Page 13 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“From you?” she said finally, her tone as incredulous—and taken aback—as if he’d suggested they peel off their garments and jump into the Thames.
He wasn’t sure why her shock at the mere thought of him asking for her hand in marriage caught him off guard. He cleared his throat, affecting a bland tone. “You should not sound so surprised,” he said. “It is a rational possibility, given the circumstances.”
“Good heavens, that should not be necessary,” she scoffed. Was that doubt in her voice? Or an attempt to reassure herself?
He could no longer make out Belle’s features within the darkness of the carriage, but he imagined the set of her mouth, the slight thinning of her lips. How well he remembered that look. The last moment when he’d looked upon her face—the night in New York when he’d walked away from her for what he’d thought would be the very last time—she’d tried to hide her sadness with a tight-lipped glare. She had not succeeded. Even now, the regret-tinged memory dug into his gut.
“I shall do whatever is required to preserve your honor,” he said, keeping his tone bland.
“My honor?” A rueful little chuckle escaped her. “You weren’t so very concerned about such things before... in New York.”
A heat he hadn’t felt in quite a long time pulsed through him at the memory. Suddenly, the tie at his throat felt a bit too snug. He adjusted his collar. Once again, he cleared his throat, buyingtime, determined she would not rattle him. God only knew she had a talent for ridding him of his good sense.
“In Manhattan, we never slept under the same roof.” He kept his reply matter-of-fact.
Another small sound like a sigh escaped her. She seemed to hesitate. And then, she responded with a boldness that caught him off guard.
“As I recall, in those days, you weren’t interested in sleeping,” she said in a hushed tone. Even though shadows still obscured her face, he could envision the half-smile on her mouth, the subtle curve and parting of her lips that might well tempt a saint.
Her softly spoken words unleashed a fresh current of awareness through his body. She’d certainly spoken the truth. In those days—and nights—in America, he would have entirely forgone sleep if it had meant another hour to drink in the smile in her eyes and the peal of her easy laugh. But that was then. It all seemed another lifetime ago.
He brushed the curtain back and peered into the gaslit street. “Allow me to put your mind at ease,” he said, keeping his tone deliberately bland. “These days, I consider a peaceful night to be a luxury to be savored.”
“Well, that is a relief.” Folding her hands in her lap, she sat up a bit straighter. “And there I was so very worried about being ravished.”
“Sadly, I doubt I could summon the energy,” he said, countering her prim yet teasing tone.
“Understandable,” she said coolly. “The duties of a tycoon must be quite exhausting.”
“Indeed.”Though not nearly so exhausting as what lies behind the doors of my home.
“Still set on conquering the world, one customer at a time?”
“Is there any other way?” he replied. “In any case, there’s little reason to be concerned with scandal. You will not be the only female residing in my home.”
Bloody hell. If that wasn’t an understatement, he didn’t know what one was.
“Such concern over mygood name.” Belle sighed. “It’s a lost cause, you know. If anyone spotted me dashing about town tonight, they’d suppose I’d gone mad. That’s worse than a mere scandal, now isn’t it?”
“You did what you had to do.” He wanted to reach for her hand, to comfort her, but he stopped himself. “You’ll be safe in my residence. And my housekeeper will be present at all times. She’s quite vigilant in the pursuit of her duties.”
And an utter busybody who won’t miss a bloody thing.
“But what will she think when you return home with a woman—garbed in your overcoat, no less?”
“I’d assume Mrs. Gilroy will find it rather in keeping with recent events.”
Her brows quirked, then relaxed as a little sigh escaped her. “I do realize how very unexpected this is.”
Unexpected?He pondered the word. Given the events of the past weeks, the word had come to define his life. “I won’t argue that.” Jon allowed his gaze to sweep over her. “I’d imagine Mrs. Gilroy will be more surprised by the wedding dress than my overcoat.”
“Yes, I imagine you’ve sacrificed your coat to keep some desperate woman or other warm on more than one occasion.” She looked as if she fought against a smile. “After all, you are known for your chivalry.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”
“Perhaps.” Her lips curved, the slightest semblance of a grin.
“Ah, you wound me.” He relaxed against the seat, feeling some of the tension ease from his bones. “Admittedly, youare the first woman in a mud-dappled bridal gown I’ve ever encountered.”
