Page 74 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
Again, he kissed her. Hungrier. More filled with need. Pulling her to his body, his arms coiled around her in a possessive hold. The undeniable proof of his passion for her pressed against the softness of her belly. Instinctively, she canted her hips. She craved this contact, so primal and intimate and intense.
Another low, raw groan escaped him, and he eased away.
“My lovely Arabelle. You’ll always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His husky voice was like a caress. With a feather-light touch, he pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “It’s best if I leave you now.”
A heavy reluctance settled over her, but deep within, she knew he was right.
“Goodnight, Jon.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him, a sweet, delicious caress.
And then, she turned. With quiet steps, she left him. Even as she reached her bedchamber, she ached to go back. Ached to return to him. But she closed the door behind her and lay upon the bed.
It was too soon. Far too soon to tell the difference between memories and the possibilities of a future. Far too soon to have faith that this was not a rekindled passion that would burn itself out like a shooting star. Far too soon to give her heart to him. Again.
Lying on her back, she stared up at the darkened ceiling. She felt the rhythm of her pulse steady as her breaths slowed. But her heart still longed for him.
They’d been caught up in a moment of desire that had flared beyond what either had anticipated. She knew that much. Had the memories of what had once been drawn them together?
Or was this something more?
As she eased into slumber, a pleasant notion—wishful thinking, perhaps—drifted through her thoughts.A new beginning.
Chapter Twenty-One
The yips ofHeathy’s agitated barking roused Belle from what had been a thoroughly pleasant slumber. Still foggy with sleep, she left the warmth of the bed and slipped into her dressing gown. Still, the barks continued. It wasn’t like Heathy to carry on without a reason. Something was wrong.
Hurrying to investigate, she rushed down the hallway, following the sound to the front window of the sitting room. Mrs. Gilroy stood by the curtains, peering out the window as Heathy finally quieted.
Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Carrie made her way into the room, clutching her rather ragged-looking doll. “What’s wrong with Heathy?” she asked, punctuating the question with a little yawn.
“Now that is a good question,” Mrs. Gilroy said, her brow furrowed, even as the look in her eyes hinted that she knew more than she was letting on. She turned to Belle. “Whatever it was that had him riled up, it’s gone now.”
Carrie went to the window and peeked outside into the morning haze. “The sun is rising.”
“It is rather early,” Belle said. “Would you like me to tuck you back in bed? You could sleep a while longer.”
The child shook her head. “I’m not sleepy now,” she said, even as she yawned.
“She’ll be needing a nap this afternoon,” Mrs. Gilroy predicted.
“I might as well,” Belle said with a little laugh.
“Carrie, will ye take Heathy to yer playroom for a bit while I finish making breakfast?”
“Of course,” Carrie said, sounding rather formal. Smiling proudly at her responsibility, she cheerfully led the pup away. As her footsteps skipped down the hall, Mrs. Gilroy settled onto a chair, a look of concern on her features.
“The dog was not barking at thin air,” she said. “At first, I thought Mr. Mason had returned. He left for his office at the crack of dawn. But it wasn’t him.”
“Perhaps Heathy detected a rabbit or something of that sort in the yard.”
“It is possible, I suppose.” Mrs. Gilroy’s mouth thinned. “Perhaps another dog is running about. I’ll check with the neighbors to see if their hound went on an adventure.”
“Or it might’ve been an amorous cat on the prowl,” Belle said as Cleo strolled into the room. “That might well leave Heathy in a stir.”
“One can hope it was only an animal.” Mrs. Gilroy patted Belle on the hand. “In any case, these doors are stout, the bolts are strong, and I’ve got my rolling pin close at hand in case anyone does get in.”
“Of course, we can’t forget the parasols Mrs. Johnstone left,” Belle said, forcing a smile.
Mrs. Gilroy made a scoffing sound. “I’ll take my rolling pin any day over one of those gadgets. But ye might want to keep yer brolly nearby. Just in case.” She turned to the window again, taking another searching look. “And Belle, promise me ye will not take the wee lass into the garden. Not until we can be sure it was, indeed, nothing to worry over.”
