaret said.

Angeline thought that an understatement as she sat at the pianoforte. Tonight she was relaxed, and as a result, she made fewer mistakes. She’d never had the discipline to practice and had never concerned herself about it. Ladies were expected to have accomplishments such as playing, singing, sewing, and dancing. She’d never taken any of it seriously. Instead, she’d delighted her father by playing chess with him and discussing philosophy, but those days were over. Each time she thought of it, another little piece of her heart crumbled. She wished there were a way she could redeem herself, but she held little hope of that.

At least in one respect, she’d proved her mother wrong. No amount of strict adherence to proper womanly behavior would ever land her a husband. Her mother would swoon for the first time in her life if she knew Angeline’s plans for the future, but a spinster existence was preferable to becoming dependent upon her parents or her brother and his wife. She could well imagine her family’s reaction, but it was her life. Eventually, they would reconcile themselves to her decision.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies, Angeline willingly abandoned the pianoforte. She grew a bit alarmed upon seeing Mrs. Quimby hurrying in her direction. Once again, Margaret intervened by inviting Mrs. Quimby to exhibit her musical skills. The reverend’s wife exclaimed at some length over the great compliment the marchioness had bestowed upon her by asking her to play. “Of course I will oblige and hope that my meager talent is satisfactory,” Mrs. Quimby said, her voice overly loud.

Glad to be free of Mrs. Quimby, Angeline decided to join Colin. He was leaning against the sideboard, looking every inch the bored aristocrat, with snowy white cravat and brandy in hand. His tight trousers were molded to his thighs and other manly attributes no lady should ever notice—or admit to noticing.

Angeline noticed. Heaven above.

She had better direct her eyes elsewhere. “Why are you looking so glum?” she said.

“You will find far more congenial company than me this evening.”

He meant to warn her off, but she wanted to know what had transpired when he’d spoken to his father.

Colin poured another brandy and gulped it down.

Angeline wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t brandy meant to be savored?”

“So is a victory, but alas, I am defeated.”

She stepped closer. “Your father refused?”

“How very perceptive of you.” He set the glass aside.


“He still insists you marry.”

“Yes. However, I met with Margaret. She agreed to speak to my father, but I am far from encouraged.”

“You mustn’t give up,” she said. “He will capitulate after Margaret tells him to be sensible.”

“Perhaps you’re correct. I am not, however, holding my breath.”

“Did your father disapprove of my involvement?”

“No, he thought it generous of you, but he dismissed my offer to check out the interior of the house. Unless Margaret can persuade him, I’m doomed to lose Sommerall.”

“I think Margaret will turn the tide,” Angeline said. “For what it is worth, I am anxious as well to get started. I need a real occupation for a change.”

He smiled a little. “As opposed to your feigned ones?”

“I have never been content to bask in quiet contemplation while busying myself with a needle. To be honest, I am going mad after only a few days.”

“You prefer to walk and be active,” he said.

She preferred to use the brain in her head. “It is the one time I am unconstrained by society’s expectations of females.”

“When have you ever followed rules, Angeline?”

Her face burned. “Excuse me.”

He caught her arm. “It was meant as a compliment. You are unconventional, and a rarity among women because of it.”

“You cannot be unaware of what that cost me.”

He closed the distance between them. “I have every confidence you can rise above it,” he said under his breath.

A complimentary sentiment, but it would change nothing.

When he searched her face, she was drawn to his golden brown eyes and felt the pull of his will. She wet her dry lips and only succeeded in drawing his gaze to her mouth. The music and the voices in the drawing room receded. She felt as if he were mesmerizing her. When his thick black lashes lowered to her breasts, she felt as if he’d managed to touch her with his gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt breathless.

This was madness. She was caught up in a rake’s seductive game in a drawing room where both of their families and the local vicar all sat in plain view. She had to break this spell he’d cast over her. God help her, she could not afford this madness, and yet, when he took her arm, she acquiesced because something inside of her yearned to be closer to him, to let the masculine scents of sandalwood and something unique to him envelope her. In that moment, she had more than an inkling of what she would be giving up if she chose independence. But she knew it would be highly unlikely she would have a choice. She would revel in this stolen moment and allow herself the pleasure of Colin’s escort.