Page 66 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“I’ve noticed a few volumes of poetry,” Belle said. “As well as a few of the classics.”
“I’d imagine the poetry anthologies belong to Macie,” Ellie said. “I cannot imagine Jon Mason would spare time to read verse of any sort.”
“Ye might well be surprised,” Mrs. Johnstone spoke up. “In the years since he first visited my nephew Finn in the Highlands, I’ve seen there’s more to him than ledgers and profits.”
Ellie regarded her curiously. “Have you now?”
Mrs. Johnstone nodded without a trace of amusement. “I first met Jonathan when he was still a lad, only twelve or so. He was not so serious-minded then, but over time, he became the son his father expected him to be.”
She threw Belle a speaking glance. Moments later, a rhythmic rap upon the wooden door was followed by Jon’s cool tones.
“It is not locked. See yerself in,” Mrs. Johnstone called in response.
After he strode inside the room, Jon turned first to Mrs. Johnstone, offering his gratitude for her time and efforts. As he spoke, Belle’s gaze trailed over the length of him. Rather than his usual wardrobe of fine wool trousers and expertly tailored shirt, he wore garments that resembled a workman’s attire: trousers, unadorned cotton shirt, boxy jacket, and a workman’s flat-brimmed cap. The unfussy garments presented Jon’s essential masculinity without distraction. Indeed, the plain attire appealed to Belle.
She sipped her tea, fervently wishing that her cheeks had not flushed as her gaze traced the broad width of his shoulders. His dark eyes met hers.
“I will be heading out for the evening,” he said without elaboration. “I’ve informed Mrs. Gilroy that I shall take my supper at the pub.”
“Have you learned anything new pertaining to this situation?” Belle asked on the off-chance that a messenger had arrived unknown to them.
He shook his head. “Nothing of the sort.” He turned again to Mrs. Johnstone. “Something has come up... something that requires my attention.”
Chapter Nineteen
At the reinsof his phaeton in the brisk night air, Jon headed to the one place where he might work off the tension that had seemed to permeate every cell. Even the relaxed atmosphere of the Rogue’s Lair would not do the trick tonight. No, he needed strenuous activity to unwind the stress that had seemed to coil within him.
Every corner of his world seemed to bring another source of tension into his existence. Planning for the latest acquisition planned by Mason Enterprises had stalled, leaving their most recent expansion with an uncertain timeline. He was losing patience with the snail’s pace of the negotiations. But there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it.
At home, his residence had transformed from a quiet—perhaps too quiet, in fact—place. For quite some time, his house had meant little more to him than walls and a roof over his head with well-appointed furnishings and possessions that held no sentiment. Now, the near-silent peace was gone, replaced by the sounds of singing and conversation and laughter, the sight of a child’s genuinely joyful smile, the caring in Belle’s deep blue eyes, and inexplicable powdery white pawprints on bookshelves in his study. For weeks, he’d looked upon the near solitude he’d previously found behind the closed doors of his home with a sense of nostalgia. He had wanted to return to the life he’d known—an existence free of distractions and messes and noise.
But now, the question tore at him. Since he was a very young man—perhaps even before he’d reached manhood—he’d had a clear picture in his mind of what his life should be. Many might’ve envied the wealth and status afforded to him as his father’s heir. But at times, the expectations weighed on him.
In his life, efficiency was of prime importance. After all, only with an effective use of time could he oversee the operations of the company and maintain the business his father had worked so diligently to build. But now, suddenly, the prospect of structure and order and routine held far less appeal. A life that was a mere existence would be suffocating. Such a shell of a life might be bloody intolerable.
Tonight, he had to clear his head. And for that, he needed to use his fists.
Arriving at the Rogue’s Athletic Club, a gymnasium he and Finn had installed in a building that came available beside the Rogue’s Lair, he wasted no time before entering the ring. He faced off with his first opponent, a burly regular who stood half a head taller than himself. Despite the man’s advantage in height and weight, Jon easily prevailed in their sparring contest.
His second opponent proved more of a challenge. But not by much. A brawny, puffed-up noble who’d had precisely enough liquor to think himself invincible, the man thought he’d get the better of him by fighting dirty. After taking one low blow that took the air out of his lungs, Jon set him to rights. Brought to his knees with a right cross, the baron glared at him, angered by the turn of events. He came to his feet and swung wildly, aiming low once more. This time, Jon knocked him on his noble arse. Bloody hell, it felt good to use his muscles and pent-up raw energy.
After several bouts of sparring that greatly helped to clear his head followed by a pint of Murray’s best ale, he decided to call it a night. As he headed through the gaslit streets, his mindwandered. The questions he’d debated before he donned his gloves at the gymnasium flooded back over him.
None of the changes that had impacted the day-to-day order of his household were permanent. The cat and the dog would soon return to their homes. Though he’d actually delayed Heathy’s departure despite Logan’s return home, it was only a matter of time. Carrie had grown so attached to the ball of fur on legs, it seemed only prudent to continue to have the dog in residence until Amelia’s return.
By then, Carrie might well be in his sister’s loving and attentive care. Macie and Finn would be kind and doting parents, and they’d embraced the prospect of adopting the girl. It was indeed the most sensible course of action.
Bloody hell, why did the very idea feel like a fist to the belly? Acting as the child’s guardian had seemed a daunting task, given the demands he faced as the head of Mason Enterprises and his utter lack of experience with child-rearing. But now, he’d actually started to look forward to the girl’s guileless smiles and off-key melodies.
And then, of course, there was Belle’s unanticipated arrival. When he’d sailed out of New York harbor, he’d always known there was a chance they would encounter one another once again. A good chance, in truth. After all, they traveled the same circles, even if on the opposite sides of an ocean. But he’d prepared for a fleeting, cool interaction, a perfunctory exchange of pleasantries at best.
He had not been prepared for the sight of her smile, the melodic notes of her voice as she sang with a child, and her beauty even when her face was smudged with flour as she delighted Carrie with her impromptu art lesson. He had never considered what it might be like to have her within reach at night, with only a door between them. He had never thought towonder what it would be like if he’d never walked away. Until now.
Bloody hell, he’d convinced himself he was over her. That was the way it had to be. He’d believed leaving New York was the only rational decision he could’ve made. After all, Mason Enterprises wasn’t going to run itself. His father was getting on in years. It was his turn to take on the burden his father had long shouldered. His turn to prove himself worthy of the trust his family had placed in him. He hadn’t really had a choice.
Or had he?
The question shook him to the bloody core.
