Page 57 of When the Scoundrel Sins

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.

CHAPTERNINE

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. “Annabelle! 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. WherewasQuinn?

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.