Page 68 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
As Belle declared that Rapunzel and her handsome prince—after all, what other kind were there in fairy tales—had lived happily ever after, Carrie grinned with happiness, then smothered her yawn with her hand.
“I never doubted it for a minute,” the girl declared happily.
“You are a clever girl,” Belle said as Jon agreed. “Now, let’s get you back in bed before it becomes very, very late.”
“I am sleepy now,” Carrie agreed. She scooted out of the chair and bustled over to Jon’s seat. He casually flipped over the pad, keeping the sketch out of sight. “Were you writing a story?”
“Nothing so clever as that,” he replied truthfully. “Now it’s high time you were in bed. It won’t be long before Heathy is awake and looking for his friend to play.”
Her expression scrunched into a little frown, but quick as it had come, the frown disappeared. “Goodnight,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Goodnight, little one.”
“I’ll tuck you in,” Belle said as the child reached for her hand. Standing by his chair, Belle squinted a bit, as if puzzled. “You’ve been hurt.”
He rubbed his hand along the line of his jaw, feeling a small cut by his cheek. He hadn’t thought anyone would even notice.
“It’s nothing.”
“Did that happen during Mrs. Johnstone’s training session?” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t recall seeing it.”
He shook his head. “I shall explain in the morning.”
“Well, I do hope so,” she said, then took Carrie by the hand and led her from the room.
Blast it, he could not recall the last time anyone had looked at him with any semblance of concern. He’d simply tell her the truth. In better light, she’d notice the cuts on his knuckles from sparring. There was no point in leaving her to worry over him.
He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. The interest in her expression had been genuine.How bloody unexpected.Despite the hurt that had gone between them, she still cared about him, if only for his essential wellbeing. That small truth warmed him more than the flames in the hearth.
Chapter Twenty
Tucking soft quiltsaround Carrie, Belle pressed a quick kiss to the child’s forehead, then settled into the chair by her bed and waited for her to fall back to sleep. The child’s quiet, contented sighs as she drifted off brought Belle a sense of peace. Not quite a quarter hour earlier, Carrie had awakened from what must have been a horrid nightmare and come looking for her. The girl’s muffled whimpers had left Belle a bit shaken, but she’d had no trouble calming the child. The little girl had experienced such loss. So much upheaval. Belle sighed to herself. If only she could find a way to offer the child stability and consistency and, above all, love.
No matter what happened in the future, she hoped she might have a presence in Carrie’s life. It wouldn’t be long before Jon’s sister returned and welcomed the child into her family. With any luck, Macie would be receptive to Belle’s visits. But for now, she would focus on the present. She’d fill Carrie’s days with as much joy and learning as possible.
Satisfied that the child was sleeping peacefully, Belle returned to the sitting room. To her surprise, she was not alone.
Jon glanced up from the evening edition. “I went to check on Carrie, but I saw you had matters well in hand.”
“She’s sleeping now,” Belle said as she went to the bookshelf.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, catching Belle by surprise. “Carrie is very fond of you.”
“As I am of her,” Belle replied. Surveying the shelves on the towering case, she selected a volume of poems. “I must say, I did not expect to find poetry in your collection,” she said. “Much less the works of the romantics.”
“And why might that be?” A trace of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “I am not a heathen.”
“Surely there must be some unspoken rule or another against a decidedly practical man like you reading Byron.”
He shrugged. “I cannot say that I recite his verse during a night at the pub. But I do possess a familiarity with his works.”
“I suppose this might impress a female visitor?”
“Ah, you’ve deduced my secret.” He hiked a brow. “Would that include you, Belle?”
“Most definitely not. After all, I know you far too well.”
“You wound my pride. And there I thought you were drawn to my intellectual side.”
