Page 82 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“Annabelle.” Her name was a warning that he would brook no argument about this. Because his next course of action would have been to tie her up with them to make her see reason…although, he considered as he rubbed the smooth pearls back and forth across her nipples and watched shamelessly as they hardened beneath the soft friction, tying her up might not be such a bad idea after all.

“I can’t accept them, Quinton,” she rasped out chokingly. “And I won’t marry you.”

“You will,” he argued softly. Marriage was the right future for both of them, making both their dreams come true.More—she needed him, and he certainly needed her.

“No, I won’t.”

“Why not?” he cajoled softly as his mouth followed the rope down to her breasts, to lave at her nipples with his tongue. Whatever her reason, he would prove it wrong—

“Because I love you,” she whispered, and the anguished sound sliced through him like a saber.

***

Belle held her breath as Quinn froze, his mouth stilling against her, and waited for him to reply. Her heart pounded brutally as it ticked off each silent second, and each passing moment only made her more miserable than she’d ever been before in her life. Because she knew the harsh truth.

For all his pretty words and charming smiles, for all his insistence that she marry him, he did not love her.

When she could bear his silence no longer, she slid out from beneath him and off the bed. Thankfully, he let her go, but the heat of his puzzled stare fixed on her as she snatched up her discarded night rail and pulled it over her head. Her shaking fingers tangled the ribbon at her neckline into a knotted mess.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the stunned expression on his handsome face and pressed her hand against her chest, where her foolish heart continued to pound away. Didn’t the silly thing know it was broken? The irony burned inside her. Three weeks ago she was desperate to marry him; now she couldn’t bear the thought of being the wife he didn’t love.

Pulling in a deep breath, she forced down the hollow pain smoldering inside her chest. “Do you know why I followed you into the darkness tonight during the party? Because I’d already made my decision to not marry. Tonight was to be the one and only time I would ever make love to a man,” she said softly. The raw sincerity came easier than she’d imagined, but it didn’t stop her heart from bleeding. “And I wanted it to be with you.”

He stared at her, stunned at her confession. “Belle, I—”

“It was wonderful, Quinton.Youwere wonderful. But I never expected you to marry me because of it. Not then, not now.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing his shocked expression. “In the end, you were right about me. I couldn’t bring myself to marry someone who didn’t love me.” Shaking her head, she forced a smile, but it only deepened her sorrow. She choked out—“And I still can’t.”

Years of marriage to him, living with him and loving him, even bearing his children—Dear God.A different kind of hell than the one her mother suffered in her marriage, but still agony. To dedicate her life and heart to a man who did not love her in return, to be so close to his love that she could feel it and taste it, but never have it…how would she ever survive?

He rolled off the bed and stalked toward her. “We need each other, Annabelle. As estate partners, as friends, as lovers…I want all of that with you. You’re beautiful and intelligent, and you make me feel alive. How could Inotwant you for my wife?”

A soft sob tore through her. Damn him for saying such wonderful things! And damn him for putting his arms around her, for drawing her close against him…Oh, he wasn’t helping, not at all! Because for all his sweet words and tender touches, there was no admission of love. And she knew in her heart that there never would be.

“Quinton—” Her throat tightened as he caressed his lips across her shoulder, her eyes closing tightly against the unbearable tenderness of his kiss.

“I care about you, Annabelle. And I want to make you happy.” He kissed her gently and murmured against her lips, “We need each other, and that’s enough. What more could love do but cause problems?”

“Allow for a true partnership, for one,” she whispered. Something her parents never had.

“We would have that.” He took a deep breath and confessed, “I spoke to Bartleby about it tonight. I’m taking the money I saved for America and purchasing more land for us. Forus, Belle. Property we’ll own and manage together.”

What should have made her heart soar only made it tear more deeply. “And inside the house where we live?” she murmured, unable to find her voice beneath her sorrow. No matter how much the hopefulness of his words warmed her chest, owning property together would only be part of their lives. “Would we be partners there, too? When we disagree—and wewilldisagree, Quinton, it’s our nature—without love to get us through the bad times…” She shook her head and whispered, “Our marriage becomes nothing but a prison.”

“No, it won’t.” The determination inside him was strong, but it didn’t bring her comfort. “We were friends first before we ever considered anything more, and we’ll stay friends after we marry.”

“I saw what my parents had for a marriage.” She blinked rapidly as his handsome face blurred unrecognizably beneath her hot tears. “They didn’t have love, which meant they didn’t have respect for each other. But they had resentment, bitterness, anger…so much anger!”

“I’m not Marcus Greene,” he countered fiercely. “I wouldneverlay a hand on you or treat you the way he treated your mother.”

“I know that,” she whispered achingly. “But I also know that the damage you could do to me could be so much worse, just because I love you. You wouldn’t have to do anything except not return my love, and the pain would be unbearable.” She shook her head, the anguish already burning inside her so hotly that she shuddered. “I couldn’t bear that kind of marriage with you.”

“You think love would make it better?” His arms tightened around her, as if he were afraid she’d leave him right then. “Love can make thingsworse, Annabelle. Look at my parents—when my father died, my mother was devastated. Her entire life was ripped out from under her. It took her weeks to crawl out of bed, and every breath she took filled her with such grief, such desolation, that it nearly killed her, too.”

“Quinton,” she whispered, struck by the raw emotion in him. His jaw tightened as the grief of the memories mixed with his frustration, until it seeped inside her, as palpable as falling rain.

“And your real parents, Belle…what did love do for them?” He shook his head. “In my experience, love causes nothing but destruction and heartache. Why would you want that?”

Slowly, she stepped back, just out of his grasp, should he attempt once more to reach for her. Because she wasn’t certain she had the strength to push him away if he did.