Page 74 of When the Scoundrel Sins

As for Quinton…Dear heavens, he was theverylast person she wanted to face!

He had been right all along about marriage and Glenarvon. This place was her home, and she’d always think of it that way. But she wasn’t willing to purchase it at the price of a lifetime’s imprisonment of marriage to a man who did not love her.

Ferguson opened the door, and Quinton strode into the room, looking just as unsettled as she felt. Right down to the wrinkles in his jacket and the haphazardly tied replacement cravat he’d donned after leaving the ballroom. For once, he was unable to muster the charming grin that he always had for her and Lady Ainsley, giving them both a sober nod instead.

“Aunt Agatha.” His gaze darkened as it landed on Belle. “Miss Greene.” Then he saw the solicitor as the man rose to his feet, and he stiffened in surprise. “Bartleby? What the devil are you doing here?”

“That’s what I’ve been attempting to discover,” Belle mumbled as she walked toward them. “Neither of them would tell me until you arrived.”

She trembled at Quinn’s presence. Why did the rascal have to look so handsome, even all mussed and aggravated? Andwhydid he have to keep looking at her like that, as if he wanted to grab her to him and kiss her senseless?

“Please sit.” Lady Ainsley nodded toward a chair, but she remained standing and nervously wringing her hands. “You will probably want something to drink.” Then she mumbled, “God knows I do.”

Belle looked at her with alarm. To see the viscountess this upset—a warning pricked at the backs of her knees that this summons was about far more than tonight’s party.

The viscountess gestured toward the front of the room. “There’s a bottle of Bowmore inside the card table.”

“Thank you.” Quinn retrieved the bottle and a glass, pausing to refill Bartleby’s glass before sitting. But his every muscle remained tense, his spine straight. His hard gaze flicked to Belle, and finding no answers in her, he looked back to his aunt. “You wished to speak to me?”

“To both of you,” Lady Ainsley corrected.

Oh no.Belle sank onto the settee across the tea table from Quinton as her stomach roiled. Did Lady Ainsley know what happened between them tonight?

The viscountess drew in a deep breath, once more wringing her hands. “It seems that matters concerning Glenarvon—and Annabelle’s future—have now changed.”

Oh no no no no.She pressed her hand against her belly to keep from casting up her accounts and darted her eyes toward Quinn, whose face remained remarkably inscrutable. That Lady Ainsley had figured out what they’d done— She bit back a mortified groan.

“Changed how?” Quinn demanded quietly.

His aunt hesitated, then swung her gaze to Belle, who caught her breath. The last time she’d seen the viscountess so out of sorts was when Lord Ainsley died. Seeing it again now deeply worried her. “Annabelle, are you quite certain that you do not want to marry?”

“Absolutely certain,” she whispered as Quinn stared at her, saying nothing. Thank goodness that the rascal remained silent for once. She didn’t think she could have borne a second argument with him about that in front of his aunt.

“That is a disappointment.” Lady Ainsley’s face fell as she admitted quietly, “I had great hopes that you two would marry.”

Belle’s heart stopped. So did Quinn’s arm as he raised the glass of whisky to his mouth.

He drawled, “Why would you think that?”

The dowager shook her head. “Because I’ve seen the way you two have looked at each other since you were eighteen. Even then there were embers burning between you.” Belle turned away from the viscountess’s gaze, but was unable to stop the telltale blush from rising in her cheeks. Lady Ainsley pressed Quinton, “Why do you think I invited you here to Glenarvon?”

“Because you needed my help to separate the viable gentlemen from the fortune hunters,” he bit out as he continued raising the glass to his lips. He clearly hated the idea of that as much now as he had when she’d first proposed it three weeks ago. “To find Belle a suitable husband.”

She wearily breathed out a defeated sigh. “A husband inyou, my dear boy.”

He choked on the whisky. Coughing, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stared at her, speechless.

So did Belle.

Lord Ainsley smiled faintly, clearly regretting that her scheme hadn’t worked. “I have learned over the years that the quickest way to make a man want something is by telling him that he cannot have it. So I told you that I wanted you to find another man for her, hoping you’d realize that you wanted to marry her yourself.” She looked hopefully at Quinton. “You did offer tonight, and I’m certain that—”

“I do not wish to marry,” Belle interrupted as firmly as possible, the conversation growing unbearable. Perhaps if she said it enough times, she’d begin to believe it herself.

“Not to anyone?” the dowager pressed.

“No, my lady.” She pulled in a deep breath, refusing to meet Quinton’s stare in case he could see right through that lie. “I wish to remain in your company for as long as you’ll allow me.”

“Then it seems we have no choice.” Lady Ainsley exchanged a questioning glance with Bartleby, who nodded and pulled at his neck cloth as if it were choking him. She took another deep breath. “Your announcement this evening changed everything.”