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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 rakehell path. One day you will thank me.”
    Not bloody 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 God’s sake. Do you wish me to wed a maid?”
    The marquess picked up another letter and broke the seal. “If you require assistance, I imagine your stepmother or the duchess 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 God’s sake, it was the nineteenth century, not the fucking 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