When the Scoundrel Sins

by Anna Harrington

  “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.

  She said softly, “Welcome to Castle Glenarvon.” She added with a touch of begrudging politeness and a flash of her eyes that reminded him of smoldering coals right before they flamed into a fire, “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  There you two are,” Lady Ainsley called out as Belle and Quinn entered the drawing room.

  Belle sent her an apologetic smile for taking so long to return, then gave one to Robert, Quinton’s older brother, in welcome as he rose to his feet at her arrival. He seemed happy to see her again.

  More importantly, he hadn’t fled. Which meant that Lady Ainsley had yet to acknowledge the real reason behind his brother’s summons to the borderlands, most likely waiting until Belle was in the room.

  She bit back a groan of embarrassment. She’d hoped that the viscountess had changed her mind about this mad scheme of hers—

  “I imagine that you and Quinton had a great deal to discuss,” Lady Ainsley added hopefully.

  No such luck. Her stomach sank as her last tendril of hope for reprieve fled.

  “Not really,” Belle dodged, refusing to acknowledge her predicament to the two men until she absolutely had to. The entire situation was embarrassing enough. The last thing she wanted to do was admit in front of that scoundrel Quinton that she’d been unable to find a husband. No, not unable. More like purposeful evasion. And truly, with the way the men in her life had behaved, could anyone blame her for not being eager to shackle herself to one of their kind?

  But now, she no longer had a choice.

  Lady Ainsley’s lips tightened knowingly at Belle’s answer, clearly not the one she wanted. “Regardless, I am glad you’ve returned.”

  The viscountess’s eyes narrowed curiously on Quinton, as if sizing him up.

  Belle frowned. Did Lady Ainsley regret her decision to bring him here, now that he stood before her in flesh and blood?

  Apparently not, because his aunt’s gaze softened with an optimistic gleam. Belle’s stomach sank further, this time all the way to her knees.

  “Now that we’re all present,” the viscountess announced, “Quinton, Robert—welcome to Castle Glenarvon.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Agatha.” When Quinton placed a kiss on Lady Ainsley’s cheek, the dowager flushed a happy pink even though she waved him away with a feigned scowl. She fooled no one. His aunt held great affection in her heart for Quinton, always had. Even when the rascal didn’t deserve it. “I’d never pass up the chance to see you.” Ignoring her unconvincing humph of disbelief, he jerked a thumb toward his brother. “Robert, though, tagged along in order to flee from a woman.”

  “I wasn’t fleeing,” Robert interrupted with a touch of aggravation.

  “As much as escaping,” Quinn clarified quickly.

  Robert nodded. “The lifelong shackles of domestication—”

  “And matrimony—”

  “But any escape from matrimony—”

  “—is a good escape.”

  “Indeed!” they finished together.

  The two men turned to look at Lady Ainsley, as if expecting some kind of reaction to their rapid-fire exchange. But the dowager only stared at them as if they were both bedlamites.

  And truly, even Belle didn’t know what to say to that, her mouth falling open, speechless. The Carlisle brothers had always possessed an uncanny ability to finish each other’s sentences, but this was…astonishing.

  Having long ago grown used to the brothers’ antics, Lady Ainsley claimed back the flow of conversation. “So good to have you both here.” She darted a sideways look at Belle. “However, I did not invite you here to avoid weddings. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  Sobering quickly at her pronouncement, the two men exchanged a bewildered glance.

  Then Quinton ventured with a grin, “You invited me here because you wanted to see me one last time before I left for America.” When his aunt hesitated to answer, his grin faded. “Didn’t you?”

  Lady Ainsley’s ramrod-straight spine softened at that, as if she fully realized that this visit could very likely be the last time her old eyes laid sight on Quinton. “Of course I wanted to see you. I am very fond of all of Elizabeth’s children.” Her lips twisted into a judgmental grimace. “Although surely you boys take after your father’s side of the family and not mine.”

  The two men grinned, and Belle was struck by how similar they looked. Like two life-size bookends, right down to the same broad shoulders, golden hair, and midnight-blue eyes.

  “You are always welcome to visit.” Lady Ainsley admitted after a fleeting pause, “But that was not my prime motivation.”

  Belle couldn’t breathe as the room tilted sickeningly beneath her. She held her breath, dreading this moment…

  “Then why were we invited?” Quinn asked.

  The question seemed to hover in the air like a trail of smoke. Knowing what was coming, Belle dropped her gaze to the carpet as embarrassment heated her cheeks.

  “Because Annabelle needs a husband,” Lady Ainsley announced without preamble.

  Oh God. Belle’s stomach plummeted right through the floor.

  “Pardon?” both brothers rasped out simultaneously, their deep voices thick with bewilderment. And panic.

  Mortification surged through her. Oh, she simply wanted to crawl under the settee and die!

  With her cheeks heating, she glanced up to find Quinton staring at her. His puzzled gaze raked deliberately over her, as if he’d never seen her before. As if it had never occurred to him that she might become some man’s wife.

  Belle rolled her eyes. The rascal was probably terrified that his aunt meant marriage to him. Which only made Belle’s face heat even more with embarrassment. And irritation. After all, there was nothing wrong with her, for heaven’s sake! She’d make him a fine wife. If anything, he was the one who wouldn’t do for a husband for her if she proposed to the scoundrel and—

  Oh.

  Her heart skipped as an idea began to take shape at the back of her mind. A thoroughly desperate, utterly mad idea.

  A proposal…

  Lady Ainsley explained quietly, “My late Ainsley insisted that Annabelle be taken care of after we’d both gone, to ensure a living and home for her. So we established an inheritance which would do exactly that.” Her shoulders lifted as she drew a deep breath. “We wanted to protect her from anyone who might try to do her harm, just as we wanted her to share her future with a loving husband, who would help her oversee her finances and provide the love and support she deserves. The same kind of marriage I shared with my Ainsley.”

  “That was very kind of you and Uncle Charles,” Quinton murmured,
drawing a concurring nod from Robert.

  “We thought so,” Lady Ainsley agreed solemnly, her concerned gaze drifting to Annabelle, who looked away, unable to bear the viscountess’s helpless concern. “That was also why we attached a stipulation to the inheritance.”

  Robert frowned. “Which is?”

  “That I marry by the time I reach my twenty-fifth birthday,” Annabelle interjected grimly, to save Lady Ainsley from having to speak it. To ease at least a portion of the guilt Belle knew swirled inside the kind woman over this. She and Lord Ainsley had only wanted the best for Belle, and Belle had let them down by not finding a husband.

  By not wanting one at all, if truth be told. Not unless she married for love.

  “If I marry by then,” Belle continued quietly, not daring to meet Lady Ainsley’s gaze for fear one of the two women might break into sobs, “I will inherit Castle Glenarvon. If not, it goes to the Church.”

  As the days grew closer and closer to her birthday, it seemed as if exactly that would happen. Unless…Belle took another glance at Quinton. While entering a love match no longer seemed an option, at the very least she wanted a husband who would allow her to keep the estate and run it exactly as she pleased. Someone who wouldn’t interfere.

  Or who couldn’t interfere.

  Hope fluttered inside her. The scoundrel might just prove helpful after all.

  “So you understand that we must find her a husband.” The viscountess shifted her gaze between her two nephews. “And I expect both of you to help.”

  “Help how, exactly?” Robert asked suspiciously.

  “In two days, after Sunday service at church, we will casually announce that Belle has been given a generous dowry. The estate of Castle Glenarvon.” The dowager’s lips twisted distastefully at all that implied. “I expect word to flood through the countryside and for suitors of all kinds to inundate our front hall in order to declare their intentions to marry her. We will have to choose the best man from among them.”

  “But that’s…” Quinn began thoughtfully, his voice trailing off as he closely watched Belle.

  Like auctioning me off to the highest bidder? But Belle didn’t dare speak that aloud, knowing how much it would wound Lady Ainsley.

  “Exactly like any other young society lady who debuts in London and makes her intentions to marry known,” the dowager finished. “The only difference is that those ladies have several seasons to choose a husband, whereas we have only four weeks.”

  Belle cringed. Lady Ainsley made it sound like a battle plan for capturing the enemy.

  “Which is why we need you two here,” the dowager continued. “Annabelle lacks male relatives to help her with the formalities of being courted and to sort the viable suitors from the undesirables, so I have called upon you to assist us. You will fill the role of guardian. Suitors will approach you, and you will put them through their paces. If you decide they are good enough to court Annabelle, you will give your permission. If not, you will ensure that they leave and do not bother her again.”

  Belle kept her gaze glued to the carpet, unwilling to raise her eyes to see how Lady Ainsley’s plan was settling on the two men. Nor did she want to face the recrimination—or worse, the laughter—she knew she’d see on Quinton’s face.

  “That is our plan,” the viscountess finished. “And it will work. We have not yet given up hope.”

  But Belle had. Almost.

  She stole a surreptitious glance at Quinn as the desperate idea at the back of her mind now blossomed into a real possibility. A proposal. It was ludicrous and reckless, absolutely mad—

  And quite possibly the only good solution she had left.

  Quinn arched a skeptical brow. “It takes a scoundrel—”

  “—to know a scoundrel?” Robert finished just as warily.

  “Exactly.” Lady Ainsley nodded imperially. It was a credit to the two men that they hadn’t either burst into laughter at her scheme or fled.

  Quinn shook his head, the lunacy of this plan visible on his face. “Aunt Agatha, you know we’d do anything for you and Annabelle.” He flicked an apologetic glance at Belle. “But Robert and I don’t know any of the local gentlemen here.”

  Robert agreed cautiously, “We wouldn’t know who to recommend or chase away.”

  “You will do fine for what I have in mind.” Lady Ainsley inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, do they not, Annabelle?”

  “Yes,” she murmured thoughtfully. Oh, what she was considering was certainly desperate!

  “And you have no suitors now?” Quinn turned toward Belle. “No one who holds an affection for you?”

  That stung. Because of him, she hadn’t had any serious suitors since the night of the St James ball, but then, neither had she encouraged any. All the men in her life had proven to be disappointments, either brutally controlling her or actively working to harm her. Even Lord Ainsley, whom she loved like a father, was now directing her life. Why would she be eager, then, to chain herself to one for the rest of her life?

  “There is no one,” she admitted, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the aching humiliation darkening her chest. Society regarded an unmarried woman of twenty-five as being “on the shelf.” A pleasant way of saying unwanted spinster. They viewed her lack of marital status as an indication that something was inherently wrong with her, something lacking in her as a woman that made men shun her. Belle was doubly damned. Not only had her reputation been ruined six years ago, but she also lived between worlds as a lady’s companion, where she wasn’t good enough to marry into society and too good to marry an ordinary man from the village.

  She might as well have been invisible. And sexless.

  Until recently, none of that had bothered her. She’d viewed unmarried life as her path for independence. No man to control her or tell her what to do, no husband to yell or raise his fists in anger. She could dress however she preferred and spend her time on whatever activities she wished, and never would she be uprooted from her home again due to the actions of a man.

  That was the bitter irony of her situation. A man once again had control over her life, albeit this time from beyond the grave, while only another man could save her.

  “The gentleman who owns the neighboring estate has offered marriage,” Lady Ainsley commented, sensing Belle’s distress. “Sir Harold Bletchley. He is Annabelle’s leading suitor at the moment.”

  Quick dread swept through her, and Belle glanced frantically at Quinn. “He is not my suitor,” she corrected the dowager as gently as possible. She didn’t want there to be any confusion in Quinn’s mind about her relationship—rather, her lack of one—with Sir Harold. “We are not courting, and I have not accepted any offers, from Sir Harold or anyone.”

  Now that Quinn was here, she might never have to. For the first time, a glimmer of hope about her situation tingled inside her.

  “Although he has offered in the past and would gladly court her,” the viscountess interjected. “He is quite fond of Annabelle.”

  Perhaps. But he seemed even fonder of her inheritance. “I was hoping someone else might come along,” she explained. “Someone better suited for me.”

  Her gaze drifted to Quinton. By the luck of fate, she might have just found that man. And right in the nick of time.

  “It takes three weeks to read the bans,” Robert reminded them. His concerned gaze softened on Belle. “You’re not giving yourself much time.”

  “I’ve procured a special license,” Lady Ainsley informed them. When they all looked at her in surprise, she explained, “The archbishop is a family friend.”

  “Of course,” Belle mumbled, her shoulders sagging. Apparently, even God wanted her married.

  “We’re planning the wedding festivities to coincide with her birthday,” the viscountess continued. “Both tied up perfectly together.”

  “I see,” Quinn said slowly, although Belle knew from the quizzical expression on his face that he barel
y understood any of it. Or exactly how he and Robert had gotten snared in her mess.

  “Considering Belle’s situation, and all the events that brought her here,” his aunt pressed, not so subtly reminding him of his role in her predicament, “you will be happy to assist us, won’t you, Quinton?” It was not a question.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, the pause before he answered so thick with tension that they could have swum in it. “Of course.”

  The dowager nodded, pleased at his answer. “Just as Annabelle will be happy to let you help her find a husband.”

  Annabelle smiled at the unwitting irony in the viscountess’s words. “Absolutely thrilled.”

  Quinn’s sapphire-blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. He recognized her comment for the lie it was, even if he had no idea of the true motive behind it.

  “Ah.” Lady Ainsley sighed gratefully when the butler appeared in the doorway. “There’s Ferguson now.”

  The butler bowed to the viscountess, then to the room at large. “Dinner is ready, my lady.”

  “Very good.” Lady Ainsley put an end to the conversation by offering her arm to Robert to escort her into the dining room, leaving Belle with…

  Quinton.

  She sucked in a deep breath to steady herself and to keep from saying anything she might regret. It wouldn’t do to chase him away now that he was her last best hope. Having no other choice, she took his arm.

  As they followed slowly behind Robert and the viscountess, he leaned down to bring his mouth close to her ear. “What the devil is going on here?”

  “Lady Ainsley explained everything,” she whispered, her cheeks heating. “She wants your help in finding me a husband so I can meet the conditions of my inheritance. That’s all.”

  His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

  “I am not.”

  He flicked a pointed glance at her blush. “Like a rug.”

  She rolled her eyes. Darn that blush, and double darn that responding grin of his! The rascal infuriated her to no end. Yet her silly heart also skittered traitorously at the warm tickle of his breath against her earlobe.