Page 1 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
Chapter One
London, 1896
Oh, Belle, yousimply must visit London,they said.You’ll have the time of your life.And you might just find your very own prince... or perhaps a duke will do.
Bracing herself against the damp chill, Arabelle Frost clutched the threadbare wool of a second-hand cape over her torn white dress. The flowing, once-pristine silk of the gown dragged over the cobbles as she trudged along the street. With each step of her thin-soled shoes against the hard, uneven pavement, echoes of her soon-to-be-former friends’ words whispered in her thoughts. When—or if—she made it back to New York, she would certainly inform the Manhattan socialites they had been horribly mistaken. Not only had shenotencountered a prince—or even a duke, for that matter—the scoundrel she’d happened upon had far more in common with a viper than with any fairy tale hero.
The clatter of a swift-moving carriage cut through the normal chaos of the city. Could that be Gideon? Had he tracked her path so easily? Spying a darkened doorway on the edge of an even gloomier alley, Belle tugged the hood of the cloak lower to conceal her features and dashed to her spur-of-the-moment refuge.
Twilight was settling over the city. In this moment, the impending darkness seemed both a blessing and a curse. Herpulse thundered in her ears as the rumbling of the carriage grew louder. Closer. Soon, it would be upon her.
For a heartbeat, perhaps two or three, she hesitated steps from the arch of the unlit door. Eyeing the shadows, she prayed she would encounter neither vermin nor filth. But she didn’t really have a choice, did she?
Belle gulped against her fear of what lay beyond the light and ducked inside the doorway. Her pulse thudded in her ears as the black Brougham rumbled past her hiding place.
Peering from the shadows, she spotted the distinctive crest on the carriage door. Her instincts had not failed her. Not this time, at least. The hulking driver held the reins. But if the man she’d fled with only the clothes on her back and the coins in her reticule rode within the conveyance, he had not peeled back the curtain to search the space. He had not looked for her.
Thank heaven.
The chimes of a clock tower sounded a new hour. It wouldn’t be long before the light faded. Darkness would embolden the night creatures—both those that walked on two and four legs. She had to find a safe place to stay. Come morning, she’d flee both this city and the man who wanted to ensure she did not escape.
But for now, she had to make it through the night.
But where? Where could she find safe refuge? Who might take her in? While she’d had the presence of mind to snatch up her reticule before fleeing the luxurious townhouse where she’d been staying, she possessed only the coins in the small velveteen bag. Even if she might pay the cost of a night’s lodging at a hotel, she couldn’t chance being recognized. Or worse—tracked down by the heartless jackals and treated as though she’d gone quite mad.
Perhaps a small inn might provide respite for the night. If she kept the plain cloak bundled tight around her, the innkeepermight not notice her unusual attire. A shiny coin might very well buy her way out of this mess, at least for now.
Holding her senses on high alert, she made her way past an array of shops and taverns and cafes. Raucous sounds of music and conversation drifted from the pubs and music halls as, with each passing moment, more of the sun’s light ebbed away and faint rays of gaslight left much of the street in shadows. Belle tugged the cloak tighter, as if she might ward off a shiver which had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
In the distance, lightning crackled against the darkening sky. A rumble of thunder followed close behind. Rain. Good heavens, could this night get any worse?
Another lightning strike, closer this time, made it clear she would not like the answer to her question.
Moving briskly over the pavement, she made her way toward an inn bearing a modest wooden sign. The tap of her soles against the cobbles could not drown out the beat of her pulse in her ears. Along the way, a far more brash sign caught her eye.The Rogue’s Lair.The tavern’s proprietor certainly made no secret of its desired clientele. For her part, Belle had had enough of rogues. If she never again laid eyes on a man who fit that description, she would count herself fortunate. When she returned to America, she would be quite content with a quiet life at her family’s country home, living in peace with her books, her music, and the animals she’d taken under her wing.
As she hurried past the establishment, loud music—for lack of a better word—drifted to her ears from within the pub. Someone pounded the keys of a piano in a boisterous rhythm while a man sang along, his voice powerful and filled with enthusiasm, if not particularly on-key as he belted out the ribald lyrics.
Suddenly, her gaze was torn to an unexpected—and most unusual—sight across the road. A young boy scarcely older thana tot stood in the alley by a dimly lit café. Clothed in a ragged shirt and trousers that were much too big for his body, he looked cold and frightened. As their eyes met, he began to cry, his small voice wracked with fear and unhappiness. His little face scrunched up, red as a beet with the intensity of his sobs.
Oh, dear.Why would a young child be wandering alone and unprotected, much less on this busy street as the light waned around him?
Hiking her skirts to dodge a puddle brimming with muddy water, Belle darted across the road. With each step, she prayed that Gideon and his lackeys were now far from this place. Far from her. In any case, she had to take the chance. She simply could not ignore the child’s distress.
Watching her with teary eyes, the boy backed away, even as his cries grew more insistent. Slowing her steps, she approached him with calm movements. It wouldn’t do for him to take a fright and bolt away. Heaven knew she had no desire to chase him.
“What has happened to you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Where are your parents?”
His head bobbed back and forth with uncertainty as he nibbled his lower lip.
“Come now,” she coaxed. “Your mama must be near.” She pointed to the café. “Is she inside?”
He shook his head. Fresh tears brewed in his eyes. “She... she told me to wait. But my mum... she didn’t come for me.”
A terrible suspicion crept into her thoughts. Surely the boy’s mother would not have left a young child alone on these streets. Had she come to harm?
“How long have you been waiting?”
His small shoulders lifted and fell. “Don’t know.” One small hand moved to his belly. He raised luminous dark eyes to hers. “So hungry.”
