Page 11 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
He gazed down at her, his brow furrowed, but without a look of judgment. “When you left, did you think he would come after you?”
“I didn’tthink.” Swallowing against a fresh rush of emotion, she met his dark eyes. “I simply ran.”
“Bloody hell,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “Are you going to tell me why?”
She couldn’t speak the words. Couldn’t share the ugly truth with this man who’d suddenly somehow become her safe haven in the storm.
“As I told you, I had a change of heart.”
His eyes flashed, and he looked like he was trying not to scowl. “Then tell me the truth. Why is the blighter pursuing you?” His tone was low and gruff. “A man trying to win over a reluctant bride would not send two ruffians to hunt her down like a thief on the run.”
Belle pressed her fingers to her temples to massage the growing ache. “I’d truly never imagined you possess a flair for the dramatic.”
“You know blasted well that I’m right.”
She glanced down at the third finger of her left hand. She’d tossed the emerald betrothal ring in Gideon’s smug face.
She wanted nothing from him.
The cad had deceived her, well and truly. His promises had been empty. The tender words he’d spoken had been nothing but lies.
“I have no illusions. The man is neither lovestruck. Nor desperate,” she said with a forced calm. “It’s quite different from that.”
“Thenwhatis it?”
She pulled in a low, calming breath. “Gideon is not accustomed to defiance. He is a powerful man.”
This time, Jon did scowl. “And judging from the look on your face... a dangerous one.”
Goodness, he’d always been able to read her expression. And heaven knew she possessed little talent for hiding her emotions. Her brother had once advised her against playing card games where strategy and secrecy were factors. Her features blurted out the secrets she struggled to conceal.
“I suspect that may be the case.” She gulped a small breath. “I do not wish to test the theory.”
A sharp rap upon the door cut into her words. She jolted, alert for danger, but Jon’s slight smile and brisk nod reassured her she had no reason for concern.
“It’s Murray,” a man announced in a brusque tone.
“Very good.” Jon ushered in an older man who carried an elegant silver tray laden with what appeared to be a late supper.
Tall and lean, with keen eyes and graying hair, the man’s gaze swept over Belle’s gown. He eyed her with a slightly puzzled expression, as if a question poised on the tip of his tongue. Giving a small shrug, he placed the tray on a side table and gestured toward the thick slices of bread, cheese, and a frosted glass brimming with tea. “I hope this is to yer liking, Miss.”
“I thought you might be hungry,” Jon explained. “I took the liberty of requesting something plain, but filling.”
My, he’d remembered her fondness for simple fare. How very surprising.
“Thank you,” she said to both men. “It looks delicious.”
“You’re quite welcome,” the gray-haired man said with a smile. “Do let me know if ye require anything else.”
“Thank you, Murray,” Jon said as the older man went to the door. “Keep an eye out for the nob and his driver or any other unfamiliar ruffians. Let me know if they return.”
“An unpleasant bloke by any measure.” Murray’s mouth thinned at his words. “Ye can count on me.”
“Very good,” Jon said as Murray closed the door behind him.
The aroma of food triggered Belle’s hunger. Forgoing any pretense of a dainty appetite, Belle took a few hearty bites. While she ate, Jon went to his desk and began to quickly pen notations upon a thick tablet.
When she’d finished the last of the food, he looked up from whatever he’d been writing. Nibbling her chips, she studied his carved features. There was something about the intensity in his eyes that had always drawn her to him. And tonight, as he met her gaze, that intensity was as potent as she’d ever seen it.
