Page 86 of When the Scoundrel Sins

His heart pounded, the damned thing not knowing whether to be terrified at opening itself up to love or elated at the possibility of loving Belle forever. Dear God, if he made the wrong decision— “It isn’t that simple.”

“Yes.” Her tear-filled eyes sparkled knowingly. “It isexactlythat simple.”

***

Belle walked down the dew dampened lane toward the far pasture with her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets and her eyes fixed to the ground but not seeing anything. She’d dressed in her work clothes and left the house as soon as she’d spoken to Angus Burns, not because this morning’s trouble was anything too serious but because she couldn’t bear to linger within the same walls with Quinton a moment longer.

Around her, the early morning was quiet and still. The birds weren’t fully awake beneath the layer of clouds that the rising sun had yet to burn away, and the soft scrape of her boots against the gravel was muted by the fog that clung to the pasturelands like a veil. She wore the collar of her coat turned up against her neck, but it proved poor protection against the damp cold that seeped into her bones and seemed to chill her all the way down to her soul. Summer was over.

And so was any hope of being loved by Quinn.

She’d wanted the biting cold of the damp air and the physical exercise to chase last night from her mind, if not from her body’s memory, of how joyous it felt to make love to him. But the quiet morning served only to churn the emotions inside her even more, the images and sensations of being in his arms repeatedly pummeling her senses until hot tears blurred the ground in front of her.

She hunched her shoulders and blinked hard.No.She wouldn’t cry again. That was all she’d done since he’d left her room last night, until she thought she didn’t have any tears left. But she scowled at herself when she swiped a hand over her eyes and felt the warm wetness on her fingertips.

How dare that scoundrel come sweeping back into her life! Until he came along, she’d been perfectly fine. She’d grown used to being alone with her books and her swims in the pond, with managing the estate all by herself, and with the villagers and Lady Ainsley to care for. She would have lived out her life here, contented and satisfied with her lot. But then Quinton came along and ruined everything by making her fall in love with him, and by not loving her back.

She pressed her hand against her chest, where the man’s waistcoat she wore covered her pounding heart—as if the foolish thing didn’t know that it was supposed to be dead. Because surely it had shattered, this time beyond all repair. Oh,dear heavens, how much it hurt! She’d thought that the pain from six years ago could never be topped. But that girlish infatuation and humiliation had been nothing compared to this loss.

And she had no idea how to survive it.

“Miss Greene,” a voice called out from just beyond the edge of the mist. “Good morning!”

She glanced up, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes enough to make out Sir Harold sitting on top of his curricle that he’d stopped in the lane. The perfectly matched pair of bays pawed at the ground, impatient to continue their morning drive.

“Sir Harold.” She forced a smile. “What a surprise to see you up this early.”

He returned her smile, but it shivered through her, striking her as equally cold as the misty air around them. “Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. I seem to have a problem on my hands.”

This morning’s trouble with the sheep, of course.

Belle sucked in a deep breath to brace herself for the lecture she was certain to receive about the necessity of having better fences and gates, about how women had no place running an estate. The same set-down she’d received from him for the past year whenever trouble struck Glenarvon.

“I’m terribly sorry about the sheep,” she said, offering her apologies to keep the peace between them. Now that Glenarvon would be completely hers, they would have to deal with each other for a long time to come. And she wasn’t entirely certain that the wound she’d given to his pride last night had yet healed. “But it should all be cleared up soon. I’ve got Angus Burns and my men rounding up the flock right now.”

“I know.” His smile widened, but somehow remained just as stiff as before. Just as icy. “They’re down in my south pasture. Should be occupied there for several hours, I think.” He looked past her into the morning mist. “No guard dog this morning to escort you?”

“Lord Quinton is at the house.” She smiled tightly, even though his question tore at her heart. “I thought I’d come out early to help the men.”

“Can I offer you a ride to Kinnybroch, then?” He set the brake and tied off the ribbons, then stood to help her up onto the rig. When she hesitated, he added, “Might as well save your energy for rounding up sheep instead of walking all the way there.”

But she needed to walk, and to walk until she’d exorcised away the anguish still clawing inside her and the unbearable loss of a future that could never be hers. She forced her smile not to waver. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” He reached out his hand. “I insist.”

A prickly unease tingled at the backs of her knees. Something wasn’t right about him this morning. Something was…off. She couldn’t quite name what exactly, but it made her apprehensive to go with him.

Yet when she looked at him, his gloved hand outstretched, a stabbing guilt told her that she couldn’t refuse.

She was being silly! He’d driven her around the countryside dozens of times in the past, and often like this, just the two of them without a chaperone. This would be no different. What would never be allowed in London among the so-called quality was commonplace here in the country. After all, how much could she beg off for propriety’s sake when she was wearing men’s clothing, ready to join the field hands in herding sheep?

“I hold no grudge against you for what happened at your party,” he assured her, misreading her hesitation, “although I’d hoped to be the one you chose to marry.”

“I am sorry for that,” she said softly. And she was. Although she’d never cared for him, Sir Harold was a gentleman, and he didn’t deserve to be embarrassed.

“Then make it up to me by letting me drive you.” Another smile, just as strangely stilted as before. But now she understood the tension behind it. “We’re still neighbors and friends, are we not?”

Her shoulders eased down. “Yes. Of course.”