What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 4

He doubted it would take years, but he recognized that his father was testing him. "If a problem arises while I'm in London, I will make the journey home."

The marquess shook his head. "The answer is no."

Colin was taken aback. "I'm willing to make concessions."

"I, however, am not. Your responses to my questions were unsatisfactory. You have no real interest in Sommerall."

"Of course I have an interest in Sommerall or I wouldn't be here," he said.

"Precisely," the marquess said.

Colin winced. "I realize that I've been distant of late, but I will remedy the situation."

"Forgive me, but I have doubts. As I recall, the last time you came home was Easter, and you departed before a sennight. If it were only the one time, I would make an exception, but you've kept your distance from all of us for years. Now you expect me to award Sommerall to you when you haven't earned it. Based upon your notorious behavior, I think it would be foolhardy for me to trust you. You are unwilling to supervise the work, and that tells me you have no intention of leaving behind your wild exploits in London."

"I will make the journey-"

"My answer stands. If you were truly interested in Sommerall, you would personally see to the work, but you've no intention of mending your rakeh.e.l.l ways. I know you've become a two-bottle man, and before you accuse me of spying, I a.s.sure you I'd rather not know. Unfortunately, gentlemen are compet.i.tive and like to rub it in a man's nose when his heir spends much of his time engaged in disreputable pursuits."

For pity's sake he was thirty-one years old and getting a lecture, but he decided to pacify the marquess. "Father, I know I can-"

"Enough. You're unwilling to commit to this venture. Under the circ.u.mstances, you give me no choice but to sell Sommerall."

Colin clenched his teeth, imagining spending months alone in the countryside. But if he didn't agree, he'd lose Sommerall forever.

He walked over to the hearth in an effort to calm himself. The worst possible thing would be to let his frustration show, and he couldn't let Sommerall pa.s.s out of his hands.

"Is there anything else?" the marquess said.

Colin took a deep breath and faced his father. "How much is the pending offer?"

"Even if you have sufficient funds to make the purchase, I won't sell it to you. Obviously, the property doesn't mean enough to you to make the necessary sacrifices."

"My mother is buried there," he said, struggling to keep the tone of his voice even. "How can you sell Sommerall?"

"I've already stated my reasons for selling it and won't repeat them. The meeting is adjourned. Close the door on your way out."

Colin was breathing like a racehorse. "You cannot sell it."

"You've no say in the matter," the marquess said. "You've shown insufficient interest in Sommerall and your family. I regret having to say no, but based on your actions, I find it difficult to believe you care about anything except gambling, drinking, and wenching."

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do whatever you require."

"Very well. You need to prove to me that you have matured and are ready to settle down."

"That's the point of allowing me to-"

The marquess cleared his throat. "You will give up your dissolute pursuits and choose a wife."

A strange sensation gripped him as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet. "A wife?"

"You heard me. A female, preferably a respectable one."

What the devil? Colin frowned. Had he heard correctly? "I think I should focus on renovating Sommerall first. Marriage can come later."

The marquess took a pinch of snuff and sneezed into a handkerchief. "You'll continue along the same rakeh.e.l.l path. One day you will thank me."

Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely. "Do you mean to drive me away?"

"Do not be tiresome, Colin. It is past time you give up your wild ways."

He took two steps toward the door with every intention of leaving Deerfield, but his father's voice stayed him.

"I know you don't like me ordering you about, but my own father curbed my wild ways. You may not believe me now, but I'm doing you a favor. When a man has a wife and children, he leaves behind his selfishness because his family means more to him than dissipation. In your case, enough is enough."

"I intend to wed in the future," he said.

"You're thirty-one years old, the perfect age for marriage. You will adjust your mind to your new responsibilities."

He turned around. "We're out in the middle of the country, for G.o.d's sake. Do you wish me to wed a maid?"

The marquess picked up another letter and broke the seal. "If you require a.s.sistance, I imagine your stepmother or the d.u.c.h.ess would be happy to help you."

He'd walked right into a trap.

Colin clenched his jaw as he strode out of the house. He was shaking with hot anger and left the house without a hat or greatcoat. He barely felt the cold. When the sun speared through the birch trees, he squinted. Ahead, there were mounds of fallen brown and orange leaves, but he took no pleasure in the autumn scenery.

He strode faster and faster along the leaf-strewn path. His blood must be boiling a thousand degrees or more. How dare his father demand he marry? For G.o.d's sake, it was the nineteenth century, not the f.u.c.king Middle Ages.

He felt as if he would explode at any moment. In the distance, he saw two laborers hacking at a huge tree limb on the ground. All he knew was that he needed to smash something to control the rage racing through his veins. His breath frosted in the air as he strode faster and faster, his fists locked tight. When Colin reached the laborers, they pulled on their forelocks and looked at the ground.

"Stand back," he said in a growl.

He jerked off his coat, threw it on a lower limb, and untied his cravat. The two laborers' eyes widened as he rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. Colin's nostrils flared as he hefted the ax and brought it down in a giant arc. Splinters flew. He pressed his boot on the limb for leverage, gritted his teeth, and pulled the ax out with a groan. Then he stepped back and swung the ax over his head again. He grimaced as he pulled it out and swung it again...and again...and again with a guttural roar each time. Chunks of bark flew everywhere. One more swing cracked the limb in two.

"Colin!"

The feminine cry startled him. Salty drops of sweat stung his eyes as he spied Angeline running toward him. "h.e.l.l," he muttered.

He let the ax drop and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. He glanced over his shoulder at the two laborers. "Go on," he said gruffly. They pulled on their forelocks again and retreated as if they'd just witnessed a madman. He certainly felt like one.

The cold wind picked up, blowing through the damp linen of his shirt. He gritted his teeth.

Angeline reached him. "You'll make yourself ill in nothing but that thin shirt," she said breathlessly.

"Angeline, leave. I'm not fit for company." He picked up the ax again. "Go," he said.

"No, I will not leave you in this condition. Obviously you are in a state."

"For the last time, please leave," he gritted out.

Her eyes widened. "You're furious."

"If you have any sense, you will leave. Now go." G.o.d, why did she of all people have to witness his ire?

"You cannot stay out in the cold in that thin, damp shirt. You will make yourself very ill and worry your family."

His nostrils flared. "Please go before I say something I regret."

"Go ahead, but you'll not stop me." She unrolled his left sleeve and then his right. He looked at her from beneath his damp lashes. Her plump b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell with each visible breath. He made himself look away. She might be comely and curvaceous, but she was trouble.

When she lifted her lashes, her eyes grew huge as she looked at the dark hair showing through the V in his shirt.

"What is it?" he asked. He rather hoped the husky sound of his voice would scare her off.

She cleared her throat and appeared to be looking over his shoulder. "You cannot go about with your cravat undone."

He huffed. "That's rich." He'd gone about with far fewer clothes on many occasions, but he thought better of mentioning that in her presence.

She lifted her chin, stepped closer, and closed the three b.u.t.tons of his shirt. Her scent was familiar-something flowery. That thought reminded him. "Don't. I stink of sweat."

She flipped his shirt points up. "My nose will survive."

He watched as she pulled the two long tails of linen to an even length. Then she hesitated.

He winked and deftly wrapped the cloth round his throat. "Perhaps you could tie a knot?"

She managed on the third try. "It looks awful. I would make a terrible valet."

"A lady valet?" He envisioned a naked woman undressing him. "Brings to mind a number of possibilities."

She drew her large paisley shawl closed. "Mind your tongue."

Naturally he thought of several wicked uses for his tongue, but he pushed that out of his thoughts.

She looked up at him, her green eyes full of questions. "What possessed you to wield that ax?"

"Never mind."

"You looked enraged."

He retrieved his coat from the limb but said nothing.

"What were you angry about?"

"An unpleasant conversation."

"So you walked out without hat, gloves, or greatcoat?"

He had no intention of explaining anything to her. "I'm made of st.u.r.dy stuff."

Her gaze slid over him. "Yes, I noticed."

"Like what you see?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I should have known you would say something indelicate."

"I warned you I'm not fit for company." If she had any sense, she would have fled after seeing him hacking that tree limb.

"Really, you must change into dry clothes as soon as possible."

"I'll do." He started to slide his arm through the sleeve of his coat when she stepped forward to help him.

"I can manage." He didn't want her help. He wanted her to leave him in peace.

"I insist. Now lift your arm."

He knew she would persist, so he allowed her to help.

"Your shirt is damp with perspiration, and the coat only traps it."

"Angeline-"

"No, I refuse to listen to your arguments. You'll catch your death out here. You must return to the house immediately."

"It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you stand in the cold," he said. Truthfully, the brisk wind was more than a little uncomfortable, but he'd be d.a.m.ned before he admitted it.

"Your nose is red," she said.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. "So is yours."

When she took his arm, he matched his pace to her slower one. They strode past the folly, and a gust of wind blasted them. He couldn't completely hide his shiver and regretted leaving behind his outerwear now. Next time he would just throw something into the fire. Of course, he hoped there wouldn't be a next time, but he was rather pessimistic about those chances.

She pushed her bonnet ribbons out of her face. "Something is clearly wrong. What happened?"

"I do not wish to discuss it." Especially with you.

"It might help to talk," she said. "Sometimes just airing your grievances helps you see matters more clearly."

Oh, good Lord. The one thing that drove him to drink was a woman who wanted to talk about feelings. But he knew enough about women to realize she wouldn't leave it alone. "My father and I had a difference of opinion." That is all you need to know.

"You quarreled," she said.

Her persistence irritated him. "You need not concern yourself."

"Is this about Sommerall?" she asked.

He halted. "How did you know?" he demanded.