What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(23)

“Something is wrong,” Angeline said, raising her voice to be heard above the horses’ hooves. “You were elated earlier.”

“I do not wish to shout at you.”

“Very well.” She stood and swayed as the carriage turned.

He was on his feet in an instant. When the carriage hit a bump, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the seat beside him. He inhaled the scent of roses and freshly ironed linen, no doubt from the petticoat. The scents of a woman. Dangerous.

He would hold his breath—or breathe through his mouth.

Her bonnet was askew and her skirt was hiked up, revealing her silk-clad calves. Very long, slender calves. He imagined matching long thighs. No, he would not. This was Angeline—the shrew. He was not attracted to her. But she’d agreed to help him, and he needed her advice.

She tried to pull her skirts down, but obviously she was sitting on half of them.

“Don’t worry, the skirt isn’t going anywhere,” he said.

“It will wrinkle,” she said, squirming.

“Good Lord. Stand up and I’ll hold your waist while you pull down the skirt.”

“You will do no such thing.”

He grinned. “I promise I won’t squeeze.”

Her glare could torch a man—in all the right places.

“Up you go,” he said, placing his hands on the natural curve of her waist. Lord, she had a narrow waistline. As she pulled at her flimsy skirts, she revealed a deliciously rounded bottom. Naturally he imagined his hands on her derriere, and his groin tightened.

After she finished pulling and wiggling to his delight, he took her hand to steady her as she gingerly eased onto the leather seat. “Thank you.”


“My pleasure,” he said, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, all innocence.

She sniffed. “I meant to ask you that question. You were happy at breakfast, but something transpired afterward. You were in a state again.”

He released a gusty sigh. “My father still insists I marry.”

“I think he is testing you,” Angeline said. “It is an unreasonable demand. You might as well ignore it.”

He met her gaze. “There is a new problem. He gave me six weeks to find a bride.”

“That is outrageous,” she said.

“Yes, but my father is adamant.”

“He did, however, approve of the renovation,” she said. “That is a big step.”

“Do you not see the problem? I might spend a fortune and lose the property because I have no bride. All of my efforts might be for naught, except to beggar me.”

She shook her head. “The marquess knows that it is impossible for you to find a suitable wife out in the middle of the country. I think you should set it aside and focus on the house. Once he realizes you are serious and industrious, he will likely extend the time frame for you to find a bride.”

“And if he doesn’t? I can’t take that risk.”

“What else can you do?” she said.

He looked at her. A long moment elapsed. If he married Angeline, all of his troubles would disappear in a snap. But good Lord, Angeline?

She met his gaze, and they both looked away. Had the same thought occurred to her?

After an uncomfortable silence, she said, “I do not envy you.”

“Your parents aren’t pressing you to marry?” he asked.

“I’m not besieged with suitors,” she said. “Frankly, I’m relieved.”

He didn’t believe her. “Oh, come now. Every woman wants to marry. That is what ladies do.”

“I’m not every woman, and I have no intention of marrying.”

“That sounds like pride talking,” he said.

“No, it is me talking.”

“You can’t live independently.”

“My late grandmother left me a fortune. It is in trust, of course, but I can live comfortably enough at the dower house.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You would prefer to live as a spinster rather than marry?”

“That is my plan,” she said, “whether you believe me or not.”

“You are joking.”

“No, I am not.”

“I doubt Wycoff will approve,” he said.

“I am thirty-one years old, as you well know. I do not need his approval.”

“Every lady I have ever met views marriage as the Holy Grail.”

“Not this lady,” she said.

“Do you realize what you’re missing?” he said.

“Such as intemperate and adulterous rakes, rogues, and roués?”

He looked astounded. “You are serious.”

“We need to concentrate on the work that needs to be done. If you worry about the marriage issue, you are likely to feel overwhelmed. Think about accomplishing one thing at a time,” she said.

“Did someone give you that advice?”

“I came to that conclusion myself.” She turned her attention to the window, letting him know she would not elaborate.

She clearly did not wish to discuss her decision, but he thought it odd. He suspected her decision was born of pride and perhaps fear. No doubt her engagement to Brentmoor had caused her more than a little grief.