What a Reckless Rogue Needs by Vicky Dreiling Page A

his head back. “The ceiling appears to be in good shape.”
    She looked up as well. “Is that a portrayal of Hercules?”
    “I’m unsure.”
    “Your sisters will be delighted if you tell them it is.”
    “Well, let’s not tell them yet,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll hound me, if you’ll forgive the pun, to let them see it.”
    He went to investigate the fireplace and squatted.
    If she was a proper lady, she would not dare admire his bottom, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
    “The hearth has a hob grate. You can heat a kettle,” he said.
    “You would ring for a maid.”
    He rose. “I didn’t care about the basket grate in the anteroom, but I like to make tea on the hob.”
    She stared at him. “You do it?”
    “I only have one manservant in my rooms at the Albany,” he said. “On his half day, I have to do for myself.”
    “You’re joking,” she said.
    He turned to her. “No, but tea is the limit of my domestic talents.”
    “Your resourcefulness will see you through the transformation of your house.”
    “It isn’t mine, and may never be.”
    He’d sounded a bit testy. She ought to be more careful with her words.
    “My guess was right,” she said. “The furnishings are Georgian.”
    “How can you tell?” he asked.
    “The oval cushions and the red damask fabric covering the chair and settee are distinctive of the period.” She walked to the wall. “Mark the wainscoting. In the previous century, it was used to protect the walls from the chairs. These days no one uses such an arrangement.”
    “The furniture is entirely too feminine. I need something sturdier.”
    “Your future bride might like it.”
    He fisted his hands on his hips. “Why do I suspect you are purposely trying to needle me?”
    She bit back a smile. “Since you have no immediate plans to occupy the house, I recommend you keep the present furnishings. You may find there are more pressing issues that need immediate attention.”
    “Let us go up to the bedchambers,” he said.
    He led her up the next flight of stairs. She couldn’t help noting the lack of family portraits on the walls, though she could discern where they had once hung. She told herself they were only rooms, and she was here to assist him with the inspection. Yet she thought of how her father would react if he learned she’d gone into a bedchamber with Colin. Oh, for pity’s sake, her father would never know, and Colin certainly wouldn’t mention it when they returned to Deerfield.
    She never used to be so skittish, but she’d disappointed her family. Her guilt was like the fog. It inevitably rolled in.
    The first bedchamber was a well-appointed room with tall mahogany bedposts and rose-colored bed hangings that matched the drapes. A chaise longue with rose-colored cushions was angled in the corner.
    “Was this your mother’s room?” she asked.
    “I imagine so,” he said. There was determination in his expression as he opened the drawer of a night table.
    She didn’t think much of it at first and walked to the window where she drew the draperies open. “I think you could have a wonderful flower garden in the spring.”
    Footsteps alerted her. Colin was opening and closing drawers in the dressing table.
    “Are you looking for something?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    He strode to the wardrobe and opened the doors.
    She thought it was odd that he’d not told her what he was seeking.
    He released an exasperated sigh and checked the other night table.
    “Perhaps I can help,” she said.
    “Everything is empty.” He walked through the connecting door.
    Angeline followed him, concerned about his strange mood.
    “This must have been your father’s room.” The bedposts were enormous and the bed hangings were a dark crimson. In the corner was a mirrored mahogany shaving stand.
    He began searching through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers.
    “Colin?”
    He said nothing at first. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “It’s as if