“Perhaps to frighten away the men who want to marry you.” His eyes darkened but never left hers. “Who benefits if you lose Glenarvon?”
Irritation sparked inside her. Now he was just being ridiculous. “The Church.” She arched a brow. “And I doubt Vicar Halsey is out committing arson when he rides his rounds.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “How well do you know Bletchley?”
She bit back a laugh. That was almost as ludicrous as the vicar. “Impossible.”
His jaw tightened. “He’s keen on marrying you.”
She didn’t dare let herself hope that the edge she heard to his voice was jealousy. She knew better. “Exactly. So what could he possibly gain by damaging the estate?” Besides, petty vandalism and arson weren’t Sir Harold’s style. Too messy. And too much work. If an activity didn’t involve hunting or gaming, he couldn’t have cared less about it. “You give him too much credit.”
“Because I’m concerned about you, Belle.” He stared at her gravely. “Especially since you’ve come to the decision to marry.”
“I have no other choice.” Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “You might be able to cut yourself off from your home forever, to put half the world between you and the people you—” Her voice choked on the word, her throat tightening painfully around it. Finally, she forced out, “Love. But I could never do that.”
She saw the anger flash coldly over him at her accusation, but she didn’t care. If he could so easily leave England, his home at Chestnut Hill, his family…her, then he would never understand her need to remain here at Glenarvon and her willingness to do whatever she had to in order to save the estate. And she doubted she would ever understand him.
“So if you aren’t willing to help me, Quinton,” she warned fiercely, “then at least stop making things worse.”
As she rose to her feet to leave, he threw his uninjured arm around her waist and drew her back to him. With a small squeak of surprise, she tumbled down onto his lap.
Maintaining a steely grip around her waist with his arm to keep her from slipping away, he cupped his palm against her cheek. His blue eyes shined into hers like a moonlit midnight.
“Damnation, Belle,” he growled. “I am trying to help you.”
“No, you’re not! You—”
“I’ve found another way to save Glenarvon,” he grudgingly admitted.
She stilled instantly. Her hands, which had been shoving at his shoulders to free herself, froze as she searched his face. But a grimness darkened his features. If he’d found a way to save her, he didn’t seem at all happy about it. She held her breath as she whispered, “How?”
“You buy Glenarvon back from the Church,” he answered quietly.
She flashed numb, all her hope evaporating. “But I can’t buy it,” she whispered, so softly her voice was barely audible to her own ears. Disappointment burned inside her chest, and so did humiliation when she had to admit, “I don’t have any money.”
And no way to get any. She had no property of any kind to post as collateral against a loan, and no male relative who could sign a loan for her in the first place. Women couldn’t get loans on their own, certainly not mortgages, and every clerk she approached would laugh her right out of the bank if she tried.
She looked away, not wanting him to see her helpless tears. He’d dangled hope in front of her, then cruelly pulled it away. Owning Glenarvon without a husband was just as unreachable for her as before.
“There is a way.” He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face back toward him. “If you let me help you.”
She shook her head. The familiar frustration came rushing back, and she sucked in a jerking, pained breath. “But you’re going to America…”
“I am,” he confirmed somberly.
She winced as an arrow of disappointment pierced her heart, deeper than she thought possible. For one fleeting moment, she’d dared to hope that Quinton had changed his mind, that he was offering to stay right here in England. She should have known better. After all, didn’t she know better than most the ramifications of a father’s influence on his child’s life?
As if reading her troubled thoughts, he added, “But I can also make certain that you’re safe here before I go.”
She didn’t share his conviction. “How?”
“By convincing Sebastian to buy Glenarvon.” He grinned at her, but his eyes were just as troubled as before. “What’s the point in having a duke for a brother if I never get to use him to my advantage?”
Belle stared solemnly at him. She couldn’t join in his optimism. “But Sebastian will own it then,” she reminded him quietly.
“And he’ll let you live here and run the estate as you please.” When she didn’t react with joy or throw her arms around his neck, as he’d undoubtedly expected, he frowned. “That’s what you wanted. To keep Glenarvon without having to marry. We’ve found a way to make it happen.”
“But I won’t own it,” she breathed out. Speaking any louder would have shattered her heart. “It’ll be Trent’s, not mine.”
“You asked for my help, Annabelle.” He rubbed his thumb over the streak of soot dirtying her cheek, but the tender touch scalded. “This will keep you from having to marry.”
But that was only a legal technicality. Because it didn’t stop her from once more being at the mercy of a man.
A sadness crept up inside her as she stared into his face, seeing an expression there of such concern for her, such relief that he’d finally found a solution to her troubles, that it made her ache. He was trying to help, but how could he ever understand what it was like to be helpless? To be left vulnerable to the volatility of a man, who was stronger and harder? Who had the power to evict her from her home whenever he pleased?
But at least it was a new way forward, which was more than she’d had an hour ago.
Despite the fearful dread sickening in her belly, she gave a jerky nod of capitulation.
“Good.” He reached up tenderly to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “I’ve already sent a message to Sebastian explaining your situation and outlining the terms that will most likely be part of the sale. It might take some time to hear from him.”
More time…the one thing she didn’t have. One week from today was her birthday party, when she was supposed to announce the name of her betrothed. “And if he says no?”
The way his face darkened told her everything—that Quinton didn’t know himself if the Duke of Trent would agree to help her. “Then we find our legal loophole,” he said quietly.
And if we don’t? But she knew the answer to that. It was the same dark, anguished-filled answer she’d had all along. She would have to marry a man who did not love her, putting her life and her happiness into his hands.
She wrapped her arms around Quinn’s neck to hug him to her. She rested her chin on his hard shoulder and squeezed closed her eyes, drinking in his strength and resolve.
“We’ll find a way out of this together, Belle,” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek against hers. “I promise.”
She desperately prayed that he was a man who kept his promises.
CHAPTER NINE
One Week Until Belle’s Birthday
Belle’s shoulders sagged wearily as the crush of bodies, noise, and heat of her birthday-turned-betrothal party suffocated her. Tonight should have been the happiest night of her life.
Instead, she’d stumbled into hell.
With only one week left until her birthday, there had so far been no salvation for her. The tension inside her coiled tighter with each tick of the clock that brought her closer to midnight and to the moment when she would have to make her announcement. Mr. Bartleby hadn’t found another legal loophole, and there had been no word from the Duke of Trent. Time had run out. Tonight, she would have to announce the name of the man she intended to marry. The man who would save Glenarvon for her.
And that man wasn’t Quinn.
Mrs. Lambert from the village mercantile squeezed her hand. “Annabel
le! Happy birthday, my dear.”
Belle cringed inwardly as she returned the well-wishes with a smile she certainly didn’t feel. She wanted to scream! Instead, she kept her smile glued in place, graciously accepted the congratulations of everyone who approached her, and pretended that her heart wasn’t breaking. Both over her impending announcement of who she’d chosen to marry and over Quinton.
She’d spent the past week avoiding being alone with him in order to keep him—and herself—under control. There could be no more stolen kisses or deliciously wanton swims at dawn, because she didn’t dare let herself be tempted by more.
But tonight, Quinton was nowhere to be seen. Not having him at her side to support her through what lay ahead curled a bereft loneliness through her, even in the middle of the crush.
“Congratulations, Miss Greene!” Mr. Bartleby bowed his head to her deferentially, a pleased grin on his face. “My wife and I are so very happy for both you and Sir Harold.”
Her smile faded as dread knotted her belly. Her gaze darted frantically around the room. Where was Quinn?
Instead of finding him, her eyes landed on Robert, who gave her a reassuring smile as she spotted him in the crowd. He wove his way through the room to her and bowed with all the polish of a London gentleman, his shining blue eyes so reminding her of Quinn’s that her heart stuttered.
“Happy birthday,” he offered for the benefit of anyone around them who might have been listening. Then lowered his voice, “Or should I say congratulations on acquiring Glenarvon? You’ll make a wonderful landowner and a good patron for the village.”
Her throat tightened with gratefulness, and she managed to force out a whispered, “Thank you.” It was her first sincere expression of gratitude all night.
Mindful of the crowd around them, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “And my deepest apologies for any problems Quinn and I might have caused you, both this past fortnight and six years ago. We were only trying to protect you,” he explained apologetically as he straightened away from her. “Then and now.”
“I know.” Her insides warmed at his sincerity.
He winked mischievously. “But sometimes we Carlisles can be idiots.”
She laughed. Oh, such grand idiots!
But the Carlisle brothers had surprised her by the men they’d become. Age and their father’s death had sobered them from their outrageously wild ways, even though they still possessed a love for life and took more risks than they should have. Richard Carlisle had been so proud of both of them, giving his children the love and support that a good father should. Sadness crept over her to think that Robert and Quinton were now driven by the urge to prove themselves to their father’s ghost, when Richard Carlisle had always loved them with all of his heart and only wanted the best for them.
“Forgive me?” He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
She smiled through the tears that threatened at her lashes. “Of course.”
He grinned at her, one that looked for all the world like one of Quinton’s…but somehow wasn’t quite the same. Oh, it was charming and brilliant, certainly. But it lacked the earnestness and warmth she’d always found in Quinn’s smiles. A genuine love for life and unabashed exuberance.
Robert’s smile only made her ache more for Quinn.
She glanced nervously past his shoulder, feeling like a goose for once again checking…“Is Quinton with you?”
“I don’t know where he is.” Then he added, his voice tinged with sadness, “Most likely halfway to Liverpool.”
His words jarred into her. A stark reminder that in one week—perhaps even after tonight’s announcement—Quinton would be on his way to America. And away from her. Forever.
Sobering at the sight of her troubled expression that Belle was unable to hide, Robert explained quietly, “He needs a sense of worth in his life, one separate from the family.”
Her chest tightened at that very succinct, dead-on description of his brother. That was exactly the person Quinton had revealed himself to be—a man who wouldn’t settle for anything less than proving his full value to the world.
“He hasn’t had much chance to do that,” Robert added, “and it grates at him. He thinks he’ll be able to succeed in South Carolina.”
Belle was certain of it. Since his arrival, he’d helped greatly with the estate, more so than she’d thought possible given the devil-may-care attitude of his younger days. He’d demonstrated a natural talent for estate management, and his charming personality was perfect for interacting with the tenants and workers. He’d be a grand success.
But she wouldn’t be there with him to see it.
She forced a smile for Robert, hoping to hide the sorrow gnawing at her chest. “What do you think of his plans?”
“I think he’s better off staying right here,” he said seriously.
She nodded, sighing out the truth, “He belongs in England. He’ll miss his family too much.” A faint smile touched her lips. “As well as London and all the trouble he gets into there.”
A knowing gleam flickered in Robert’s eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
He moved away to let the next person approach to congratulate her, and Belle stared after him, bewildered.
Not what he’d meant? If not England, then…
“Oh,” she whispered, the sudden realization dawning on her. Robert’s subtle comment sent a quiet warmth twisting through her, a tiny tendril of hope—
No.
Taking a deep breath, she quashed whatever reckless optimism had just flamed inside her. No good would come of dreaming of what could never be, and she could never admit the truth aloud. That she wanted nothing more than to keep him right there at Glenarvon. With her.
As if fate had heard her thoughts, the crowd parted. Only for a fleeting moment, but long enough to catch a flash of golden blond beneath the blaze of the chandeliers on the far side of the room—
Quinton.
Dressed impeccably, he wore a superfine black jacket and blue brocade waistcoat that further accentuated the rich gold color of his hair and the wide breadth of his shoulders. Muscular thighs stretched beneath white trousers that matched the snow-white of his cravat that boldly contrasted the midnight-blue of his eyes. He held a glass of whisky in one hand as he listened to the group around him, with his other hand tucked into the small of his back and his feet wide. Quiet confidence exuded from him—the perfect stance of a gentleman who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.
Her body reflexively tightened at the sight of him. Sweet heavens…so handsomely formal in attire, so comfortably casual in stance. Of course, he stood with a group of women, but truly, where else would Quinn be but surrounded by ladies, their attentions riveted to him? Just as hers was. He smiled that beaming grin of his and made them all feel the full effect of his charm, as if each of them were the most beautiful woman in the room.
The scoundrel she’d known had grown into so much more, and she no longer saw him as an impish rogue but as the capable man he’d become. As the true partner and friend with whom she could share her life.
Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, Quinton had found his way into her heart. Now, when she closed her eyes at night and dreamed of a husband, it was his charming smile she saw. The quiet evenings before the fire she longed to have were with him. The children she imagined had his same grin and sparkling blue eyes, his same golden-blond hair. And it was Quinn she fantasized about welcoming into her bed, the only man she ever wanted to give herself to.
In mid-laugh, Quinn glanced up and caught her watching from across the room. An electric jolt swept over her as his eyes darkened on her, a predatory look pulsing with so much possessiveness and desire that she trembled. He held her captive beneath his gaze for a mere half dozen heartbeats, but in that moment, he set her heart somersaulting. It was as if a silken ribbon joined them, one that tangled through her and made her a part of him, and him a part of her. She couldn’t remember what it was like not to have that connection
to his strength and warmth. As she drew in a deep, shaking breath and felt the rush of emotion slice through her, she knew then, without a doubt…
She loved him.
Then the crowd closed back in, and he was gone.
* * *
Quinn stepped out onto the terrace and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air to steady himself. Good God. Even standing across the ballroom from Annabelle tonight had been too close for comfort.
Rubbing his hand at the knot of tension now permanently lodged at the back of his neck, he moved into the dark shadows near the balustrade and turned back toward the house. Keeping his distance, he could see her through the French doors, watching her as she smiled at the guests. Over the past week, it had become harder and harder to keep himself from her. And tonight was torture. Seeing how beautiful she looked in her soft satin and lace as she outshined even the flickering candles in the chandeliers, knowing how much she needed him and how much more with each minute that brought them closer to midnight, remembering how sweet her kisses and how soft her touch—
Christ. He blew out a frustrated breath. If he wasn’t careful and somehow ended up alone with her tonight, he wasn’t certain he could stop himself from kissing her again. Or touching her. And if he did that, he wasn’t certain he could stop himself from doing everything he could to save her. Including offering marriage.
Robert joined him at the balustrade. He followed Quinn’s gaze through the French doors and commented quietly to keep from being overheard, “The Bluebell’s quite a beauty.”
More than beautiful. Tonight, she simply glowed. “Yes, she is.”
“And you’re a damned fool.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, his hands tightening into fists. He hadn’t expected to pummel his brother this evening, but he was just frustrated enough to do exactly that. And enjoy it immensely. “Leave this alone.”
Robert slid him a sideways glance. “Have you left Belle alone?” When Quinn didn’t answer, he added, “Didn’t think so.”
Quinn turned on him. “It doesn’t concern you.”
When the Scoundrel Sins Page 18
