What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(27)

As they walked into the breakfast parlor, the aroma of fresh bread filled the air. Colin’s stomach growled, making them both laugh. “We might as well eat now,” she said. Then she opened the hamper and unwrapped the cloth keeping the bread warm.

Agnes appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “My lady, I await your instructions.”

“You must be hungry.”

“If it pleases your ladyship, I’ll duck out to the barn and eat with John.”

After she left, Angeline frowned. “It is a long walk to the barn.”

“The alternative is to join us, and you know she would be uncomfortable. John will welcome her company.”

“You’re right, of course.”

He opened up the hamper and retrieved a container of lemonade and two glasses. They sat next to each other where there was a patch of warm sun that made her want to curl up like a cat. They dined on cold chicken, ham, cheese, bread, and biscuits for dessert.

“Would you care for more chicken?” he asked.

She placed her hand over her stomach. “I’m full and fear I’ll be lethargic all afternoon if I eat any more. May I serve the rest to you?”

“Lord, no. I’m stuffed.”

She started packing the food, and he set the plates inside the basket. When she handed him the leftover bread wrapped in a cloth, their hands brushed. The accidental touch stirred something inside of her. She caught him looking at her with slightly parted lips. Then he took a deep breath and looked away.

Angeline told herself she was imagining the heightened awareness between them. At any rate, she could not afford to make a misstep. He was a family friend, and she was here only to assist him. Nothing else could or would ever transpire between them.

Unbidden, she recalled his strength as he’d swung that ax two days ago and the dark hair on his chest and forearms. He was the sort of man who made women forget to breathe, but she reminded herself that he was a rake, a man who pursued pleasure first and foremost. There were probably dozens of women he’d left in his wake. She’d made one bad mistake; she had no intention of making another.

When she closed the hamper, there was an awkward silence.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we investigate the drawing room now?”

“Yes, I’m curious to see what we’ll find.”

When he offered his arm, she took it and immediately discerned warmth from his body and the scent of him. She glanced at his profile. Although she was tall, he still towered over her. The cleft chin, straight nose, and strong jawline were familiar and yet somehow more pronounced. One dark curl fell just above his brow. She remembered that he’d despised his wavy hair, but his untamable curls were definitely part of his appeal.

After they reached the landing, he led her inside a drawing room. She surveyed the overall space and thought it had potential. “The carpet escaped fading here,” she said.


He opened shutters. “You can see the reason.”

“It is unfortunate they weren’t used in the other rooms.”

He leaned his head back. “The ceiling appears to be in good shape.”

She looked up as well. “Is that a portrayal of Hercules?”

“I’m unsure.”

“Your sisters will be delighted if you tell them it is.”

“Well, let’s not tell them yet,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll hound me, if you’ll forgive the pun, to let them see it.”

He went to investigate the fireplace and squatted.

If she was a proper lady, she would not dare admire his bottom, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“The hearth has a hob grate. You can heat a kettle,” he said.

“You would ring for a maid.”

He rose. “I didn’t care about the basket grate in the anteroom, but I like to make tea on the hob.”

She stared at him. “You do it?”

“I only have one manservant in my rooms at the Albany,” he said. “On his half day, I have to do for myself.”

“You’re joking,” she said.

He turned to her. “No, but tea is the limit of my domestic talents.”

“Your resourcefulness will see you through the transformation of your house.”

“It isn’t mine, and may never be.”

He’d sounded a bit testy. She ought to be more careful with her words.

“My guess was right,” she said. “The furnishings are Georgian.”

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“The oval cushions and the red damask fabric covering the chair and settee are distinctive of the period.” She walked to the wall. “Mark the wainscoting. In the previous century, it was used to protect the walls from the chairs. These days no one uses such an arrangement.”

“The furniture is entirely too feminine. I need something sturdier.”

“Your future bride might like it.”

He fisted his hands on his hips. “Why do I suspect you are purposely trying to needle me?”

She bit back a smile. “Since you have no immediate plans to occupy the house, I recommend you keep the present furnishings. You may find there are more pressing issues that need immediate attention.”

“Let us go up to the bedchambers,” he said.