Page 84 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“If you’re waiting for Annabelle, I’m afraid you’ve missed her.” She accepted her glass. “Angus Burns sent a message to the house, just after dawn. There was a problem in the fields last night.”

He paused with the glass halfway to his lips, his gut twisting with dread. There hadn’t been any trouble in the past fortnight. He’d hoped the barn fire had been the last of it. “What kind of problem?”

“One of the gates was accidentally left open, most likely by a departing party guest, and the sheep wandered out of their pasture. They’ve strayed all over Kinnybroch, and the men have set to rounding them up.”

Suspicion prickled at the back of his neck. That was no accident. “Where’s Belle?”

“She’s gone out with Mr. Burns and the others. That’s why I was surprised to find you here.” She studied him over the rim of her glass. “I was certain you’d be out in the fields with her.”

He carefully kept his face inscrutable as he pretended to take interest in the whisky swirling in his glass. “Why would I do that?”

“Because in the month that you’ve been here, you’ve come to care about this place as much as she does. And to care about Belle as much as she cares about you.” Her old eyes softened on him. “You two belong together. I’ve known that since you were children.” She slowly shook her head. “Six years ago, though, you very nearly ruined everything. She hated you for such a long time after that.”

And deservedly so. He was only now beginning to realize—and accept—all the wrongs done to her that night.

Dear God, the stupid, silly things he’d done in his past! Had he really been so immature and naïve to think that he could keep slipping through life by solving all his problems with fisticuffs? Or that he could avoid all responsibilities of the heart and emotional attachments with only a grin? A fine mess all that had gotten him into. Fate had twisted everything into a knot until the one woman he should never have cared anything about was now the only woman he wanted to marry.

But not love.

He wouldn’t put himself into a position to be wounded the same way his mother had, and something deep in his heart whispered that loving Belle would do exactly that.

She sighed. “I had hoped that this time around would be different.”

“It is.” Frowning into his glass, he quietly admitted, “Annabelle loves me.”

His aunt froze, except for her eyes, which widened like saucers. “She…said that?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He would have puffed out his chest in arrogant pride if Belle hadn’t made it sound like a prison sentence.

Or expected him to love her back.

“Yet she refused to marry you?” she breathed out, still staring wide-eyed. If he’d sprouted a second head, his aunt couldn’t have been more surprised.

“She did.” He tossed back the rest of the whisky.

Her face fell, and she blinked, utterly bewildered. “Why on earth did she do that?”

He stared at the empty glass. “She doesn’t want a loveless marriage.”

“But it wouldn’t be loveless. If you both—” She narrowed her eyes knowingly on him. “You did tell her that you love her, too, did you not?”

“No.” That familiar pang of uncertainty returned to his chest in full force.

She gaped at him. “For heaven’s sake, why not?”

“I won’t start my marriage with a lie.”

“My dear boy, you won’t start your marriage at all at this rate.” Her eyes swept over him, as if desperate to notice something important that she’d missed before. “You don’t love Annabelle?”

The quiet question was a punch to his gut. “Annabelle is wonderful.”

Amazing. Beautiful. Free-spirited and kindhearted. The only woman who had him longing to hear her laugh and see one of her smiles, who had him rereadingDon Quixote, for God’s sake. Who had him looking forward to a long lifetime of morning swims in the pond, afternoons working on the estate, and quiet evenings spent together in front of the fire. Who had him wondering what she would be like as a mother, if their daughters would have the same caramel-colored hair and warm honey eyes, if their sons would be wild handfuls like him or quiet scholars like her. Their family and future. Right here in the place she loved, the place he was coming to appreciate just as much.

And yet…“But I don’t want to love her.”

Aunt Agatha grimly shook her head. “From what I’ve seen of love, you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

He clenched his teeth, his frustration rising. “AndI’veseen enough of love to know that I want no part of it.”