Page 9 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“I am.” Just as his father had arranged. Richard Carlisle had understood Quinn’s need to make his own way and hadn’t dissuaded him when he’d set his sights on America. He’d encouraged them, in fact. Quinn couldn’t afford the property by himself, even at the generous price Jeffers offered, so his father agreed to loan him the money. There was only one condition: that Quinn would allow Jeffers and his wife to live out their remaining days on the property, that he would care for them there.

And Quinton had every intention of keeping this last promise to his father. Thevery lastpromise, in fact. Because the letter from Jeffers, agreeing to the terms of sale, had arrived just three days before the accident that took his father’s life. Quinn’s plans had been put on hold after that, but he’d used that promise to find his way out of his grief and to be strong for his mother when she’d needed him.

Jeffers graciously understood Quinn’s need to remain in England, to help his family through their mourning period and to assist Sebastian in running the estate until a proper land agent could be hired. But their mourning was now over, and a good agent had been hired. And Quinn was needed in Charleston. He couldn’t be there at his father’s side to take care of him the night he’d had the accident that took his life, but he could take care of Asa Jeffers.

“Then shouldn’t you already be on a ship sailing for the west?” Belle asked.

Good question. Time was running out. He had to make his way to Charleston before the new year, when Jeffers would no longer be able to hold the land for him, having to sell before taxes were levied. Given the need to be on a ship bound for America in just four weeks in order to meet that deadline, this trip to the borderlands wasn’t convenient. But he wasn’t too proud to pass up any additional funds Aunt Agatha might be willing to provide that would help his new venture to found not only his own American estate but a trade business, as well.

“I will be soon enough,” he answered resolutely.

Of course, he also knew that the visit to Glenarvon meant seeing Annabelle. They hadn’t last parted under the best of circumstances, but he’d assumed that they could tolerate each other for a few days before he rode on to the coast. Then his future would begin. And not a moment too soon.

“Quinton! You got dirt in my stockings!”

He grinned. Yep. The same Bluebell he remembered.

Unless…

How muchexactlyhad Belle changed during the past six years?

The temptation to satisfy his curiosity was too great to ignore. And who could really fault him for taking a quick glance? After all, any man would be curious about a woman he hadn’t seen since she was eighteen, since the night she’d kissed him breathless.

“And look! There’s grass all over my dress.”

Would she be the same gangly girl he remembered? Would she still be nothing but skin and bones, sharp angles, and big feet? Fate would undoubtedly make him pay for this, but he couldn’t help himself—

He glanced over his shoulder.

His breath hitched in his throat when he caught sight of her in the fading golden-purple sunset, all curvy naked and dripping wet, her body half turned toward him as she hurried into her clothes.Sweet Lucifer.Full breasts with dusky-pink nipples drawn taut from the cold water, round hips, and long legs that stretched all the way from her toes to her…Well.She’d certainly grown into her feet, all right, along with the rest of her.

He swallowed. Hard. The Bluebell had become a woman.

And God help him, he wasn’t prepared for that, or for the visceral reaction in his tightening gut. Good Lord, for theBluebell. And when she turned to drop her shift over her head and shimmied it down over her breasts and hips, unknowingly teasing him with another angle of her ripe body, the new view ripped his breath away.

He turned around before she caught him staring at her. Fisted at his sides, his hands trembled, and he inhaled deep, slow breaths to steady himself.

Well. Some things had certainly changed in the past six years. In all kinds of new and interesting ways.

“Just one moment more,” she called out. “I can’t quite reach…”

More fabric rustled behind him. Quinn imagined her lissome body twisting to reach behind her to fasten her dress, her breasts straining tantalizingly against her low-cut bodice as her back arched. One long leg would be half exposed by a raised skirt revealing the lacy edge of her stocking, which he could slowly roll down her thigh and follow along in its wake with his mouth.

“I’m almost through!”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried not to think of how round and full her derriere was as she bent over to slip on her half boots. He blew out a harsh breath of aggravation. That she of all women could elicit such a response from him that even now his cock tingled—

“Hurry up, will you?” he prodded irritably. Because he wasn’t certain how much longer he could stand there, not looking.

“There,” she announced. “I’m dressed.”

Thank God.He turned.

And froze beneath the full force of her presence.

Sweet and genuinely enchanting—and far more beguiling than he remembered—Belle gazed up at him through long, lowered lashes. In her sprigged muslin dress, with her damp, caramel-brown hair now pinned into place, she looked perfectly proper, as if she hadn’t just been caught swimming naked. She barely came up to his shoulder yet packed the punch of an Amazon with her quiet allure and natural grace. Gone was her insecurity, replaced by a shining confidence he remembered seeing in her only once before, right as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him.

She held her hand out to him, and he caught the scent of heather wafting on the air. The same wild, floral perfume he remembered. Her cheeks pinked delicately, and the tingle in his cock turned into a longing ache that twined up his spine.