Page 89 of When the Scoundrel Sins

Quinn yanked his horse to a stop and jumped from its back. Terror pulsed through him at the sight of Belle lying still in the dirt.Dear God, no!He ran to her side and dropped to his knees, scooping her into his shaking arms.

“Annabelle!” He clutched her to him, all of him trembling and shuddering. Fear clasped an icy fist around his heart as he cupped her face in his hand. “Open your eyes, darling,” he ordered breathlessly. “Please, dear God…Open your eyes. Annabelle…”

Her name was a pleading rasp on his lips. But she didn’t open her eyes to look at him.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered against her temple, his own eyes now squeezed shut against the pulsing pain. “Not now, now that I finally have you…Annabelle, please!”

Pained heat stung at his eyes, and he held his breath, desperately listening for any sound of her breathing, of her heart beating—anythingto signal that she was still there with him. But she lay so terribly still in his arms, her body limp and lifeless against his as he cradled her against his chest.

Wetness burned at his lashes. Each beat of his heart was agony.

“I love you, Annabelle,” he rasped out and kissed her.

A soft inhalation tickled against his lips. Then her eyes opened and she stared at him, dazed and unfocused.

With a shudder, she gasped and gulped in a deep swallow of air as she tried to catch back the breath that the fall had ripped from her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she struggled to breathe, and her eyes never left his as she forced out hoarsely, “Quinn…”

He crushed her to him and buried his face in her hair, which had come loose and now fell in disheveled curls around her shoulders. Her clothes were dirty and ripped. An ugly scrape bloodied the side of her face and both of her palms where she’d tried to arrest her fall, and her right ankle lay at an unnatural angle. Each breath she took was labored and rough, filled with pain.

But she was alive.

Thank God.

Then she winced as she lifted a hand to touch his cheek and the streak of blood from the whip wound. Her brow furrowed with worry as she breathed out, “You’re…hurt…”

Relief poured through him, like a liquid heat that filled him to overflowing, and he gave a soft laugh. Only Annabelle could be worried about a scratch on him when she had nearly been killed herself.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, gently rocking her in his arms. “I have you. And I amneverletting you go.”

“You said you loved me,” she whispered. “Did you…did you truly mean it?”

“Yes.”Sweet heavens, yes.He cupped her cheek against his palm. “I thought I couldn’t love you, that I could keep from being wounded if I kept myself from you. And my heart.” Closing his eyes, he touched his lips to her forehead. “But when I saw that bastard hurt you. And then when you fell…” He silently shook his head, unwilling to put into words the terror he’d felt at nearly losing her.

“It’s all right,” she assured him, so softly his ears barely registered the sound. But his heart heard every word. “I understand.”

“I was a damned fool. But now I’m not willing to miss a single moment with you, Annabelle.” He slid his hand down her arm until he clasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Can you forgive me?”

Not moving her eyes from his, she slowly raised his hand to her bosom and guided his fingers beneath the gaping front of the torn waistcoat and shirt. He felt the rope of pearls she wore beneath her clothes, just as his aunt wore her locket. In order to keep him close to her heart. “Always,” she whispered.

“Then marry me, Belle,” he urged, his voice trembling and all of him shaking. “Not because we made love or because I need you to let me care for you and protect you—although I do, more than I realized. But because I love you, and because I hope that you still love me.” He traced his fingers over the pearls and the warm skin beneath, feeling her heart beating strong beneath his fingertips. “I want every moment with you that I can have, for as long as this life gives us.”

“Then it must be love.” A tear slipped down her dusty cheek as she lightly teased, “You keep asking even though I keep refusing.”

He crooked a half grin. “I’m not the kind of man who lets a woman’s absolute refusal stop me from marrying her.”

A small bubble of laughter escaped her, then she winced at the pain. Guilt washed through him. “Belle, I’m so sorry that you—”

“Yes, Quinton,” she whispered.

His heart stuttered. “Yes?”

Her fingers tightened around his, as if she never wanted to let him go. A smile of joy lit her face. “I will let you marry me now.”

Grinning at her stubborn pride, shining in her even now, he felt his love for her warm inside him until it permeated every ounce of his being and soul. Aunt Agatha was right. There was no choice in love.Thank God.

He lowered his head to kiss her.

EPILOGUE