Page 77 of When the Scoundrel Sins

When her voice trailed off, Bartleby interjected gently, “You can now receive Glenarvon as your share of the inheritance that he left to all his daughters.”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing angrily on Bartleby. “Tell her the rest,” he ordered.

The two men stared at each other, and the silent communication that passed between them brought an icy frost over the room. A tension Belle couldn’t fathom.

“Tell her what she has to do to claim it. That she can only gain her inheritance that way if she lets herself be recognized as Ainsley’s illegitimate daughter.” Quinn bit out distastefully, “His bastard.”

“Quinton, please,” Lady Ainsley chastised.

The harshness in his voice and face could have cut glass. But when he looked at Belle, his expression softened. “You’ll never be accepted into society. They’ll never let you forget who you are and where you came from. They’ll cut you directly to your face—worse, they’ll do everything they can to embarrass you, spread vicious and untrue stories about you, ruin what’s left of your reputation.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, each passing second marked by her pounding heartbeat. And by the increasing anguish in her heart, that he could care this much about her to once more attempt to protect her by warning her…but not love her.

She smiled faintly, a soft curl to her lips as she lifted her chin. “Let them. I haven’t needed them in the past twenty-five years, and I won’t need them going forward.”

“You know what it means to be ostracized by society, how hard it can be,” he pressed. “Are you certain you want this?”

“What do I care what society thinks of me?” She squeezed Lady Ainsley’s hand. “I will have Glenarvon and my tenants, the workmen, the villagers…all the people I love, and all the people who love me.” She saw the concern that darkened his face, but she also saw the flicker of admiration deep in his sapphire eyes. “I now get to tell the world that Lord Ainsley was my father, and I will make him so very proud of me. The way a daughter should.”

His eyes never left hers as he murmured, “That’s my Bluebell.”

A warmth blossomed in her chest, even as her heart tore as she thought about her new future. One she wouldn’t be able to share with him.

“If that is your decision,” Bartleby interjected, “then first thing in the morning, I’ll file to have the courts reopen the will. The magistrates will certainly want to question all of us, but I am confident that they’ll grant you Glenarvon, especially after I show them the letters I have in my office, in which Lord Ainsley and your mother acknowledged your true paternity.” He smiled at her. “Congratulations, Miss Greene. You are the new owner of Castle Glenarvon.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Belle glanced at Quinn. She wanted to share the bittersweet joy of this moment with him, but he’d turned away, once again staring thoughtfully out the window.

Bartleby smiled proudly at Quinn. His chest puffed out beneath his waistcoat. “You asked me to find a legal loophole, Lord Quinton. It seems that’s exactly what we’ve done!”

But Quinn only grunted to acknowledge the solicitor’s comment, his eyes and attention still focused out the window, where he could surely see nothing but the inky blackness of the dark countryside.

Lady Ainsley rose to her feet, gently pulling Belle up with her. “I think we should go to your room now.” She placed a motherly hand against Belle’s cheek and smiled reassuringly at her. “You’ve had a long evening. I’m certain you could use some peace and rest. And I know that while I can never replace your mother”—she paused, her eyes glistening—“I hope you still hold affection for me, the kind a daughter would.”

Unable to speak for fear of crying, Belle tightly hugged Lady Ainsley. Then the viscountess linked her arm around Belle’s waist and led her from the room.

Belle looked back in time to see Quinn turn away from the window and slap Bartleby on the back.

“Bartleby, if you don’t mind lingering a bit. I have a proposition for you…” Quinn’s deep voice drifted away as Belle passed into the hall with the dowager.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Belle sat on the window seat in her bedroom, her forehead resting against the cool glass, and stared into the dark night, unable to see anything beyond the pane. Although, in truth, she wasn’t really looking. Her thoughts were too preoccupied, churning and spinning until she didn’t know what to think. Or feel.

The solitude of her room hadn’t given her the peace she’d sought, especially as Lady Ainsley had come by twice to check on her and then sent her maid to bring up a cup of warm milk to help her sleep.Sleep?A bubble of laughter spilled from her lips. How ludicrous that notion was! She’d never be able to sleep tonight. Not knowing that Lord Ainsley was her real father and that Glenarvon was now hers and could never be taken away.

And certainly not with thoughts of Quinn revolving through her mind, so foolishly replaying every moment that he’d spent making love to her.

No.Not making love.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the searing pain that gripped her when she thought of that special melding of bodies and souls. She might have made love tohim, but what he felt for her wasn’t anything near love.

To have him finally propose to her, only to have to reject him—oh, it had been torture! But she knew the hell that a marriage without love could be, and she would never put herself into that position. No matter Quinn’s honorable intentions, or how much she longed to be his wife.

A knock sounded softly at the door, and she rolled her tear-blurred eyes.What now?Why wouldn’t everyone just leave her alone so she could be miserable in peace?

But the knock came again. Dreading that it was another visit from Lady Ainsley, or more warm milk she didn’t have the stomach to drink, she opened her door.

And gasped. “Quinton.”