Page 12 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“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?”

Thatstung. 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 sayingunwanted 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 barely understood any of it. Or exactly how he and Robert had gotten snared in her mess.