Page 48 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“If time permits,” he said, the happiness in his eyes more muted now. He threw Mrs. Gilroy a speaking glance. “Would you be so kind as to see Carrie to her playroom?” He turned his attention to Belle. “Miss Frost and I have an important matter to discuss.”
*
Upon his returnfrom his office, Jon had thought to go about his typical routine. On most evenings, he would retire to his study, pour two fingers of scotch, and allow himself three-quarters of an hour of peace and quiet reading over the evening edition of the newspaper. He’d check on the well-being of his young ward and take his supper. Later, after Carrie was settled in her bed for the night, he would depart for the Rogue’s Lair, where he would remain until late in the night. With Logan and Finn traveling far from London, he needed to watch over the tavern. Logically, he knew that Murray, the head barkeep, and the other barkeeps and servers who’d been with the tavern for years were capable of running the place. But he felt a responsibility to oversee the operations.
But as he arrived home as the sun set on Belle’s first day watching over the child, Jon was struck by an unusual sound. In recent weeks, he’d grown accustomed to being greeted at the door by a boisterous pup whose tail wagged so furiously, he wondered that the dog possessed the energy to propel it. At times, he’d been met by a sour-faced governess who looked as if she’d taken a sip of brine. At others, he’d faced an exasperated housekeeper upon his return. But he had never walked through the doorway and heard the sound of a moppet singing at the top of her little lungs about Mary’s lamb, Jack’s pail of water, and the demise of a clumsy dolt with an inexplicable penchant for sitting on walls.
He’d followed the cheerful, if less than melodic, song to the garden. Jon had expected to encounter Belle there with his little cousin. But he had not expected to find her looking more beautiful than ever.
In New York, he’d attended balls and galas with Belle. On those evenings, she’d been garbed in gowns made from the finest silks, her hair arranged in the most stylish fashion with elegant tiaras and fancy jeweled earrings to accent her lovely face. But now, sitting in the garden before the backdrop of the setting sun, she wore a dress of pale blue fabric, most likely cotton. The only ornamentation on the dress was a slight bit of lace at the collar. But the unadorned dress suited her. She didn’t need frills. Didn’t need yards of ruffles and bustles. Didn’t need jewels.
By thunder, she didn’t need any of it. She was breathtaking. A true diamond.
He’d cleared his throat and made an off-handed remark about the probability of being accidentally doused with soup yet again, if only to cover his own reaction to the sight of her. And now, they were alone. Mrs. Gilroy had made her way from the garden with Carrie holding her hand, moving at a snail’s pace as she appeared to stall in order to hear what he’d say to Belle.
Moving to the door, he left it slightly ajar. Not that it really mattered. The very fact he was here with Belle was the stuff of scandal. But at least he might persuade himself that he’d tried to protect her good name.
The humor brightening her eyes when he’d first walked onto the terrace had faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Is something wrong?” she asked, holding her voice rather still.
“In a word, yes.” He closed the distance between them, lowering his voice. If Mrs. Gilroy was indeed eavesdropping, it wouldn’t do to alarm her. “The barkeeper at the Rogue’s Lair is one of the best sources of information I have. Murray’s hearing is keen as any spy,” Jon said, deciding the truth was the best approach. “According to word on the street, the ruffians are still on the hunt and actively seeking your whereabouts.”
“On the hunt. My, I’m not accustomed to feeling like prey to be tracked.” Belle’s complexion paled. “This... this isn’tright.” She laced her fingers in a nervous knot. “I need to find somewhere else to go.”
Searching her features, he saw the flickers of shock in her eyes at the thought that someone—someone she’d trusted, no less—was searching for her as if she were an escaped prisoner with a bounty to claim. He’d seen the look of alarm flash over her features.
“Trust me when I tell you that I will shield you from those brutes.”
“Those men will not hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in their way.” She stared up at the darkening sky. “My presence here puts everyone at risk.”
“The bastards will not dare to cross my threshold.”
“I do hope you’re right. But at this point, we don’t know what they are capable of.”
“I will keep you safe, Belle.” He caught one of her hands in his, stroking his thumb over the satin-smooth skin. “I will see to the protection of everyone under this roof.”
“I trust that you will. But at what cost?” She met his gaze with a look of resolve. “I won’t be able to live with myself if anyone is hurt. I should leave this house.”
She’d tried to disguise her trepidation, but he saw the truth in her eyes. And he knew she had good reason to be afraid.
Over the years, he’d seen betrothals called off before the exchange of vows. He’d spotted many a bloke at the Rogue’s Lair drinking himself numb to ease the sting of a broken engagement. But Gideon Kentsworth was not downing tumblers of whisky at a tavern. The man had not retreated to his club to lick his wounds. No, the high and mighty rotter had ox-headed oafs combing London for a woman who didn’t want to be found. The bastard was not seeking a tender reconciliation. Of that, Jon had no doubt. Rather, the jackal sought to reclaim her, as ifBelle were a valuable possession. No man who truly cared for a woman would send those brutes in pursuit.
But even in the face of her own fear, Belle was concerned for the safety of his old housekeeper and the child. God above, she even worried over him. He could bloody well take care of himself in the face of a dandy and his hired thugs.
By thunder, she was willing to put herself in harm’s way to shield the people under his roof. To shieldhim. The very idea crashed over him like a rogue wave.How bloody unusual.
He would not leave her to face the bastards who chased her like hounds after a fox.
“Do you trust me, Belle?”
She worried her lower lip again, even as she nodded. “I can’t quite explain it, but I do.” Her voice was hushed and smooth as velvet.
Jon studied her features, seeing the taut set of her mouth, the slight, tense creasing of her forehead. He drew the pad of his thumb over her soft, plump lower lip. “You’re trembling.”
“Am I?” A sheen of moisture darkened her blue eyes. It was as if he gazed into a stormy sea.
The sight of her tears felt like a fist twisting in his gut. “Belle, I can help you.” He kept his tone quiet and even. “I need you to tell me what is really happening here.”
“I have,” she said, nearly a whisper.
