Page 16 of When the Scoundrel Sins

“Miranda helped a great deal with Mother’s mourning,” Quinn said thoughtfully. And thank God she had.

“Especially when she married Seb,” Robert interjected. “Mother’s in heaven now that she’s got two of her children happily married off.”

“And giving her grandchildren,” Quinn added.

“Which takes the pressure away from us.” Robert grinned.

“For a while anyway.” He slid his brother an amused glance across the table. “Because she’s hoping for another wedding by next summer.”

“Oh?” Belle glanced up at Quinn, with a stricken look almost as panicked as the one Robert shot him. “You’re not…are you, Quinton?”

“Not me, but Robert,” he informed them, much to Agatha’s delight and Robert’s chagrin. And to Belle’s visible relief as she slumped back against her chair.Odd.“He’s been courting a general’s daughter in London. A lovely girl named Diana Morgan, who has a penchant for growing roses.” Because he wanted to see the fire spark inside Belle again, and divert this conversation from weddings, he added, “If I remember correctly, Annabelle, you also had a fondness for roses.”

Belle’s mouth fell open at that private tease. She darted a panicked glance at Lady Ainsley, but the viscountess noticed nothing untoward. Then she jutted her chin into the air and gave a haughty little sniff. “I suppose I used to when I was younger…andextremelyfoolish.”

Instead of being piqued as she wanted, he gave her a grin, which only caused her to simmer in her seat.

“You’ve trumped my ace again,” Agatha sighed with exasperation.

“Apologies,” Belle mumbled, this time unable stop a pretty little blush that pinked her skin all the way up from the back of her neck to her cheeks.

Sweet Lucifer, he was beginning to like that blush.

Unable to say what it was for certain about Annabelle that pricked his puckish nature, but only that he couldn’t resist, he murmured, “In my experience, roses can be quite beguiling.”

She shot him a quelling look. “Roses are a menace. They might seem all sweet and charming from a distance.” Belle laid down the knave of hearts to take the trick and ignored the puzzled expressions on Agatha’s and Robert’s faces at the peculiar turn of conversation. And that she’d distractedly claimed a trick won by Robert’s king. “But beneath their pretty exterior exists nothing but thorns.”

Lady Ainsley looked at her peculiarly. “But you spent all last spring putting in a rose border along the south terrace.”

A caught expression flashed across Belle’s face. Quinn felt a sharp stab of guilt for teasing her.

She drew a calming breath. “Not all flowers are bad, though, I suppose,” she acquiesced. “Lilies, poppies, daisies—”

“Bluebells?” he asked innocently, taking a sip of coffee to hide his grin. Apparently, that stab of guilt hadn’t been so insurmountable after all.

She froze for a single beat. Then, more calmly than he expected, she slowly laid down her cards and rose to her feet. “I regret that I am tired and have a headache,” she announced. “A very large, verypesteringheadache.”

When Quinn opened his mouth to respond, she sliced her gaze sideways at him and narrowed her eyes to slits. He wisely closed it again.

“If you all will excuse me, I need to retire. Good evening.” She nodded at Lady Ainsley and Robert, then glared at him. “Quinton.”

She walked stiffly out of the drawing room, holding her head up in an imperial posture, surely learned over the years from his aunt.

“What on earth…?” Agatha commented as she laid down her cards, the game over. Then she arched a brow at Quinn with an expression somewhere between amusement and accusation.

“Apparently, she was very tired,” he murmured with a touch of remorse. Already, he missed her company. Without her presence, the room seemed inexplicably empty.

Except that as Belle had walked from the room, he’d seen the fire in her that he’d come to crave. He would never deny himself a chance to see that, along with that telltale blush that stained her cheeks. A blush whose deeper meaning he was very much beginning to understand.

And liked a great deal.

CHAPTERTHREE

Blast it!

Pain shot through her foot as Annabelle stubbed her toe against one of the chairs in the dark hallway. Grabbing at the throbbing toe with her hand and hopping on one foot, she muttered a string of curses beneath her breath, all of them aimed at Quinton Carlisle. Only he could cause this much trouble when he wasn’t even in the room.

She blew out a heavy sigh and hurried on.