What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 1

What a Reckless Rogue Needs.

Vicky Dreiling.

To my late father, Benny Gregory. Miss you, Daddy.

Acknowledgments.

Many thanks to Michele Bidels.p.a.ch for your insightful comments. You're an amazing editor.

To Lucienne Diver for all the guidance, fantastic ideas, and fun, too. I know how lucky I am.

To everyone at The Knight Agency-you guys rock.

To Kati Rodriguez for knowing exactly what I need before I know it. You continue to wow me with your ideas and suggestions.

To all the team at Forever Romance for the fantastic covers and great ideas.

Huge thanks to Carrie Andrews-best copy editor ever!

Most important of all, I wish to thank all the readers who let me know you enjoy my books. May the Magic Romance Fairies be with you.

Prologue.

Eton, December 1798.

Colin Brockhurst, Earl of Ravenshire, was only eight years old, but he knew bad things could happen.

He sat on a hard bench with the other boys waiting to go home. Normally, the boys were boisterous and bawdy, but under the stern eye of the headmaster, they fell silent, save for the occasional sneeze and cough. Most everyone had already left for Christmas holidays, including his friend Harry. Each time the door opened, frigid wind swirled inside, and even a warm coat and supple leather gloves were insufficient to block the miserable draft.

Footsteps stamped outside again, the sound a prelude to the door opening. Colin held his breath, but someone else's father arrived. Where could his papa be? His chest felt hollow inside, but he mustn't let on that he was scared, because the older boys would taunt him.

The door opened, letting in a cold blast of wind, and another boy jumped up, this time to leave with a servant. Colin's stomach knotted up. He hoped it was Papa who came to the door, not a footman. The hollow place in his chest made him feel alone and scared, but he clasped his hands together and forced himself to hold all the fear deep down where no one could see it. He had to do it or the older boys would sniff it on him like day-old sweat and make his life h.e.l.l when the term started after the holidays. He'd learned to duck the older, bigger ones and use his fists to defend himself when he couldn't get away.

Sometimes he welcomed the fights, because it let him pound out all the fury and frustration inside of him. Two years ago, his papa had told him the angels had taken Mama to heaven. He'd been old enough to understand that she'd died and wouldn't come back, no matter how much he'd prayed for a miracle.

Now it was getting later, and there were only three boys left, including him. What would he do if Papa died and no one came for him? Would he have to stay at school all by himself? Papa had told him there was nothing to fear, but he had to clasp his shaky hands together even harder.

He must be brave. That's what Papa had told him when he first came to Eton. Colin made himself hold all the scared feelings inside, even though his chest hurt.

The door opened again. Colin held his breath once more and let it out in a whoosh when he saw his father. He grabbed his satchel and jumped to his feet.

"Are you ready to come home?" his father said, smiling.

He nodded. Papa's hand on his shoulder made him feel safe, and he hadn't felt that way in a very long time. They walked out, and a few snow flurries swirled in the air. He tried to catch one on his tongue as they walked down the steps to the waiting carriage. He climbed inside, and Papa gave him a woolen rug to keep him warm. The carriage rolled off, and the clatter of the horses' hooves along with the motion made him sleepy. Papa put his arm around him, and he sagged against him.

It was dark when Papa woke him in the carriage and took him inside the inn. He was so very tired he didn't remember anything until Papa woke him the next morning. After he washed and dressed, Papa took him downstairs for breakfast. Colin's stomach growled like a dog, and he ate every bite of his eggs and toast. Papa laughed and mussed his hair.

Then a man called a porter took their bags to the waiting carriage. Colin climbed inside, and after Papa sat beside him, he took a deep breath. "There is something I must prepare you for."

Colin stiffened. When grown people said things like that, it meant something bad.

"There's no need to be afraid," Papa said.

He held his breath anyway.

"You have a new mother," Papa said.

He let out his breath, but he was confused. "Where did she come from?"

"I met her while you were at school. She is my wife and your stepmother," Papa said. "She will live with us."

He didn't want a stepmama. He wanted his mother.

"All will be well, son."

He didn't believe it. Nothing would ever be well again. His mama had died and left him.

"You will meet her today," Papa said.

Colin felt as if the bottom of the carriage had dropped away.

Chapter One.

London, 1821, The Albany.

Colin awoke with an aching head and his tongue as dry as the Arabian Desert. He must've drunk enough claret last night to fill the b.l.o.o.d.y Thames.

He sat up on the edge of the mattress, only to realize he'd slept in his boots. A ray of sunshine speared through the drapes, blinding him. He shaded his eyes and turned away. The remnants of his drunken spree sat on a chest: two gla.s.ses and three bottles.

For a disoriented moment, his woolly brain refused to cooperate. He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. Two gla.s.ses? In the bedchamber? Had someone else been here?

When the door opened, he stood to face it. A redheaded woman in a rumpled green gown entered. He vaguely recalled meeting her backstage in the actress's dressing room at the theater the previous night. "What happened?" he asked, his voice croaking.

She huffed. "I should think it b.l.o.o.d.y obvious."

Oh, Lord. "Did we...?"

"Are you daft? You were so foxed I couldn't wake you," she said. "I had no one to help me undress."

Relieved, he blew out his breath. Given his inebriated state last night, he doubted he would have been sensible enough to use a French letter. "Sorry, Lila," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "My name is Lottie."

"Of course. How could I forget?"

"You were drunk as a sailor," she said. "That's how."

He felt as if a carriage had run over him. "I must beg your pardon, but the landlord doesn't allow women in the rooms."

"That didn't trouble you last night."

Someone banged on the door, startling him. He met Lottie's gaze. "Stay here and be silent," he said.

She scowled. "What? You mean to hide me?"

"Well, yes. Please be quiet," he said under his breath. "The landlord will fine me if he discovers you here."

The knocking sounded again, this time more insistent. Colin's temples throbbed as he walked to the door. "I'm coming," he called out.

"Not likely," Lottie said, snickering.

He halted at the ridiculous double entendre and glanced over his shoulder. "Go back into the bedchamber. You can't be seen here."

She leaned against the door and grinned. "Tell the landlord I'm your sister."

He huffed. "I'm sure he's heard that before."

Her raspy laughter grated on his nerves. In a thoroughly bad mood, Colin strode across the small parlor and yanked the door open.

His oldest friend, Harry, stood there. "Sorry to wake you, old boy, but it is almost noon."

"Thank G.o.d," Colin said, ushering his friend inside. "I thought it was the landlord."

Harry blinked as he clapped eyes on the actress. "Oh, I say, bad timing."

"Don't worry," Colin said. "Lila is just leaving."

"Lottie," she said in an exasperated tone. Then she turned her attention to Harry. "You're a looker."

Harry took her hand and bowed over it as if she were a grand lady at a ton ball. "Enchante."

Colin located his purse and handed her a shilling. "This should cover the cost of a hack."

She scowled. "You wish to be rid of me?"

"Not at all, madame," Harry said, ogling her decolletage.

Colin released a loud sigh, rummaged in the purse, and produced another shilling.

She lifted her brows. "Is this all I can expect after staying the entire night?"

"You had the use of a soft bed," Colin said.

She put her hands on her hips. "I had to keep my gown on."

Harry eyed the voluptuous actress's charms. "I suppose it's more expedient that way."

"He left his boots on," Lottie said with a sniff.

Harry shook his head. "Bad form, old boy."

Colin gave Harry a pointed look. "Is there something you wanted?"

"Yes." Harry took a letter out of his pocket. "This was mistakenly delivered to my rooms earlier this morning."

Colin took the letter and regarded Lottie. "I wish you many standing ovations."

She donned her cloak. "I certainly didn't get one last night." With that riposte, she marched out the door.

Harry burst out laughing and collapsed on the cast-off sofa.

"Stubble it," Colin said. He walked over to the table and broke the seal on the letter. "How much do I owe you for the post?"

"Nothing. You paid mine the last time," Harry said. "Who sent you a letter?"

"I don't know. I haven't read it yet."

"Aren't you a slow top today," Harry said.

"I've got the bottle ache." He set the letter aside and rubbed his temples. He'd suffered a lot of bottle aches lately.

"Where's your man servant? He could make you a concoction."

"It's his half day." Colin added coals to the dying fire. Afterward, he walked to the kitchen, pumped water into a kettle, and returned to the parlor. He measured leaves in the teapot and set the kettle on the hob. While he waited for the water to heat, he opened the letter and scowled.

"Well?" Harry asked.

His nostrils flared. "It's from my father."

"What does he say?"