What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(8)

Colin bid the guests good night as they retired for the evening. The marquess had not moved from his spot on the sofa. As usual, Margaret was straightening the cushions, something she ought to leave for the servants. Then she pulled a stool over to her husband.

“Margaret,” the marquess said in a warning tone.

She hesitated. “I thought you might wish to put your feet up now that the guests are gone.”

Colin sat in a winged chair and leaned forward. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“I’ll keep it,” the marquess said.

Good Lord. His father was like a child. He hadn’t wanted the stool until he realized someone else did.

Margaret curtsied. “Well, I’ll leave you to your discussion.”

“You may expect me in half an hour, Margaret.”

Colin brushed at the nonexistent lint on his trousers. Did his father have to announce his intention to bed his wife in front of him?

After she left, the marquess polished off a brandy and regarded him with amusement. “Did you think I’ve become so ancient that I’ve lost my virility?”

He turned his head aside. “I don’t want to know your intimate business.”

“Are you blushing?” Of course he wasn’t, but damnation, no man wanted to know about his father’s marital relations. “I’m here because you requested my presence to discuss the sale of Sommerall.”

The marquess clasped his hands over his slight paunch. “You are curt this evening. Perhaps you have forgotten who supports your lavish lifestyle.”

His quarterly funds hardly counted as a “lavish” lifestyle, but Colin refused to be distracted. “I stopped at Sommerall earlier today. Are you aware the key is missing?”

“It is not missing,” the marquess said. “I retrieved it some time ago to keep vagrants out.”

Colin nodded. “I’ll come to the point. I want Sommerall.”

The marquess huffed. “For what? You spend all of your time in London. The property has remained unoccupied for years. The furnishings and paintings are covered with sheets. God only knows what sort of nests are in the chimney. The place needs to be occupied. I see no reason to let it rot when I have an offer.”

Colin clenched his jaw and reminded himself to hold his temper. A row would serve no purpose. “I have a plan—”

“Not tonight.” The marquess groaned after he moved his feet off the stool and stood.

Colin’s eyes widened. “Are you unwell?”

“Of course not,” the marquess said. “Go on now. I’ll meet you in my study after breakfast.”

“If you will listen—”

“Tomorrow,” the marquess said.

“I only want a few minutes of your—”

“You will meet me as directed,” the marquess said.

His father had always insisted upon having control of everything, including the last word. Colin gritted his teeth, stood, and bowed. “Good night,” he said.



After Colin left, the marquess winced when his knees creaked. Little wonder. He’d tramped all over the property with Wycoff earlier today. He’d always been active, either riding or walking along the property. He personally inspected repairs and drainage issues. Only a fool would allow others to make the decisions, and he was no fool.

He was doubly glad that he was as fit as ever, as he didn’t want anything to interfere with the shooting. Every autumn, he and Wycoff had a fine time shooting birds—or rather attempting. Aiming their guns at birds was a better description. They rarely ever bagged one, but that didn’t matter. He enjoyed spending time with his oldest friend. He thought about inviting Colin, but the marquess knew it was time to teach his son a lesson. That was the reason he’d requested his reckless son’s presence at the house party.

The marquess sighed. He had heard more stories than he could count about his son’s debauchery, gaming, and dissipation. He should not be surprised. After all, he’d been quite the rakehell in his day, but he had decided it was past time that Colin settled down. Once the marquess made a decision, he stood by it.

He’d known his threat to sell Sommerall would infuriate his son, but he’d been fairly certain that Colin would have made excuses to avoid the house party and Angeline. The pair had never gotten along since her come-out. Margaret had told him in confidence that Colin had reserved the first dance, but there had been a dustup when he’d shown up late and foxed. That was years ago, but they had remained estranged all these years. Seemed ridiculous to him, but what was he to do about it?

But now his old friend Wycoff was worried about his eldest daughter. She’d gotten herself in a tangle over jilting a beau, and Wycoff worried about her future. The marquess sympathized, as he had his own problems with Colin.

Reason told him that Colin wanted Sommerall because his mother was buried there, God rest her soul. The marquess assumed his son wanted the property badly or he would have stayed in London to continue his typical rakehell pursuits.

His son had a plan. No doubt it was quite inventive. Colin, for all of his reckless ways, was shrewd. The marquess was interested to see exactly what his son had devised in such a short period of time. Of course, he would not make matters easy on Colin. In truth, matters could take a wrong turn, but he figured he had a decent chance of succeeding.