What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(6)

Wycoff drew in a breath. “Still chasing the lightskirts?”

“Am I supposed to answer that?”

The duke laughed. “Sounds like an affirmative to me.”

He cleared his throat. “I try to be discreet.”

The duke raised his brows. “It’s not working.”

In an effort to change the topic, Colin said, “May I freshen your drink?”

“No, thank you,” Wycoff said. “I’ll join your father on a comfortable chair and try not to doze as I’m wont to do.”

Colin bowed and watched the duke walk away. Angeline attempted to intercept him, but he ignored her. Colin frowned. It seemed odd to him, but he shrugged it off.

He meant to remain at the sideboard, but Margaret sought him out. “Angeline has agreed to play the pianoforte,” she said. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to turn the pages for her.”

Short of claiming a sudden case of the ague, he could hardly refuse. “Yes, of course,” he said, and strode over to the instrument where Angeline removed one of her gloves. He’d forgotten her long slender fingers. Then again, why should he remember them? He shook off the odd thought and stood there waiting for her to begin playing.

“Will you set up the sheet music?” she said, fumbling with the other glove.

“Yes, I will.” He frowned. “Are you vexed?”

“Of course not,” she said.

He suspected she was lying. “What will you play?”

“Grimstock,” she said, handing the sheets to him.

He leaned over her shoulder and placed the pages side by side. “How appropriate considering you are looking rather grim,” he said under his breath.

“I haven’t played in ages. I fear this will be excruciating for me and everyone listening.”

“It’s a bit late to decline now.”

“I will play when I am ready,” she said in a testy voice.

“As you please, but there’s no need to snap at me. I might add that the sooner you play, the quicker the misery will be over.”

“I do not play that badly,” she said.

He clasped his hands behind his back and said nothing.

“I am competent,” she said.

“Of course you are,” he said, trying very hard not to laugh.

“You are perfectly horrid and so is my playing,” she said.

“At long last, something we agree upon.” He’d forgotten the ease with which they sparred with one another. It was like verbal chess.

“Do not torment me,” she said. “I might avenge myself by playing more than one piece.”

“In that case, I am overwhelmed by your talent—at least for the duration of this one exhibition.”

She pressed the ivory keys lightly. “I must concentrate.”

When he turned the page, she leaned forward a bit and pressed a discordant note, but she managed to recover.

After a few moments, he said, “I saw you speaking to my stepmother.”


Angeline kept her eyes on the sheet music. “The marchioness enumerated your many positive qualities.”

He smiled. “Did she now? What did she say?”

“Hmmm. She said you drink like a fish and have a string of previous lovers who are permanently heartbroken over losing your affections.”

“Margaret would never disparage me.”

“So you deny you’re a rake?” Angeline said, her tone challenging.

“My reputation is somewhat embellished.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I rather doubt it.”

“Why should you doubt me? You’ve no proof.”

“I’m well acquainted with the type,” she said. “I imagine you’ve heard.”

He leaned over her again and straightened the sheet music. “I’m not Brentmoor.”

She played a wrong note and grimaced.

“Sorry.” He shouldn’t have said that. It had probably been a painful experience for her. “You’re fine, keep playing.”

“That’s rich. Encouragement from a rake.”

He was tempted to defend himself, but it wouldn’t change the truth. Good God, he’d gotten so foxed in his rooms he’d passed out with his boots on and forgotten the actress he’d taken home. But in the world of London, there were rakes and there were disgusting scoundrels. He’d never sunk so low as the latter.

The duchess raised her voice. “Angeline, you must focus.”

Angeline’s mouth thinned as if she were struggling with her reaction. The duchess was a formidable woman, with a very strict interpretation of the proprieties. That brought to mind Brentmoor.

Colin could not fathom how Angeline had gotten involved with that roué. He wondered why Wycoff hadn’t put his foot down with his daughter. Why hadn’t he forbidden her to have anything to do with a known libertine? It made no sense.

Granted, he was a rake, but he kept his distance from virtuous ladies, mostly because he prized his bachelorhood.

Angeline faltered again.

Colin marked the way she winced and figured her mother’s reproof had rattled her. But he found it odd. Angeline had never been a wilting flower. When she played another wrong note, he leaned closer and said, “Relax, my stepmother is distracting the duchess as we speak.”