Page 14 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“And perhaps more to the point, the first woman you’ve thought tocover uprather than attempted to inspire her to shed garments.”
He cocked a brow. “Might that approach have worked?”
“Not a chance,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “Though truth be told, I am looking forward to my first opportunity to be rid of this gown. Provided, of course, there is another dress to take its place.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Gilroy will find something that will work, at least for the night.”
“I would be ever so grateful for her assistance.” Belle glanced down at a bit of tattered lace near her wrist. Jon’s attention was drawn to the slight bit of fluff which dangled precariously, evidently held in place by only a few stitches.
“What happened there? How was the lace torn?”
Her brows knit together, and she nibbled her lower lip. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure. Suffice it to say, it has been a difficult night. I’d thought this gown quite lovely,” she said, sounding a bit wistful. “But after tonight, I plan to never look upon it again.” She turned to the carriage window, peeping out behind the curtain. “Might we discuss this in the morning? I feel an awful megrim brewing.”
“Of course,” he agreed. Her tone was weary. Sad. And perhaps, a bit angry.
She leaned her head back against the bench and closed her eyes. “All I want to do tonight is rest in a quiet room in a warm house.”
Jon smiled to himself. “I must warn you—there is a possibility you may be disappointed.”
“I find that highly unlikely,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Do you, now?” He chuckled beneath his breath. “Would you care to describe your vision of my residence?”
“It’s not much of a challenge, is it? I’d imagine your housekeeper is top-notch, tidy as they come. She undoubtedly keeps the furniture polished, the silver gleaming, and the floors without so much as a speck of debris. The only sounds one might hear are the swishes of a clock’s pendulum and perhaps, the crackle of a warm fire in the hearth.”
“And not a thing out of place,” Jon added, completing the pleasant image.
“I’d think so,” she went on. “Quiet. Orderly. A haven for a man who thinks, dreams, and lives for his enterprises.”
He cocked a brow. “Is that so?”
“Of course,” she said, sounding as if she’d bitten back a laugh of her own. “I cannot imagine there would be any hint of chaos. Unless your sister will be there, engaging in some shenanigan or other.”
No, that chapter has closed.“Macie and her husband are gallivanting about Europe with that camera of hers. She is enjoying wedded bliss and driving Finn to distraction.”
Belle’s mouth dipped at the corners, not quite a frown. “I must say I’m disappointed. I would’ve liked to have made her acquaintance.”
“You may just have your chance. She’s expected to return within days.”
“Very good,” she said. “As for tonight, I’ve no doubt I shall soon enjoy a peaceful respite from this thoroughly blighted day.”
“Or so one can hope.”
Blasted shame he did not share her confidence.
Chapter Five
Standing at thefoot of the steps of Jon’s Mayfair home, Belle studied the gaslit façade of the posh townhouse. Why, the place was just as she’d imagined. A sturdy entry door in gleaming ebony posed a perfect contrast to the precisely laid red brick and mortar walls, while the gleaming brass door knocker provided an elegant statement of refinement without appearing in the least bit ostentatious. A polished brass lamp illuminated the landing at the top of the stairs, revealing a space swept clean of any street dirt, as were each of the steps. The windows were dark—as was to be expected at that hour of the night—save for one window near the door which glowed with the light of a single lamp. All in all, his home was entirely what she had expected.
That was, until he opened the door.
A petite woman with a mass of silver curls spilling out from her frilled cap and a squinty gray gaze stood in the portal, her hand outstretched for the knob. She took a step back, grasping the carved handle of an ebony cane while eyeing them with what looked like a barely repressed scowl.
She slowly shook her head, the reproach in her expression nearly palpable. “Oh, dear. Not another one.”
Another one?What in heaven didthatmean?
“An enthusiastic greeting if ever I’ve heard one, Mrs. Gilroy.” Jon’s voice was surprisingly cheerful considering the woman’s quietly scornful tone. He escorted Belle into the townhouse, past the woman who now stood with her hands planted on her hips,her well-lined features set with curious intrigue as she followed Belle’s every move.
