When the Scoundrel Sins

by Anna Harrington

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.” He did. Surprisingly enough.

  She hesitated, then relented on her silence. “The spillway gate for the irrigation ditch broke, and the south pasture flooded,” she explained. “Our shepherd, McDougal, found it two days ago when he rode out to check on the sheep, so the men spent all day yesterday moving the flock into a smaller pasture until we can fix the gate and the land dries out.” She glanced up at the gray clouds overhead, heavy with their promise of rain, and he could almost hear the curse she inwardly yelled at Mother Nature. “If it ever dries out.”

  Something about the way she described the damage pricked at him. “You don’t think it was due to age and wear, though, do you?”

  She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she sighed as if resigned to getting it fixed and forgotten as soon as possible. “Burns thinks it was done intentionally.”

  “Burns?”

  “Angus Burns, my foreman.”

  Ah, the guard dog who had watched him so closely when he’d arrived at the stonework.

  She explained, “His family has lived legally on Glenarvon land for five generations.”

  “Legally?” he repeated, sliding her a curious glance as she walked beside him.

  “Illegally for far longer than that.” Her lips curled into a smile, the first genuine one he’d seen from her this morning. “He helps me oversee the property and manages the building repairs and maintenance. He makes certain the work crews have no problem taking orders from a woman.”

  “I doubt you need anyone’s help with that.” Not based on the way the men paid attention to her instructions at the ditch.

  A faint smile of pride teased at her lips, before a wrinkle of worry creased her brow. “It’s been…an odd year,” she confided, lowering her voice as they made their way toward the hill. “We’ve had more than our fair share of accidents and problems recently.”

  Struck by that, he halted and reached for her arm to stop her. His eyes searched her face for answers. “Are you in danger, Belle?”

  “No! Of course not.” She waved away his concerns with a scoffing laugh. “You wouldn’t have been invited here if anyone was in danger.”

  “Annabelle.” Her name emerged as a low warning. “Don’t dissemble. Not with this.”

  “No one’s been hurt,” she admitted, “and no lasting damage has been done. But it’s bothersome enough to distract from the real work of the estate.”

  Her denial didn’t reassure him. “Enough to make you regret running Glenarvon by yourself?”

  “Never.” Determination flashed in her eyes.

  She pulled her arm away and walked on, leaving him to catch up. Stubborn chit. He scowled as he fell into step beside her.

  “The creek feeds into the irrigation ditch, as you saw,” she explained with a wave of her hand, as if she were explaining the workings of the estate to a new hire, and most likely grateful to change topics. “When everything works properly, we can control the amount of water to the pastures. The creek joins the Arvon River at the bottom of the glen.” She pointed behind them toward the glen cutting its way across the property. “That’s how the estate got its name.”

  “Glenarvon,” he murmured. “And the castle?”

  She beamed, her smile full and bright. And full of love for the place. “The ruins lie up ahead on the hill above the pond.”

  The pond where Belle liked to swim at sunset. Naked. Quinn suddenly gained a new appreciation for history.

  “It was built in the fourteenth century to guard this stretch of the river. Now all that’s left of it are a handful of walls and tumbled stones.” With pride ringing in her voice, as if daring him to contradict her, she added, “But I think it’s beautiful.”

  “So do I.” He stopped to pluck a wild rose from a bush growing alongside the creek.

  She shook her head, clearly exasperated with him. “But you haven’t even seen the ruins yet.”

  He shrugged and handed her the flower. “I believe you.”

  She stared at the rose, momentarily wary, as if she didn’t trust it not turn into a snake and bite her. Then she mumbled, “Thank you.”

  She took the pale pink flower from his hand and raised it to her nose, then turned away quickly and began walking again, but not before he saw a matching pale pink blush color her cheeks. He was finding a new appreciation for those rose-pink blushes, too.

  “But we’re not stuck in the Middle Ages,” she continued as she turned onto a narrow path snaking through the trees to the top of the rise. He fell into step behind her. “We’re a modern country. Things are changing rapidly, and I have big plans for the estate and the village.”

  He smiled. Why was he not surprised? “Like what?”

  “Well, first, I want to improve the village school.” The description of her plans came slowly in her hesitancy to trust him. “I started the school three years ago, but I want to employ a good teacher from London or York who can teach the children the basics they need to know. Their numbers and letters, how to manage property, how to avoid being taken advantage of by unscrupulous millers and merchants—” She quickly ticked off the list on her fingers, her reluctance to share her plans with him now gone. “And especially how to read. All those skills they won’t get as apprentices or might never get at all as tenant farmers.” She glanced back at him, as if to gauge his reaction, before continuing up the path. “And I want to find a real doctor for the village, too, not just an apothecary.”

  As she continued to list all her plans, Quinn stopped and watched her walk up the hill ahead of him, now seeing her in a completely different light.

  She wasn’t just the bluestocking and lady’s companion he’d always known. Annabelle Greene had grown into a capable estate manager with a just understanding of the importance a manor house had on its village’s future. In fact, some of her plans were exactly what he wanted to do in America…to have a piece of land of his own to shape and to help the local townspeople. While he would have to spend years creating that dream, she had the opportunity within her reach now, the right vision for the future, and the determination to see her dream through.

  But he couldn’t be the man to help her reach it.

  His chums at the clubs would have thought him daft to pass up this opportunity, given the terms that Belle had proposed…a share of the profits and the freedom to go on with his new life in America exactly as planned, fulfilling the promises he’d made to his father and Asa Jeffers. Any less scrupulous man would have immediately flung her over his shoulder and marched straight to Gretna Green to get his hands on everything she’d offered. And to get his hands on her.

  But Quinn would never use her like that. Nor would he ever abandon his wife.

  His eyes wandered over Belle as she climbed up the hill in front of him, unwittingly giving him a delectable view of her round derriere, made even more visible by the men’s trousers.

  He bit back a groan. Being an honorable man was beginning to lose its appeal.

  As he followed her up the hill, the trees and bushes gave way to a clearing, and in the center stood the old ruins of Castle Glenarvon rising in a jumble of fallen stones and half-tumbled walls. But he could easily see the outline of what had once been a sturdy keep, with some of the ramparts still capping the tops of the remaining walls, which stood over two stories high in the far corner where they met. The rise gave breathtaking views of the river and glen to the west and the cloud-covered mountains to the north, while the ruins gave a sense of history and romance. As his eyes swept over the horizon, he realized why Annabelle loved this place so much.

  And why she would hate him when he refused to marry her.

  She sat on one of the stones and patted her hand on the rock beside her in invitation for him to join her. Fresh guilt clawed at his gut.

  “Isn’t the castle marvelous?” She smiled at him as he sat beside her. “I laugh every time I think about those wealthy lords to th
e south who are paying small fortunes to create follies in their gardens when our ruins are better than anything Capability Brown could ever have envisioned.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over them as they gazed together at the ruins. Then he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped between this knees.

  He said quietly, “I can’t marry you.”

  She stiffened but otherwise didn’t move. Didn’t deign to look at him, only kept her gaze straight ahead at the estate spreading out before them. But Quinn felt the change in her, as her petite body turned as hard as the cold rock beneath him. And surely so did whatever small feelings of friendship she might have still carried for him.

  “I’m on my way to America,” he explained when she said nothing. That cold silence was more accusatory than he’d thought possible. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for four years.”

  Longer, if he were honest. The thought of striking out to America had been with him since that summer after he was graduated from Oxford, when he realized that the life of an English peer’s son was not for him. Richard Carlisle had been supportive of the idea from the start, and Quinn had been determined to do exactly that and make his father proud of him.

  “I want property of my own, a chance to prove myself apart from the title and the Carlisle name,” he explained, sharing with her what he’d never told anyone else. Not even Robert. “No matter what success I find here, people will claim it was only because of Trent, only because I’m a Carlisle, and not because of any hard work or smart decisions I make. There’s no way to escape Trent’s influence without leaving the country.”

  And no other way to fulfill his promise to his father.

  “I’m not asking you to give up that dream,” she said quietly, finally breaking her silence yet still not looking at him. “You can still go to America and—”

  “I will not abandon my wife,” he stated firmly. He might be a scoundrel who was well on his way to being a rake, but he had that much honor, at least.

  She said nothing, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

  “This is my chance to make my own future, Annabelle.” Surely, she understood that. “I have no way to do that in England. Land is too expensive here.”

  “Not if you marry into it,” she countered in a whisper.

  “It wouldn’t be my land,” he said quietly. “It would be yours.” And he would be nothing but a de facto estate agent, this time for his wife instead of his brother.

  He didn’t think it was possible, but her body tightened even more, like the tension of a coiling spring. He could feel the emotion pulsating from her as her fingers gripped into the rock beneath her, so hard that her fingertips turned white.

  He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m leaving this morning. As soon as I say good-bye to Aunt Agatha.” And roused Robert from bed, so they could ride on together to the coast. Saying good-bye to his brother would be difficult enough, given how close they were; he didn’t want to do it any sooner than he had to. “If we leave this morning, we can be to Keswick by nightfall.”

  “You don’t have to leave so soon,” she countered, seizing on a new line of attack. The hope he heard in her voice nearly undid him. “America’s big. There’s lots of land there for sale. You can buy another property if you lose this one.”

  “No, I can’t. It has to be this piece of land.” He stared grimly at his hands, folded between his knees. “It belongs to a family friend. He’s been holding it for me but needs to divest himself of it by the New Year. He made me a good offer if I bought it and let him and his wife remain on the property.” And Quinn had made a promise to do just that. A promise he had every intention of keeping. “They have no one else.”

  In the silence that followed, she sat unnaturally still, not even breathing. Then, so softly that the words were barely above a breath on her lips, she whispered, “I have no one else.”

  Anger pulsed through him, chasing on the heels of a flood of guilt. Damnation. It wasn’t his responsibility to secure her future when he had his own to worry about. Didn’t she realize that?

  He jumped down from the rock, then wheeled on her. “This is not my problem to solve.”

  Her own anger flared to the surface. “Isn’t it?”

  “Because of that damned fight?” Christ. Not this again! With frustration simmering inside him that she refused to leave that night to the past where it belonged, he planted his hands on the stone on either side of her and leaned in, her face level with his. Close enough that he saw the gold flecks in her irises when her eyes flared at his boldness. This fight was a long time in coming, and they would finally have it all out. Here and now. “Was I supposed to just stand there and do nothing while Williams said those things about you?”

  “Yes!” She straightened her spine. “Better to be insulted than to have my reputation ruined, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t ruin your reputation,” he countered. “That was nothing more than an accident and poor timing.”

  She imperially raised a brow, in a gesture that eerily reminded him of Aunt Agatha. “And was slamming your fist into Williams’s jaw accidental?”

  “No.” He grinned, just to irritate her. “That was pure pleasure.”

  “That was your arrogance getting in the way,” she snapped.

  He gritted his teeth. “I was defending your honor.”

  “I didn’t need my honor defended.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “But you wouldn’t listen to me and had to throw your fists at Williams—”

  “I did not throw my fists at him!” Good Lord. She made it sound like a grammar school shoving match. But if she thought she could guilt him into marriage, she’d better think again. He deliberately bit out each word, “That night was not my fault.”

  She cast him a contemptuous look, one so cold it shivered through him. “So you keep saying.”

  She looked down at the wild rose blossom she still held in her hand, then threw it away. She shoved him back, giving herself just enough room to slip to the ground and hurry away.

  Oh no. That little force of nature was going nowhere! Not after the bomb she’d just exploded.

  He grabbed her arm as she tried to step past him. “Listen to me, damn it!”

  With a fierce yank, she tried to wrench herself away, but he held tight. He took both of her arms and pulled her up against him to hold her still.

  “What do you want from me, Annabelle?” he demanded, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice. “An apology?”

  “You can keep your apologies!” she spat back. So much anger radiated from her that she shook with it, her breath coming quick and ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t want them.”

  “Good. Because I’m not giving any.” Her eyes blazed indignantly at that and stirred the burning inside him. “I’m not sorry for fighting over you that night. I’ll never be.” He pulled her closer as he leaned back against the rock. “But it’s not the fight that upsets you, is it?”

  “Let me go!” she hissed.

  The hell he would. He lowered his head until his mouth nearly touched hers. Each panting little breath of hers fanned across his lips, and beneath his hands he could feel her pulse racing. “It’s what happened before the fight that bothers you. How we kissed.”

  When her face darkened, he knew he was right. An electric thrill spun through him.

  “When you played another one of your childish pranks on me,” she ground out accusingly. “What was the goal that time, Quinton? To put me into tears by making me think you wanted to kiss me, when it was only a joke to you?”

  He stared down into her eyes, seeing a heated mix of anger and arousal that had her nearly breathless. “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself.”

  She inhaled sharply at his confession, and his gaze dropped to her mouth and fixed there. As if he could devour her simply by looking.

  “Because you were beautiful in the moonlight, because I wanted to ta
ste your lips and feel you pressed against me.” Then he dared to admit all— “Because I couldn’t believe that the awkward little girl I’d spent years tormenting had grown into a woman who was so unaware of her own allure that she’d venture into the shadows of the garden with a rogue like me.”

  “You’re lying,” she breathed, stunned by that raw admission.

  “I’m not.” He shifted her in his arms, until he wasn’t keeping her from fleeing but holding her willingly against him. “Or about how much I enjoyed that kiss.” He felt the catch of her breath against his lips. “And so did you.”

  She swallowed nervously, and he suppressed the urge to place his mouth right there at her throat to feel the soft undulation beneath his lips. “I didn’t.”

  “Liar,” he rasped. “But if you don’t believe me, I’m happy to prove it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t—”

  He lowered his head and kissed her, unable to resist one heartbeat longer.

  Sweet Lucifer…Quinn knew kisses, and knew them well. He’d kissed more women than he could remember, and a misspent youth had made him good enough at it to turn half of those encounters into full-out seductions. But this, this wasn’t just a kiss. This was so much more.

  Those other kisses didn’t leave him trembling the way that he trembled now. They didn’t intoxicate him with the wild scent of the highlands and heather. They didn’t leave his gut twisting into knots and his head spinning, or make the world fall away until he was aware only of the warm sweetness of her breath tickling at his lips, her soft body leaning into his in innocent invitation. But Belle’s kisses did just that. They were addictive, leaving him hungering for a deeper taste…one which he knew he shouldn’t claim yet desperately wanted.

  But if this morning was to be the last time he’d ever get to see her, why should he stop? He’d have this moment together to remember her by.

  And just like six years ago, he couldn’t help himself.

  “I remember everything about that kiss,” he murmured truthfully against her lips, although at that moment he would have said anything to keep her mouth against his and her body leaning into him, tasting the unbearable sweetness of her. “And how beautiful you were that night. How alluring.”