Page 58 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“Michelangelo might well disagree.”
“If I were a betting woman, I would wager that if he were alive today, he would agree that the three of us are engaged in artistic creation.” Belle accented her words with a saucy little smile.
“I shall alert the Louvre.”
“Would you like to make an ornament?” Carrie offered him a cookie cutter shaped like a star. “It’s easy. You’ll see.”
“She’s right,” Belle said. “Will you show him how you do it, Carrie?”
“Of course I will.” The girl sounded rather formal. “This is how I make my ornaments.”
Carrie proceeded to demonstrate how she cut the design, then pressed her small fingers into the dough. “Poky-dots,” she declared proudly.
“Ah, polka dots,” he said. “Very creative.”
“Will you try?” the child urged.
“My fingers are too large to make the dots,” he said, finding a logical excuse.
Carrie was not convinced. “Just one dot.”
“Yes, Jon,” Belle said, her eyes teasing. “Shall we see how artistic you can be?”
“I do not possess a creative bone in my body,” he countered, but unable to resist Carrie’s encouragement, he chose a bell-shaped mold and pressed his thumbprint into the trimmed shape.
“We will paint them tomorrow,” Carrie went on. “I think yours should be blue.”
“An excellent choice,” he agreed. “I’m counting on you to paint it for me.”
“I will make it pretty,” she said proudly. “I promise.”
“I have full confidence that it will be,” he said, ruffling her chestnut-hued hair.
Belle looked as if she were biting back a chuckle at his momentary awkwardness. “And we will have a grand time coloring our ornaments.”
“Thisisfun,” the child agreed with bright-eyed enthusiasm.
Watching Carrie manipulate the dough with her small, slightly clumsy fingers, he smiled to himself. The ability to create something of beauty—even the unsophisticated beauty to be found in a child’s fledgling efforts—brought her such joy.
In his boyhood, he’d experienced the joys of simple pastimes. He’d enjoyed games and roughhousing and rollicking treks through the woods surrounding his family’s country estate. For a time, he’d lived without a care in the world, other than whether or not he would best his cousins in footraces and their boyish scrapes. But then, days before his ninth birthday, everything had changed. His existence became focused on his studies and his father’s near-daily talks on the value of duty. Of responsibility. Of the need to prepare to one day lead the family business.
Even so, he’d managed to wedge moments of reckless adventures and camaraderie between the lessons and lectures,especially during those summers when his childhood friend, Finn Caldwell, would come to visit. Thankfully, his mother, a free-spirited pixie of a woman who was evidently the only person on the planet who possessed the ability to soften his father’s steely edges, saw to it that he had the opportunity to cultivate the friendship that endured to this very day.
Now, as he watched Carrie, he could not help but marvel at the contrast between the child he saw today, happily engaged in an activity which allowed her young mind to flourish, and the descriptions Miss Pritchard had offered of the girl. The governess had painted Carrie as willful and disobedient, perhaps even incorrigible.
But that was then. That was before Belle had darted into the Rogue’s Lair and back into his life. Since she’d first stepped through the doors of his home, she’d drawn Carrie to her with her caring heart. He could see the way Belle’s kindness had brightened the child’s smile.
The stark difference between Belle’s cheerful smile and Miss Pritchard’s cool gaze was impossible not to see. He’d little doubt Carrie had perceived the lack of warmth from the woman he’d employed to watch over her. Bugger it, he should’ve tossed the woman out on her scrawny arse before she’d had a chance to pack her bags. He now knew what to look for when it came to hiring on Carrie’s next governess.
Thenext governess.The thought of it landed in his gut like a rock. In less than forty-eight hours, Belle’s presence in his home had added a warmth that he’d forgotten to crave. She’d already won Carrie over, and the dog seemed to adore her. Good God, even Mrs. Gilroy could not maintain a frown when Belle was around. Only Cleo seemed unaffected. The cat seemed to pride herself on her highly cultivated feline indifference, but he sensed it was a matter of time before even the cat came around to Belle.
But it wouldn’t be long before Belle had to leave. Once the threat Kentsworth posed was in the past, she would return to the life she’d known. Most likely, she’d leave London and return to New York.
Belle would leave him behind. Just as he’d left her. By hellfire, the realization was like another rock plummeting into his gut.
“Will ye be taking yer supper here? I’ve prepared a hearty stew,” Mrs. Gilroy’s question offered a welcome pause from his thoughts.
Jon glanced toward Belle. He needed to leave, if only to clear his head of notions that served no purpose. “Not tonight. I’ll be off to the Lair shortly.”
