What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 27

Thunder kept rolling and the rain and hail pounded the roof. She walked to the window and pulled back the drapes. It was raining so hard that she could make out very little through the wavy gla.s.s except sheeting rain. Footsteps thudded and she was relieved to see Colin. "I looked out the window. The rain is drumming the roof."

"It's the hail you hear." He stood behind her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. He was so close she caught the scent of sandalwood on him. "Better?" he said, his breath tickling her neck.

"Yes, thank you."

His hands lingered a moment, and she was all too aware of him. She felt cherished for a moment as if he were her husband and she were his wife. It made her a little sad to think that she might never know such a simple, comforting gesture ever again.

"I looked out from the master chamber," Colin said, his mind clearly on the storm. "Water is already standing on the grounds. I walked through the bedchambers and didn't see any leaks from the windows."

"That is good news. I'm glad we arrived before the storm hit."

"I'm glad Mr. and Mrs. Faraday left before the storm got worse. Otherwise, we'd be stuck with their company."

"Perish the thought," she said, laughing. "I wonder how long the storm will last."

"Eventually, the rain will relent. We may have to wait a few hours until the roads dry a bit, but we'll survive."

"Indeed we will." She crossed the room, kicked off her slippers, and curled her legs on the sofa.

His hands were on his hips. "You look quite comfortable."

"It is unladylike, but I doubt you care."

"I'm shocked," he said, clutching his chest.

"Drink another gla.s.s of wine. That should cure you."

"But nothing ever suits me," he said.

They both laughed.

"Oh, my stars," Angeline said. "You absolutely cannot let them purchase Sommerall."

He sobered. "I've no say in it."

He seemed to have forgotten he could marry her to prevent his father from selling. Perhaps he regretted having ever broached the subject of marriage but didn't have the heart to tell her.

"I'll cross that bridge soon enough," he said.

"Are you worried?" she asked.

"Everything will come about, one way or the other."

It was one of those statements meant to rea.s.sure someone but seldom ever did. She wasn't encouraged at all. She suspected he was having second thoughts about marrying a woman with a past. While she'd spoken very plainly to him about what he might endure if he married her, he was a gentleman and unlikely to tell her if he was troubled. Now was the perfect opportunity to discuss the issues, but she put it off. Their last row had left her drained like a bloodletting.

He set the candle branch on the hearth where a tinderbox and s.p.u.n.ks for transferring the fire were stored. "I promised you a fire."

After he managed a spark, he removed his coat, squatted before the hearth, and applied the bellows. As the fire caught, the flames crackled.

His linen shirt stretched across his back as he worked. When he stood and applied a poker, she allowed herself to survey his long muscular legs. She recollected the spa.r.s.e dark hair beneath his shirt and on his arms the day he'd wielded that ax. From what she knew of his reputation, she'd not expected to find him so fit, but evidently, he enjoyed fencing.

He set the poker aside and topped up their winegla.s.ses.

When he joined her on the sofa, he sat close and handed her one.

She sipped it, and he smiled. "Your lips are red from the wine."

"So are yours," she said.

"Are you warm enough?" His voice was low and a little rough.

She nodded and found herself breathless as she looked at his full lower lip.

He laid his arm along the back of the sofa, and his hand was only inches from her shoulder. The tension inside of her wound up like a clock. She realized she was a tiny bit foxed and set the gla.s.s aside.

She walked to the window again and pushed the drapes aside, but the wavy gla.s.s combined with the relentless rain made it impossible to see anything.

"Angeline, you are restless."

She regarded him over her shoulder. "I'm worried. It's bad out there."

"We're safe here. We have food and drink. There's a caddy of tea in the basket and a jug of water. I imagine there's a kettle in the kitchen we can use. It may be several hours before the rain stops, but eventually the roads will dry enough for us to travel."

"I'll go to the kitchen and find a kettle." She hurried downstairs and walked into the kitchen. After a few minutes, she located the kettle and a teapot. After a long search, she found a tray and placed the kettle, teapot, a strainer for the tea, and two cups on it. Pleased with her discoveries, Angeline walked back to the drawing room.

He met her halfway down the steps. "That tray is too heavy for you."

"Thank you for the help," she said, and followed him back to the drawing room.

She poured water from the jug into the kettle, and Colin set it on the hob in the fireplace. Afterward, she added tea leaves to the pot. Thunder boomed again, startling her. She pressed her hand to her heart. "That was fearsome."

He smiled. A few minutes later, the kettle shrieked. He rescued it and poured the hot water in the pot. After he set the kettle back on the hob, he said, "Now all we need to do is wait for the tea to get dark."

"A hot cup of tea is always welcome when it's chilly."

He shook the blanket out and laid it over her. "Warm now?"

"Yes, thank you." His simple gesture made her yearn to have someone love and care for her. Someone who would take a heavy tray or bring a blanket to her. Someone who would laugh with her and hold her close and rea.s.sure her when the weather was bad. With all of her heart she yearned to have someone to lean on, someone to depend on, someone who would love her even though she had made mistakes. But unless something changed, it seemed the poor choices she'd made would dictate the few choices available to her.

The rain grew fiercer.

He looked up at the painted ceiling. "So far it's holding."

"The house is sound," she said. It was a fine house for a family. Of course it was small compared to Worthington Abbey and Deerfield, but it would make a good house for a young couple. Little wonder the Faradays kept coming back.

She wished that she and Colin would live here, but it was a foolish thought, one she shouldn't entertain because it would only make her sad when he inevitably told her he did not think they would suit.

It would happen. No sane man wanted a wife with a wanton reputation, no matter how undeserving.

"If it doesn't let up soon, we may not be able to leave," he said.

"Oh, no," she said. "We have to return before nightfall."

"We may not have a choice, but there's no need to fret. It won't last forever. As soon as the roads are pa.s.sable, we'll depart."

"Our families will worry."

"The rain isn't our fault. It's every bit as bad at Deerfield as it is here."

"You're right," she said. "No doubt we'll be able to leave in the next hour or two."

He sighed. "It won't be in the next hour or two."

"Perhaps we should try to travel now before it gets dark," she said.

"With this much rain, the roads are bound to be muddy and potentially dangerous. In case you haven't noticed, the hail is still pounding the roof and the water is standing outside."

She poured tea over the sieve into the cups. "Come, I made you a cup of tea."

When he returned, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

Oh, dear, he seemed a bit amorous, but perhaps he just forgot himself. She reminded herself not to interpret the gesture as a tender one.

He sat right next to her and sipped the tea. "It's good."

Who am I trying to fool? Myself? She inched over next to the rolled arm of the sofa. "Yes, the tea is just the thing. I'm glad we have supplies. It would be miserable if we had no food or drink." I am prattling like that silly Mrs. Quimby.

He eyed her over his cup with an amused expression.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"I wish there were cards or a game to play," she said.

"We never found either," he said, setting his cup on the tray. "Someone or some persons probably took them along with my mother's miniature."

"I'm sorry. I'd hoped to find it."

He set her cup aside for her and cupped her cheek. "So sweet," he said, his voice low and full of sensual promise.

"Are you ready to give up your life in London for Sommerall?" she asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.

Before departing London, he recalled waking up to the devil of a head, bottles on the night table, and an actress whose name he'd forgotten again. "I've not put a time table on it. When the time is right, I'll know."

Meaning it wasn't the right time now. He was studiously avoiding the subject of marriage. On the other hand, they had agreed to use the three weeks to get to know one another better. Yet it troubled her. When the three weeks ended, their conversation was bound to be uncomfortable, but she would take the lead and a.s.sure him that she did not expect him to sacrifice for her. For now, she would take advantage of the opportunity to be alone with him and learn more about him.

"Tell me something about you I don't know," she said.

"I like hot baths and stay in until the water grows cold and my toes and fingers wrinkle. Now tell me something about you I don't already know," he said.

"I love scents," she said. "They mesmerize me. I stop sometimes to inhale the smell of beeswax candles."

He regarded her with fascination. "What other scents do you like?"

"Rose soap and warm sugar biscuits." She paused. "I love the scent of freshly washed and ironed linens; they smell of sunshine. Sometimes I hold them and keep breathing in the warmth and the sun. What scents do you like?" she murmured.

He nuzzled her neck. "I like the scent of your skin and the feel of your soft cheeks." He met her gaze. "I like your slender fingers and the pearl earrings that dangle from your ears." He flicked one with his finger. Then he smiled a little. "I like when you're feisty and want to spar with me."

"Surely you jest," she said, laughing.

"No, I like that you're spirited and clever." He considered her with a mischievous expression. "There are other things about you I like very well, but I'll keep them to myself."

She sniffed. "Doubtless they are wicked."

He laughed. "I'm not telling."

"Good," she said.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked.

She frowned. "For what?"

"This." He leaned down and captured her lips.

Chapter Eleven.

When he drew his tongue over the seam of her mouth, she opened for him, welcomed him, and hoped she would never forget the taste of this man she'd known since before she could remember. Despite everything that loomed between them-her past and his raking-she craved him. But it was more, much more than a craving. It was need, soul deep, for him, just him.

Little by little, he'd captured pieces of her heart. She remembered the sweat running down his face in the woods, despite the bitter cold wind, and his guttural shout as he'd swung that ax. She recalled the day at the folly when he'd thought no one cared about his mother's grave, and though he'd clenched his jaw, she'd known it had hurt him. Most of all, she remembered his bleak expression when they had failed to turn up his mother's miniature. She'd wanted to take him in her arms to let him know that she'd felt his loss as if it were her own.

She'd been in denial, because she was terrified of making another horrible mistake, but she recalled him saying he would make the engagement official that very moment if she wished it. There was so much more to him that others never saw. He'd hidden his wounds behind his sharp wit and rakeh.e.l.l reputation.

She could no longer deny what was in her heart. She was madly, deeply in love with him.

Unlike her bitter experience with Brentmoor, she did not have to persuade herself that she was on the verge of falling in love or nearly in love. There was no comparison. This time, she did not doubt her feelings. She felt giddy and anxious at the same time. No matter what happened-or did not happen-she swore she would never regret loving him.

The faint fragrance of sandalwood soap clung to him, and the warm scent emanating from his skin intoxicated her. Unable to resist, she kissed him back, and he grew more ardent. She was lost in the taste of his lips and threaded her fingers through his hair. When she dared to return his kiss, he answered with the sweep of his tongue. Rivers of desire coursed through her. She focused on the feel of his hard chest, his ragged breathing, and the heat emanating from his body. It wasn't enough. She loosened the knot of his cravat, flipped up the shirt points, and tossed the long length of cloth aside.

He pulled her onto his lap, and she unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat and ran her hands over his linen-clad chest. She somehow managed to get his waistcoat off. When he stood, he let her slide down his hard body, and she caressed him through the linen shirt, but it wasn't enough. She yanked down the braces, pulled his voluminous shirt out of his trousers, and slid her hands underneath his shirt.

"G.o.d have mercy. What have I unleashed?" he said.