When the clatter of hooves sounded, Colin opened the door and stuffed her ugly cap in his inner coat pocket. "The coal has arrived."

"I'll set Agnes to cleaning out the ashes in the hearth." She hurried up the stairs.

He turned around and admired her bottom as she ascended the steps. What red-blooded man wouldn't have a look?

The footmen brought in the coals along with lanterns and two tinderboxes. He led them to the drawing room where Agnes finished sweeping and stepped back.

Two other footmen moved the heavy tables and took the carpets to the wagon. The marquess's steward would ensure the carpets found good homes.

"Agnes, help me put the covers over the furniture," Angeline said.

Colin shrugged out of his coat and strode over to her. "Take my coat please." He rolled up his sleeves and noticed Angeline watching him.

He tossed the covers over the furniture, smiled, and took her arm. "Step out into the corridor in the event the flue isn't working and smoke billows out."

"You had better come along," she said. "You don't want to get your shirt and cravat dirty."

He leaned down and said under his breath, "I'm a man. We like dirty things."

She narrowed her eyes and marched out into the corridor. His shoulders shook, and he figured she'd give him a tongue-lashing after the footmen left.

A few minutes later, a weak fire started. Colin held his breath, hoping smoke wouldn't fill the room. He didn't even want to consider the damage to the painted ceiling.

With the application of the bellows, a fire crackled and no smoke billowed out into the drawing room. He exhaled. "Success."

When the footmen stepped back, Angeline instructed Agnes to dust the interior shutters.

Colin made sure she wasn't paying attention and tossed her ugly cap into the fire. Then he directed the footmen to dump the coal ashes.

Angeline faced him. "I am coming with you to the attic. There is much to be done there, and we will not waste time arguing over the matter."

Her brows knitted. "Where is my cap?"

He shrugged. "Did you lose it?"

Her eyes narrowed and she held out her palm. "Give it to me."

"I can't. It's gone."

"What do you mean it's gone?"

He shrugged.

"You will pay for this."

He grinned. "I look forward to your punishment."

She regarded him suspiciously, as well she should. "No doubt it has something to do with dirt."

Her saucy reply tickled him, but he'd better focus on the work. He lit one of the lanterns and escorted her up two flights of steps to the attic. The dormer window was grimy, but he set the lantern on a scarred table. He put his hands on his hips and looked around. Then he made his way past several trunks. "Ah, just what we need."

When he returned to her, he held carpet pieces. "We can kneel on these."

"Very handy," she said.

He pointed at one trunk in the corner. "That is the one I went through yesterday. The strap is broken, and there's nothing of value to me."

"I imagine the servants or tenants would appreciate the yarn, quills, and handkerchiefs."

"Then it's a good thing you're here, because I was ready to toss it all in the rubbish bin."

He pushed a heavy trunk forward. The muscles in his upper arms strained. She placed one of the carpets before a trunk and knelt, but her eyes kept returning to his bulging biceps. She fumbled with the straps, mostly because she couldn't take her gaze off him.

He interrupted her ogling and strode over to her. "Let me unbuckle them."

She stood just as he took a step, and she b.u.mped into him. He caught her shoulders, and there could not have been more than a few inches between them. The moment suspended as their gazes met. His big hands were warm and strong. Her toes curled in her slippers.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping aside.

She released her pent-up breath. Dear G.o.d, did he rub a secret bait salve on himself to lure unsuspecting females? While she continued to recover from their physical encounter, he worked on the straps of a trunk as if he were completely oblivious to her.

When he tried to open the trunk, he muttered something under his breath, likely a curse. "It's locked." He straightened his tall frame. "I'll go down to the kitchen and see if there is anything I can use as a lever."

He left the attic door open as he strode down the corridor. She released a ragged breath. Sanity returned slowly. She was not attracted to him. Not at all. Liar. Granted, she would have to be dead not to notice the bulging muscles in his arms and his incredibly muscular thighs. But she could not, would not allow her attraction to him to bloom. It would be madness. She'd fallen under one rake's spell, and she wouldn't make that mistake again.

G.o.d help her. Angeline thought a few prayers might be in order for her salvation.

She needed distraction from thoughts of Colin's all-too-enticing athletic body. Angeline walked through the crowded attic to force her thoughts elsewhere. There was an old bookcase with scratches in the wood-a tenant might find that useful. She located a pair of scales, a flask, and a sword propped up against the far wall. There was a bust, too. She removed her gloves and fingered the smooth marble. Was it his grandfather?

When she turned, she happened upon a tall wig in a box. It reminded her of her late great-grandmother. Why in the world did the ladies back then wear those horrendous wigs? They were truly hideous and probably hot as well. What a lark it would be to don the wig and surprise Colin. She would no doubt startle a laugh out of him when she pranced around in a ridiculously high wig.

She started to reach inside the box to extract the wig. Then something moved. A mouse poked its beady nose out. She jumped back and screamed.

Colin walked up the stairs with a big mallet. He figured he could break the lock with it. He reached the second landing, and a scream sent him running. His heart stampeded as he ran. The devil. What if Angeline had fallen and gotten hurt?

She turned the corner and ran toward him. Relief flooded his veins. He dropped the mallet and caught her in his arms. "Are you hurt?"

She was shaking uncontrollably. "N-no. The-there w-was a m-mouse in the w-wig."

"Oh, Lord." He held her tightly, relieved to find her unharmed. "You scared me."

She clutched him. "Stupid m-mouse."

"Hush now. You've had a fright." She shivered again, and without thought, he caressed her spine. Eventually her trembling subsided, and he was all too aware of her soft, feminine body pressed against him. When his groin tightened, he knew he'd better put distance between them, and he reluctantly released her.

"I'm so mortified," she said, looking up at him.

"You needn't be."

She looked at the mallet. "What in heaven's name were you planning to do with that?"

"Break the lock on the trunk."

"Oh." She frowned and worried her hands. "I suppose we should return to the attic."

He laughed and picked up the mallet. "Angeline, I'm fairly certain the attic is the last place you wish to go. Tomorrow I'll bring a mousetrap or two."

"There's so much to do," she said. "I feel badly for slowing our progress."

"One day will not make that much difference," he said. "By the way, did you find anything of value in the bedchambers yesterday?"

She hesitated. "I went through all the rooms."

"Why are you hedging?"

"There's a nursery," she said.

His neck p.r.i.c.kled. "Where is it?"

"Colin, don't go in there."

He set the mallet down and started opening doors. She followed him. "I'm sorry. I should have told you yesterday."

When he opened the door to the nursery, he strode inside and immediately tore the covers off the rocker. He went over to a shelf where a tin box sat. When he opened it, a look of wonder crossed his face. "My tin soldiers. I always wondered what became of them."

"I didn't notice them yesterday."

He frowned at her. "It is in plain view. Something is amiss. You might as well tell me."

She sighed. "There is a cradle underneath the cover."

He whipped it off. Inside was padded bedding. He felt no shock or melancholy. Only numbness.

She slipped her hand through his arm. "I hope you will forgive me. I thought to spare you."

He patted her hand. "I understand, but I prefer to confront things."

"Yes, I think it is for the best. Shall we return to the attic? If the mouse decides to make another appearance, I'll let you confront it."

He smiled a little. "Very well."

By late afternoon, they had sorted items from five trunks. He'd found an old bagwig he was certain had belonged to his grandfather and a pair of men's buckled shoes with heels. He thought the bust probably was his grandfather.

They put all of the items he didn't want in crates. He planned to make them available to the tenants and servants. The mouse had evidently disappeared.

They had not discussed the miniature, but it had yet to turn up.

After he carried a crate downstairs, she looked through some correspondence she'd found. One set was tied with a blue ribbon. She pulled a letter out and saw the address to Lady Elizabeth Montleigh. She wanted very much to read it, but she ought not pry. She folded the letter, set it aside, and retrieved another from the others tied with the blue ribbon. This one was also addressed to the same woman. When she started to fold it, she saw the last line.

My darling Elizabeth, you are my heart and my love forever more.

She yearned to be loved, truly loved, but it seemed that was not to be her destiny.

Colin returned. His shirtsleeves were wrinkled and his cravat looked a bit wilted. Somehow he managed to look every bit the handsome rogue.

"You found correspondence?"

"A letter from your father to Lady Elizabeth Montleigh."

"My mother," he said.

She lifted her eyes to him. "I read only the last line."

He took it and walked over to the table where the lantern burned. "I would never have guessed my father was so sentimental."

"The letter indicates he loved her deeply," she said. "Do you think he would want the letter?"

Colin frowned. "I've no idea. All I know for certain is that he left Sommerall after her funeral. I don't remember anything except leaving here for Deerfield." He folded the letter and set it on the table. "Two years later, he made a marriage of convenience with Margaret."

"It may have started out that way, but I believe he loves her now."

"He is fond of her, but I'm sure he wanted a spare heir."

His blunt words stunned her. "Perhaps he was lonely and wanted a second chance at love."

He considered her with a patronizing expression. "There are practicalities, including the contracts, as you are fully aware. I a.s.sure you my father's primary concerns dealt with the marriage contracts. She brought a considerable fortune into the marriage."

She bristled. "So do many women."

"I'm only stating the facts, Angeline. You know the realities of aristocratic marriages, and to be frank, her father was a merchant and saw an opportunity to better his family."

"Margaret was educated as a lady."

"Yes, I know, but you cannot be unaware that your mother's influence paved the way for Margaret in society."

Angeline was breathing hard. "Do you think I give a d.a.m.n?"

His eyes widened at her words.

"Margaret was one of the few ladies who came to support my mother and me during one of the worst times of our lives. Everyone else stayed away from fear of contamination from my scandal." Angeline wiped tears from her face. "She is one of the kindest ladies I have ever had the pleasure to call friend. And she deserves far more credit than you give her. She wants only to please others and believes herself undeserving because her father was in trade. She is your father's wife and the mother of your sisters. You should respect her."

"I do not disrespect her," he said testily. "I only stated the truth."

"You just did."

"Angeline, you are unreasonable."

"Well, we cannot all be as perfect as you," she said.