Page 39 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“You can trust her,” Jon said, turning back to Belle. “I would not have called upon her if I wasn’t sure of that.”
“I understand,” Belle said. “So, she knows who I am?”
He nodded. “I’d considered employing an alias in the interest of security. But it was pointless. As soon as I described the situation, she deduced your identity.”
“How did she know?” Belle’s complexion paled. “Are you telling me my dash through London made the papers?”
“It’s nothing like that,” he explained. “Miss Blake is clever, so any attempt to evade the truth was bound to fail. She’s exceedingly well-connected with the latest gossip running through the city. That may prove helpful.”
“Perhaps,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “But I cannot help but wonder what she will think of my presence here.”
As she grazed her teeth over her lower lip again, his gaze was drawn to her rosy mouth. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned tracing the soft curves of her lips, drinking in the satin texture.
With ruthless efficiency, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Belle was not here to rekindle what had gone between them all those months ago. She was here seeking refuge. She was alone. And vulnerable. He’d best remember that over these next days.
Blast it, the desire to hold her, to offer comfort—or so he tried to convince himself—was getting the better of him. He had to return to his office, the sooner the better. He had work to accomplish, an appointment or two. Possibly a negotiation. There was no time to dawdle here.
At least he tried to tell himself that his need to leave was a matter of work. Truth be told, it was more than that. He had to leave while he could still think straight about something—anything—other than Belle.
Still, he wouldn’t leave without easing her concerns. Even with his sparse explanation, Eleanor Blake had fully understood Belle’s predicament. She would not judge Belle for taking refuge in his home. He’d known his sister’s friend for years, and had come to see her as both kind and worthy of trust.
“She knows you’ve come here for your safety,” he said truthfully, reaching out to take her hand in his. “She will not perceive a scandal where there is none.”
Belle regarded him with uncertain eyes. “I do hope you’re right.”
Chapter Eleven
“Goodness, my oldeyes are seeing double. Could ye have a twin ye did not know of, lass?”
Mrs. Gilroy made her way to a chair and plopped down upon the overstuffed cushion. A slight smile played on her careworn features as she studied Belle and the young woman who’d arrived bearing a rolling trunk—presumably filled with clothing—Miss Eleanor Blake.
As she exchanged greetings with the visitor, Belle wondered if Mrs. Gilroy might well benefit from a new pair of spectacles. She and Miss Blake shared a superficial resemblance, though not nearly as dramatic as the housekeeper’s observation. Miss Blake’s hair—the color of fresh-churned butter, quite a bit lighter than Belle’s honey-hued curls—framed her perfect oval face with soft golden waves, and her features were more finely etched, as if a fairy tale sprite had come to life. Her blue eyes gleamed with warmth and a hint of the mischief Mrs. Gilroy had described. For her part, Miss Blake’s ever-so-slightly raised eyebrows betrayed she shared Belle’s take on Mrs. Gilroy’s remarks.
“It’s delightful to finally make your acquaintance,” Miss Blake said. “Since I returned from the continent, I’d heard so much about you. I was hoping we would eventually cross paths.”
“I’d imagine you’d expected it might be under different circumstances,” Belle said, managing a faint smile.
“Of course, I’d expected to find you at a ball or Lady So-And-So’s soiree. But this is delightfully unconventional, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose that is one way of putting it,” Belle said lightly.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Gilroy agreed. “I do hope yer aunt enjoyed her trip, Miss Blake.”
“Please do call me Ellie. Miss Blake is so very stuffy.”
“Ellie?” Mrs. Gilroy’s brow furrowed. “I’d thought ye went by Nell.”
“I did. But I’ve grown rather weary of that pet name. It’s time for something new.” The expression in her gaze hinted at a story she hadn’t yet told. “You’d asked about Aunt Tilly. Oh, she had a grand time. So grand she hasn’t come home.” She punctuated her statement with a wink.
“I see,” Mrs. Gilroy said. “Well, good for her. She’s a kind woman. Always had a smile for me when she visited Miss Macie.”
“Aunt Tilly is one of a kind,” Ellie said. “I like to think I take after her.”
“I’d say ye clearly do.” Mrs. Gilroy stood and made her way to the sideboard. “Might I pour ye some tea?”
“Perhaps in a bit.” Ellie turned to Belle. Her mouth curved up at the corners as her gaze drifted to the inches of Belle’s shoes exposed by the too-short hem. “So, my dear, as it’s not a grand idea for you to pay the dressmaker a visit at this moment, I’ve brought her wares to you. I presume you’re in the mood to do a bit of shopping.”
*
