Page 63 of When the Scoundrel Sins

Belle stared at him uncertainly. She should have refused to change partners, should even now walk away. Being cut direct in the middle of the dance floor was the least he deserved for nearly fighting over her again, for potentially ruining her life once more by driving away her last best hope for keeping Glenarvon.

But she couldn’t bring herself to leave, and the siren song of being held in his arms proved impossible to resist, even for half a waltz.

She stepped into position, and he twirled her lightly into the waltz. They danced together fluidly, as artlessly as if she were born to be in his arms and follow his lead. Smooth, graceful…magical.

She stared up into his eyes as he turned her effortlessly about the floor. He held her closer than he should have, brushing an almost imperceptible caress of his hand against her lower back, but she was helpless to make him stop.

Her awareness of his solid body only heightened with each turn and brush of her skirts around his legs. The familiar ache he’d always been able to stir inside her blossomed with an electric tingling that spilled through her, all the way out to the tips of her fingers as he held her hand in his. She breathed deep his rich, masculine scent of tobacco and port, and her head spun as they danced together, all of him engulfing her senses until she trembled.

Aware of the attention of the crowd on them, aching with the frustration of his nearness, and unable to bear the heat of his hungry stare another moment—“Quinton,” she breathlessly whispered in a plea for mercy.

“I’ll ask one last time, Belle.” He squeezed her fingers as they rested lightly in his and sent a shiver racing up her arm, to land heavily in her breasts. “Don’t get married. Aunt Agatha will take care of you. She’ll always give you a safe home, if not here then in London.”

Her shoulders sagged. She was so very weary of fighting this battle. “It’s too late.” Emotionally drained, she shook her head sadly. “We’re standing in the middle of the engagement party.”

“Yourbirthdayparty,” he corrected firmly. “The announcement hasn’t yet been made. You can still change your mind.”

“I can’t.” With only one week until the will’s deadline, there was no more time to delay. The announcement had to be made tonight in order to have time to negotiate the marriage contract and plan the wedding. Tonight was simply a foregone conclusion of what everyone already knew was inevitable. Everyone except Quinn, apparently. “There isn’t time.”

“Don’t do this, Belle. Don’t shackle yourself to a man who—”

“Quinton, stop!” She squeezed her eyes closed for only a moment, but even then, she saw his handsome face, the concern for her in his eyes. Which only made the sharp pain inside her chest flame more fiercely. Because his concern wasn’t enough to save her from a marriage she didn’t want and her home from being taken away, not enough to save her heart fromhim. The only man she wanted to marry. The man she loved. “Please…there’s no help for it now.”

“The hell there’s not,” he growled.

“Let it go, Quinton,” she breathed, unable to find her voice for fear of sobbing. The burning desolation in her chest was scalding. “Letmego.”

The orchestra sounded the last flourish and ended the waltz. Regretfully, she shifted out of his arms and mechanically sank into a curtsy. Then she turned and walked away, blinking back the blurring in her eyes but keeping the false smile firmly in place.

He took her elbow as he fell into step beside her to escort her from the floor. She trembled at his touch. Daring to take a surreptitious glance at him, she caught her breath at the hard determination in his expression, his jaw clamped tight and his eyes staring straight ahead as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

“I’m not giving up, Belle,” he promised in a low, intense voice.

She forced her smile to widen even as her heart broke. It was almost midnight. “Perhaps you should.”

He hesitated, then said quietly, “I’ve heard from Sebastian.”

She tripped. His grip tightened on her arm and caught her, keeping her upright, even as she turned and stared at him, stunned. New hope blossomed in the barren desert that her heart had become tonight.

“That’s why I was late for the waltz,” he informed her stiffly. “His reply came right before the dance started.”

She held her breath, waiting on pins and needles. “And?”

“He’s willing to help purchase Glenarvon.”

Relief cascaded through her, her knees going weak. She would have surely fallen to the floor if not for Quinn’s strong hand on her arm, still supporting her.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, unable to speak louder through the turbulent rush of emotions pouring through her. At the last possible moment, an answer to her prayers…But why wasn’t Quinn happy for her? Why did he look so angry? She stopped, dread rising inside her. “Quinton?”

“He’s willing to put up half the money,” he muttered, his jaw working so fiercely that the muscles danced in his neck. “Ten thousand pounds.”

“Half?” she repeated, desperately praying she’d misheard. It might have been a single pound from the difference that much would make. Her heart shattered where she stood, and she pressed her fist to her chest to keep from screaming. “Then he hasn’t saved me at all.”

“He wants me to put up the rest,” he added, once more taking her arm and leading her on as whispers began to rise around them.

She shook her head, her eyes blurring so much that she could barely see the floor in front of her. “You can’t.”

“I have enough money,” he bit out.