What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(36)

“You may not believe me, but you did the right thing by crying off.”

She moved a stone. “I knew something was wrong, and I ignored my instincts.” She paused and said, “To my detriment.”

The clock chimed.

“It is very late,” Angeline said. “Shall we retire for the evening?”

He assisted her out of the chair and put away the game. As she quit the room, he wondered anew why she’d ever gotten involved with Brentmoor. The back of his neck prickled. Something had gone terribly wrong. Why else would the duchess have taken her to Paris? Multiple possibilities occurred to him. One made him pause. He’d heard stories about increasing women who fled to the continent to bear a secret child. More often he’d heard of elopements. But all of this was nothing more than conjecture. He hoped for her sake that it was merely betrayal.



The next day, Colin and Angeline traveled early in the morning to Sommerall. Colin wanted to ensure they arrived in a timely manner. The marquess had made arrangements for men to bring a wagon with coal, lanterns, fuel, and tinderboxes to the property along with footmen to move the heavier furnishings and remove the faded carpets.

Angeline put on an apron in preparation for working in the attic. She’d worn sturdy half boots and pulled a mobcap out of her apron pocket. When she stood before the foyer mirror, she slipped on the cap. Colin walked up behind her and snatched it off.

Agnes tied her apron and couldn’t quite hide her smile as she took the hamper and walked toward the breakfast parlor.

“Give the cap to me,” Angeline said, reaching for it.

He stepped back and put the cap behind him.

She ran behind him and tried to grasp the cap, but he held it over his head.

“Give it to me,” she said.

“You must ask politely.”

She scowled. “Please return my cap,” she muttered.

“Muttering is hardly polite.”

She inhaled. “You…you are horrid.”

“Take off that apron,” he said.

She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon? You will not order me about.”

“You will not dress like a maid.”

“Be practical. The attic is bound to be dusty.”

“I forbid it,” he said. “You are a duke’s daughter and a lady.”

“You are ridiculous.” She poked around in her other apron pocket and pulled out her old gardening gloves.

“You will not need them. You may supervise Agnes.”

“I am not a wilting flower, and I most certainly am not afraid of a little dust in the attic. The gloves will protect my hands. I do mean to work. In case you’ve had a memory lapse in the last hour, let me remind you that we have very little time available to us.”

When the clatter of hooves sounded, Colin opened the door and stuffed her ugly cap in his inner coat pocket. “The coal has arrived.”

“I’ll set Agnes to cleaning out the ashes in the hearth.” She hurried up the stairs.

He turned around and admired her bottom as she ascended the steps. What red-blooded man wouldn’t have a look?

The footmen brought in the coals along with lanterns and two tinderboxes. He led them to the drawing room where Agnes finished sweeping and stepped back.

Two other footmen moved the heavy tables and took the carpets to the wagon. The marquess’s steward would ensure the carpets found good homes.

“Agnes, help me put the covers over the furniture,” Angeline said.

Colin shrugged out of his coat and strode over to her. “Take my coat please.” He rolled up his sleeves and noticed Angeline watching him.

He tossed the covers over the furniture, smiled, and took her arm. “Step out into the corridor in the event the flue isn’t working and smoke billows out.”

“You had better come along,” she said. “You don’t want to get your shirt and cravat dirty.”

He leaned down and said under his breath, “I’m a man. We like dirty things.”

She narrowed her eyes and marched out into the corridor. His shoulders shook, and he figured she’d give him a tongue-lashing after the footmen left.

A few minutes later, a weak fire started. Colin held his breath, hoping smoke wouldn’t fill the room. He didn’t even want to consider the damage to the painted ceiling.

With the application of the bellows, a fire crackled and no smoke billowed out into the drawing room. He exhaled. “Success.”

When the footmen stepped back, Angeline instructed Agnes to dust the interior shutters.

Colin made sure she wasn’t paying attention and tossed her ugly cap into the fire. Then he directed the footmen to dump the coal ashes.

Angeline faced him. “I am coming with you to the attic. There is much to be done there, and we will not waste time arguing over the matter.”

Her brows knitted. “Where is my cap?”

He shrugged. “Did you lose it?”

Her eyes narrowed and she held out her palm. “Give it to me.”

“I can’t. It’s gone.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

He shrugged.

“You will pay for this.”

He grinned. “I look forward to your punishment.”

She regarded him suspiciously, as well she should. “No doubt it has something to do with dirt.”