Page 75 of When the Scoundrel Sins

Confusion struck her. How could that have changed anything? She didn’t have a fiancé and was set to lose Glenarvon anyway. Her announcement simply made that loss final.

A frown creased Quinton’s brow. “How so?”

“When Lord Ainsley set up his will,” the viscountess continued, “he attached the marriage stipulation because he wanted to protect you, Annabelle.”

“From my father,” she whispered.

Lady Ainsley hesitated, paling slightly. “From Marcus Greene, yes.”

Bartleby straightened in his chair, leaning forward on the edge of the seat. “Although Lord Ainsley was your guardian, if Marcus Green ever returned into your life, he would have had every legal right to assume control of your property. The only way to protect you was for the estate to become yours and your husband’s.”

“Yes, I know.” Why were they telling her this? It made not one whit of difference now.

“But Ainsley and I always thought you’d marry, that you’d make a love match,” she said a bit wistfully. “The stipulation wouldn’t have mattered then.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Belle’s chest tightened with a sharp mix of guilt and loss. And deep grief. “Glenarvon won’t be mine after all, so my father cannot get his hands on it anyway.”

“He cannot ever now, my dear,” Lady Ainsley said somberly, “Marcus Greene is dead.”

Dead.Numbness flashed through her like an electric jolt. Her heart skipped, one painful, jarring beat. That was all. The moment passed, and she was left exactly as she was before. It wasn’t grief that struck her, but the lack of it.

Her father was dead. And she couldn’t find enough affection for him inside her to muster a single tear.

“Annabelle?” Quinn asked softly, his deep voice filled with concern.

She turned to look at him, and the worry he wore for her pierced her.Thatmade her eyes heat with tears, far more than the news of her father’s death.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, folding her hands in her lap. She had no idea what to do with her hands…She looked up at Lady Ainsley, who was still wringing hers, and a deeper wariness gripped her. “How do you know, for certain?”

“Lord Quinton tasked me with finding your father,” Bartleby interjected.

She swung her gaze to Quinton. “You did? Why?”

“Because I didn’t want any more problems for you,” he explained gently. “I know the hell that man put you and your mother through, and I wanted to make certain he remained on the far side of England, where he couldn’t harm you.”

Her throat tightened. Drat him! Why did he have to be so thoughtful and kind? He made it impossible not to love him when he did things like this.

“I hired a runner who traced him down in Liverpool,” Bartleby added. “He’d gone there after he was released from prison and worked as a porter on the docks, until he was convicted of theft and sent back to gaol. He died there eighteen months ago. The parish records confirm it.” His face fell. “I am sorry, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, struck by how everyone’s grief for her was stronger than her own grief for her father. A man who had been in her life only long enough for her to despise him.

“When Mr. Bartleby learned of his death, he told me.” Anticipating Quinn’s question about that, Lady Ainsley explained, “Bartleby has been our family attorney for years, and he knows that if there is any issue regarding Annabelle’s security, he is to contact me immediately.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” Belle shook her head. “But his death changes nothing. He cannot get Glenarvon now, but neither can I.”

Lady Ainsley and Mr. Bartleby exchanged another look, another silent communication. Then the viscountess said quietly, “But you can.”

“No,” she said as firmly as possible, not daring to meet Quinn’s dark gaze. Dear heavens,whywouldn’t they leave her alone about this? “I amnotmarrying.”

Bartleby replied carefully, “There is another part of the will that might now come into consideration and make your inheritance of Glenarvon possible without having to take a husband.”

Her breath caught in her throat as a bubble of hope swelled inside her. Tonight, when she’d made her decision not to marry, to follow after Quinton into the shadows, she was certain she’d lost her home. She’d accepted it then, and coming to that decision had emboldened her, because she’d had nothing left to lose.

But now, she had a second chance. Her heart raced painfully, and she barely registered that Quinn had tensed and sat forward in his chair. She asked softly, “How?”

“As you know,” the solicitor continued, “Lord Ainsley bequeathed all unentailed properties to his daughters to be split evenly among them.”

“Yes, his daughters from his first marriage.”