"My son did not wish to travel, given that his wife is in a delicate condition."

Colin smiled a little at Wycoff's old-fashioned reference to his daughter-in-law's impending childbirth.

Wycoff inhaled the brandy's fragrance. "It has been two years since the last house party. I confess I missed the shooting with Chadwick."

There was a reserved air about Wycoff that had never been there before. He didn't mention Angeline's broken engagement and subsequent journey to Paris with her mother. It wasn't the sort of topic one spoke of openly, but Colin felt it simmering beneath the surface. One thing he noticed was that Wycoff avoided looking at his eldest daughter. Colin found it odd and told himself he was imagining undercurrents. Deep down, he suspected there was something brewing beneath the surface, but he'd no idea what it was. Perhaps that was for the best.

Wycoff drew in a breath. "Still chasing the lightskirts?"

"Am I supposed to answer that?"

The duke laughed. "Sounds like an affirmative to me."

He cleared his throat. "I try to be discreet."

The duke raised his brows. "It's not working."

In an effort to change the topic, Colin said, "May I freshen your drink?"

"No, thank you," Wycoff said. "I'll join your father on a comfortable chair and try not to doze as I'm wont to do."

Colin bowed and watched the duke walk away. Angeline attempted to intercept him, but he ignored her. Colin frowned. It seemed odd to him, but he shrugged it off.

He meant to remain at the sideboard, but Margaret sought him out. "Angeline has agreed to play the pianoforte," she said. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to turn the pages for her."

Short of claiming a sudden case of the ague, he could hardly refuse. "Yes, of course," he said, and strode over to the instrument where Angeline removed one of her gloves. He'd forgotten her long slender fingers. Then again, why should he remember them? He shook off the odd thought and stood there waiting for her to begin playing.

"Will you set up the sheet music?" she said, fumbling with the other glove.

"Yes, I will." He frowned. "Are you vexed?"

"Of course not," she said.

He suspected she was lying. "What will you play?"

"Grimstock," she said, handing the sheets to him.

He leaned over her shoulder and placed the pages side by side. "How appropriate considering you are looking rather grim," he said under his breath.

"I haven't played in ages. I fear this will be excruciating for me and everyone listening."

"It's a bit late to decline now."

"I will play when I am ready," she said in a testy voice.

"As you please, but there's no need to snap at me. I might add that the sooner you play, the quicker the misery will be over."

"I do not play that badly," she said.

He clasped his hands behind his back and said nothing.

"I am competent," she said.

"Of course you are," he said, trying very hard not to laugh.

"You are perfectly horrid and so is my playing," she said.

"At long last, something we agree upon." He'd forgotten the ease with which they sparred with one another. It was like verbal chess.

"Do not torment me," she said. "I might avenge myself by playing more than one piece."

"In that case, I am overwhelmed by your talent-at least for the duration of this one exhibition."

She pressed the ivory keys lightly. "I must concentrate."

When he turned the page, she leaned forward a bit and pressed a discordant note, but she managed to recover.

After a few moments, he said, "I saw you speaking to my stepmother."

Angeline kept her eyes on the sheet music. "The marchioness enumerated your many positive qualities."

He smiled. "Did she now? What did she say?"

"Hmmm. She said you drink like a fish and have a string of previous lovers who are permanently heartbroken over losing your affections."

"Margaret would never disparage me."

"So you deny you're a rake?" Angeline said, her tone challenging.

"My reputation is somewhat embellished."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I rather doubt it."

"Why should you doubt me? You've no proof."

"I'm well acquainted with the type," she said. "I imagine you've heard."

He leaned over her again and straightened the sheet music. "I'm not Brentmoor."

She played a wrong note and grimaced.

"Sorry." He shouldn't have said that. It had probably been a painful experience for her. "You're fine, keep playing."

"That's rich. Encouragement from a rake."

He was tempted to defend himself, but it wouldn't change the truth. Good G.o.d, he'd gotten so foxed in his rooms he'd pa.s.sed out with his boots on and forgotten the actress he'd taken home. But in the world of London, there were rakes and there were disgusting scoundrels. He'd never sunk so low as the latter.

The d.u.c.h.ess raised her voice. "Angeline, you must focus."

Angeline's mouth thinned as if she were struggling with her reaction. The d.u.c.h.ess was a formidable woman, with a very strict interpretation of the proprieties. That brought to mind Brentmoor.

Colin could not fathom how Angeline had gotten involved with that roue. He wondered why Wycoff hadn't put his foot down with his daughter. Why hadn't he forbidden her to have anything to do with a known libertine? It made no sense.

Granted, he was a rake, but he kept his distance from virtuous ladies, mostly because he prized his bachelorhood.

Angeline faltered again.

Colin marked the way she winced and figured her mother's reproof had rattled her. But he found it odd. Angeline had never been a wilting flower. When she played another wrong note, he leaned closer and said, "Relax, my stepmother is distracting the d.u.c.h.ess as we speak."

Angeline was more than a little fl.u.s.tered, and Colin's presence did not help. "I do not need your rea.s.surance."

"I'm merely practicing being a dull, respectable fellow."

She continued playing. "Is that like putting on an old coat to see if it still fits?"

"I'm simply wanting for temporary amus.e.m.e.nt."

"Then I must be boring you," she said. "There is a dearth of real amus.e.m.e.nt tonight."

"One thing about you hasn't changed," he said.

"What is that?"

"You never want for a clever retort."

Or a strategic defense. She regarded him with a cynical smile. Truthfully, she had dreaded encountering Colin, but it was foolish of her. He'd likely heard plenty of rumors about her misbegotten and short-lived engagement, but she had a low opinion of dissipated rakes like him and cared nothing for his opinion, good or bad.

Liar. You hate that he knows you were brought down low.

She had hoped to avoid attending the annual house party, but her mother had insisted that she begin entering English society again in order to "repair" her reputation, though this gathering hardly counted as such. The notion of repair was laughable. The only way she could redeem her reputation would be to make a respectable marriage, and that was highly unlikely.

Even though she yearned to start over, to change what had happened, there was no going back. She couldn't retrieve her youth. Time had marched on like an obedient soldier, until one day she'd awakened to discover she was thirty years old and on the proverbial shelf. That had played a large part in her foolhardy courtship with Brentmoor.

Angeline played the last notes and reached for the sheet music, but Colin gathered the pages in a neat stack. When he turned to her, she was struck anew by his dark curly hair and brown eyes with amber hues that could melt b.u.t.ter in freezing temperatures-or more likely, a lady's objections.

Any lady but her.

Why was so much beauty wrapped up in a she-devil package? Perhaps he wasn't being fair. They had not spoken in ages, but given her acerbic remarks tonight, he doubted she'd changed.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her gloves. In her haste, she dropped one.

He retrieved it. "You seem a bit fl.u.s.tered. I hope I did not make you vexatious."

"You flatter yourself."

"There you are wrong. I have my faults, but excessive vanity is not one of them."

She covered an obviously feigned yawn. "I shall refrain from asking about your other excesses."

"Angeline," the d.u.c.h.ess said, "will you play again or do you intend to dawdle?"

The rosy flush staining Angeline's face spoke volumes, but she recovered quickly and popped up from the bench. "I shall dawdle. I do it so well."

The twins marched over to the pianoforte and set up their sheets. Colin took the opportunity to escape Angeline. "Pardon me while I turn the pages for my sisters."

"How very charming of Ravenshire to turn the pages for the twins," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "He shows his care for his sisters."

Angeline made a concerted effort not to roll her eyes. She'd always struggled to keep her thoughts from showing on her face, but it was particularly difficult when her mother made a big to-do over the simple act of turning pages. The d.u.c.h.ess had obviously chosen to forget Colin's dissipated reputation, but Angeline had not.

She turned her attention away and spotted Penny hunching her shoulders in the window seat. "Excuse me, Mama," she said, and hurried off before her mother could detain her further. Penny smiled a little when she sat beside her.

"Are you enjoying seeing the twins again?" Angeline asked.

"Oh, yes. They are quite vivacious," Penny said. "Unlike me."

Angeline squeezed her sister's hand. "You have many talents, Penny. You play very well and your watercolors are beautiful."

"Thank you," Penny said, "but I wish I had the gift of conversing easily. I always think of something clever to say after I'm alone."

"Better to think before you speak," Angeline said. "I learned that the hard way, but let us not dwell on our faults. The grounds at Deerfield are beautiful. Perhaps we could go for a walk this week if the weather holds."

"I would like that very much." Penny bit her lip.

"What troubles you?" Angeline said.

"It is of no consequence," she said.

"You know that you can tell me anything." She worried that her mother might have inadvertently let something slip about her broken betrothal in front of Penny this evening. Angeline knew she couldn't protect her sister forever, but she did not want to reveal the circ.u.mstances while they were away from home.

Penny clasped her hands in her lap. "Bianca and Bernadette were speaking about our come-outs next spring, and all of a sudden I realized that I would be among an enormous crowd. I just know that I'll be a wallflower."

She hugged Penny. "Sweet sister, you will do very well."

"You will be there," Penny said. "I could not possibly make my debut without you."

"You mustn't worry." But even as Angeline spoke, she wasn't entirely certain she would be able to attend. While a few of her mother's steadfast friends had called upon them in Paris, there were more than a few English ladies who had cut their acquaintance. She dreaded broaching the topic. Her sister was sensitive, and Angeline saw no reason to worry Penny months ahead of time, but Angeline was concerned. She prayed her scandal would not touch Penny, because that would hurt far more than Brentmoor's duplicity.

Colin bid the guests good night as they retired for the evening. The marquess had not moved from his spot on the sofa. As usual, Margaret was straightening the cushions, something she ought to leave for the servants. Then she pulled a stool over to her husband.

"Margaret," the marquess said in a warning tone.

She hesitated. "I thought you might wish to put your feet up now that the guests are gone."

Colin sat in a winged chair and leaned forward. "If you don't want it, I'll take it."

"I'll keep it," the marquess said.

Good Lord. His father was like a child. He hadn't wanted the stool until he realized someone else did.