Page 5 of When the Scoundrel Sins

Stumbling to regain her balance, she turned to stare at the viscountess, her eyes wide as saucers and her mouth open. She struggled to find her voice in her shock, finally squeaking out, “Why?”

Lady Ainsley kept her gaze straight ahead. “To assist in your search for a husband, of course.”

Belle gaped at her, stunned.Thatrascal, to help her find a suitable husband? What did he know about husband hunting, except for how to avoid the marriage shackles for himself?Good Lord.It was a measure of how desperate they’d become that Lady Ainsley felt compelled to invite that devil here.

Oblivious to Belle’s deep breaths to regain her composure, the viscountess led her forward through the garden. “I tucked in a note to him when I wrote to his mother last month, to congratulate Elizabeth on finally marrying off one of her sons without scandal. Rather,” Lady Ainsley corrected, “withlittlescandal. Trent married the niece of one of his tenant farmers, after all. I am certain tongues were wagging all the way to Cornwall over that.”

Belle hadn’t seen that note, or she certainly would have burned it. Which was most likely why the viscountess hadn’t told her about it until now.

Dread pinched her stomach at the thought of seeing him again. “But why Quinton?”

“Because we need his help.” The dowager turned to gaze across the glen in the distance. “If anyone can sort suitable husbands from the undesirables, it will be my great-nephew.”

Ha!The onlyhelpQuinton would give would be to cause problems. Just as he’d always done for her.

In the past, whenever they’d met on those rare occasions when Annabelle accompanied Lord and Lady Ainsley to London, that scoundrel had taunted her mercilessly. Like one of those boys in the schoolyard who enjoyed pulling a girl’s braid just to capture the attention of her ire. Over the years, the torment only grew, and it seemed that the more aggravated she became, the more he enjoyed it.

Until her London season, when he’d finally gone too far.

“You know what happened between us, my lady,” she whispered, struck by how painful that memory was, even now. Theverylast person Belle needed interfering in her life was the man who was responsible for driving the final nail into her reputation’s coffin.

“Yes.” Lady Ainsley’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Which is another reason I asked him here. This is his last opportunity to apologize to you.”

Not likely. The Carlisle brothers never apologized for the havoc they wrought, and she doubted Quinton had changed so much in the past six years that he’d become remorseful.

Besides, she didn’t want an apology. Forced contrition on Quinn’s part wouldn’t begin to make up for the trouble he’d unleashed upon her life. Thanks to that ill-fated night in St James’s garden, she had no proper suitors. She’d been clinging to the edge of society by her fingernails as it was, and every soiree she’d attended that season only reinforced how different she was from the ladies who were born into the upper class. Although the viscount and viscountess adored her, there was no changing who she and her father were—the companion and the convict.

Before that night, gentlemen had paid her little attention. But after, she might as well have been invisible.

Which had been fine with her then. But now time was running out, and she’d have to choose from among a gaggle of men who wanted her only for her inheritance. Worse was her lingering fear over Glenarvon. To be forced into a marriage without love was bad enough…what would she do if she accidentally picked a man who refused to let her run the estate? Glenarvon would become joint property, with her husband having ultimate say over it. A good husband would let her run it as she saw fit, but there was no guarantee that the man she married wouldn’t turn out to be exactly like her father—a liar, gambler, thief, abuser…with no way to be certain of his true character until it was too late.

Lady Ainsley continued, “And with the potential for fortune hunters to come crawling out of the woodwork as soon as they learn of your dowry, we will need a man’s strong presence to keep them all in line.”

“Did you tell him the real reason for the invitation?” A niggling guilt that they were ambushing Quinton pricked at her. Or rather, that Lady Ainsley had ambushedherwith her outrageous plan to bring that rogue here.

The viscountess feigned insult at the gentle accusation. “He is leaving for America, and I desire to see my great-nephew one last time before he goes. I am an old woman, and I might not live to see his return visit.”

Belle arched a brow. She’d grown to know and love Lady Ainsley as much as her own mother, andthatwas clearly a skilled dodge if ever she’d heard one.

So no, Quinn hadn’t been told the truth.

But the dowager wasn’t wrong; she was along in years, and Belle couldn’t bear to think of losing Lady Ainsley as she’d lost her mother and the viscount. She guiltily bit her bottom lip. “If it makes you feel better to have Lord Quinton here, then I suppose—”

“It does.”

Thatcame rather quickly. Belle eyed her suspiciously. Quinton Carlisle wasn’t the only one being manipulated by Lady Ainsley’s scheme to find Belle a husband. There was no way out of the marriage stipulation for her inheritance, and Lady Ainsley was doing everything she could to make certain Belle didn’t lose her home. Belle couldn’t fault her for the sentiment.

But the execution—especially Quinton’s involvement—was certain to prove disastrous.

“I am a practical woman, Annabelle,” Lady Ainsley explained. “Sentiment only takes one so far. At some point, practicality must enter the room.”

Belle supposed so. She only hoped she could find a way to make it leave again.

“Perhaps Ainsley and I were wrong not to force Quinton to marry you six years ago,” the viscountess said thoughtfully. “If we had, you would not be in this situation now.”

No, her situation would have beenworse. Which was why she’d begged Lord Ainsley not to push for marriage with Quinton as a way to salvage her reputation after the ball. Being forced to wed would have done nothing to help her standing and everything to ruin both their lives by creating a marriage of animosity and regret. She’d never seen the viscount so angry, but he’d finally relented and let her return quietly to Glenarvon, to put London and that horrible night behind her.

As for Quinton, she suspected that the rascal knew how close he’d come to being leg-shackled then and now would never set foot on Glenarvon land, summoned by his great aunt or not. Belle took comfort in that. After all, there was already enough trouble in her life as it was.