What a Reckless Rogue Needs by Vicky Dreiling Page A

her.
    When Colin emerged, she had to suppress a groan. She’d hoped to avoid him after sticking her nose in his affairs and revealing a bit about her own.
    “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.
    Of course he was, but she favored him with a brief smile. “You remembered your hat, coat, and gloves this time.”
    “One chill is enough for today.” He closed the distance between them.
    His height, easily over six feet, struck her anew. She knew he was fit; she’d seen the evidence when he’d chopped that huge limb with an ax. But how he managed it was beyond her, given the rumors about his rakehell exploits.
    “I saw you hurrying along the path with your sketchbook and figured you would come to the bridge,” he said.
    She wondered what he wanted. “What made you so certain?”
    “It is picturesque and therefore worthy of your best efforts.”
    “How would you know? Perhaps my best efforts aren’t worthy at all,” she said.
    Naturally he laughed.
    Her snippy barbs usually drove men away. Granted, men were not begging to court her. She winced, recalling the offensive way dozens of Frenchmen had treated her. She did not even want to know the rumors that must have precipitated their insulting entreaties.
    “Do you not wish to capture this grand bridge? It will probably be here long after we are gone,” Colin said.
    “How utterly macabre.” She drew a few lines for the bridge columns and shaded in the arches. His presence, however, interfered with her concentration. “Is there a reason you followed me?”
    “Well, yes.”
    After making a few broad strokes, she glanced at him. “I cannot recollect you ever willingly seeking me out, other than the time you tricked me into standing under the mistletoe.”
    “You can’t blame a fellow for trying to steal a kiss.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Colin, you want something. Spit it out.”
    He laughed. “Such language from a lady.”
    “Do try to recover your sensibilities. I’ve no smelling salts to revive you.”
    He grinned. “A gentleman in distress? The possibilities boggle the mind.”
    “Yours perhaps.”
    He laughed. “I heard you have a singular talent for renovations.”
    “I have some experience,” she said. “Does this concern Sommerall?”
    “Yes. I wish to approach my father again with a plan based on what needs to be done to make the house habitable. If you are amenable, I would welcome your assistance.”
    “You seem to have forgotten your father’s decree that you must marry in order to take possession.”
    “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” He regarded her with a quizzical expression. “What about you? I would imagine your parents are urging you to wed.”
    Apparently, he was unaware of her damaged reputation, but she would not discuss that with him.
    “My first task is to persuade him to let me determine what renovations are needed for the house. He’s more likely to agree if you’re involved.”
    “Perhaps your father has already looked into the condition of the property.”
    “To the best of my knowledge he has not returned to the house since my mother died.”
    The marquess might have finally decided to sell the property in part because there were too many sad memories attached to Sommerall, but that was many years ago. His decision had probably been far more practical. The chances of Colin leaving behind his London lightskirts and taking up residence at Sommerall were negligible. “I doubt offering my assistance will sway your father’s decision,” she said. “You cannot be unaware that men do not take a woman’s opinion seriously.”
    “I take you seriously or I wouldn’t have asked,” he said.
    “You asked because I’m the only qualified person available.”
    “Well, that, too,” he said, grinning. “Do say you’ll agree.”
    She narrowed her eyes. He was trying to charm her into doing his bidding. “Why should I help you?”
    “Margaret said you took great pleasure in overseeing the renovations at Worthington