What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(31)

Thank goodness, she’d diverted him. “Perhaps the cook at Deerfield can spare a bit of time to look over the kitchen. I’ll speak to Margaret about it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Once I determine for certain that the basic structure of the house is sound, I’ll see about painting.”

“You may wish to consult the architect who drew the plans and hired the workers when we made over the principle rooms at Worthington Abbey. Mr. Rotherby is highly praised for his designs and innovation.”

“I suspect his services are beyond my financial means,” Colin said.

“There’s no harm in listening to his suggestions and getting an estimate for the work. You will not be obliged.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I fear this will be a waste of time.”

Her mouth twitched.

He frowned. “What do you find so amusing?”

“Come with me,” she said, opening the door to the bedchamber that she assumed had belonged to his father years ago.

“Angeline, what are you about?”

“There is no need to worry. I’ve no intention of seducing you.”

He sighed theatrically. “What a pity.”

“You will have to look elsewhere for sympathy.” She took him over to the shaving stand. “Have a look in the glass.”

“My hair is even more of a disheveled, curly mess than usual.” He met her gaze in the mirror. “When I was a lad, I used to spit in my hands and try to wet down the curls.”

She laughed. “Eww.”

“I’m tempted now.”

“For whose benefit? I do not care if your hair is standing on end.” Liar.

He turned and clutched his hands to his heart. “Woe is me.”

She would never tell him that his unruly curls only added to his masculine appeal.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. It was a knee-weakening, toe-curling rake’s smile meant to disarm a lady. She was, of course, impervious to him. Well, maybe not completely.

“You’re a bit disheveled, too,” he said.

“What?” She walked over to the shaving mirror.

“Got you,” he said, laughing.

She spun around. “You’re as horrid as a little boy.”

“I may be horrid, but I’m no boy.”

“You’re in luck. I find you mildly tolerable today.”

“Lucky me,” he said, beginning to close the distance between them.

She tried to ignore the husky note in his voice, but the deep sound hummed inside her. Tension hung in the air, and unbidden, she recalled the way his muscles had strained while he’d wielded that ax. She dared not let him know how he’d affected her.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

Now she couldn’t breathe, because he was too close and the scent of him swirled all around her.

“I find you charming today.”

She took a step back and lifted her chin. “It will wear off quickly.”

He took another step. There was a languorous expression in his eyes. She might have noticed the amber hues in them, but only because she was perceptive by nature. Drat it all. Why couldn’t he have a long nose, pointed chin, and no muscles at all? And why after all these years did she find him irresistible?

He advanced again. Now his boots were inches away from the toes of her slippers.

She took two more steps back and bumped against the mattress.

He closed his big hand around the bedpost and his gaze flickered briefly to her décolletage. Her breasts felt heavier, and her nipples tightened. The sound of his breath was faster and a little rough. She was drawn to his full lower lip. Something inside of her gave way to desire. She wanted to be closer to him.

As if he could read her thoughts, he closed the scant distance between them. He angled his head and looked into her eyes. “Is this surrender?”

The sensual haze cleared, and she glared at him. Outrageous man. How dare he look at her bosom? Angeline straightened her spine. “Do you think I am intimidated by you?”

“Not at all.” He wagged his brows. “Those two steps back were merely dance steps. Am I correct?”

She closed the distance between them in an effort to assert herself, but she realized the disadvantage immediately. While she was tall for a lady, he was easily half a head taller and much too close. He filled her senses and belatedly she realized she’d invited a rake into a bedchamber. Had she lost her wits?

“You are a shameless libertine.”


His chest shook with laughter. “Not entirely shameless. I’ve had one or two guilt-ridden moments, but fortunately they dissipated quickly.” His gaze slid over her body. “I suspect you’ve been told many times how very beautiful you are.”

She knew it was a rake’s trick to murmur sweet words and tempt a lady to loosen her morals, but he looked at her with intent. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and that drew his attention. She’d inadvertently signaled she wanted a kiss, but of course she would rather kiss a snake.

Tension vibrated between them. Now was the moment to step away, but she stood rooted to the spot as if her feet were mired in a bog.

He reached for her nape, just as the knocker downstairs rapped repeatedly.

She gasped, and they sprang apart.

Rake that he was, he winked and said, “Saved by the knocker.”