Page 79 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
Jon caught her hand in his. Gently. So very gently. “I don’t give a damn about repercussions.” He drew his thumb over her palm. “At this moment, all that matters is your safety. And your peace of mind.”
“But if you inform my family that I am here, that I am with you, there may well be consequences.”
His brow furrowed again. “After all that you’ve been through, you are concerned about a blasted scandal?” His voice was low and a bit raw.
She met his dark brown eyes. “And you are not?”
“I don’t care about scandal. Or anything of the sort, for that matter.” He regarded her for a long moment, a look of determination on his features. “As I told you that first night, if a complication should arise, it may be rectified with a few well-chosen words... with a proper proposal.”
“This is not a conversation we should be having.” She went very still. Her heart sped up, if only slightly. She would not—could not—see him forced into a marriage of mere necessity. Nor could she settle for such a hollow existence. She let out a low breath. “I should leave this house. I can arrange passage on a steamship home. Surely, he would not dare to follow me to Manhattan.”
Jon’s jaw hardened. “I won’t stand back while you risk your neck.”
“What alternative is there?” she said. “He will not give up. And now, Mrs. Johnstone has uncovered even more reason to fear him.”
“Belle, I need you to trust me.”
“This has nothing to do with trust. And everything to do with necessity.” She took another taste of sherry to ease the scalding emotion in her throat. “It may be too late for me, Jon. Too late for my future. But it isn’t for you.”
“Too late?” He spoke the words in a husky, scoffing tone.
“You can still make a good match—a woman who will suit you well, who will be everything you want in a wife.”
“Everything I want, eh?” He scrubbed his hand along the edge of his jaw, over the bristles of new beard. For a long moment, he studied her, his brow furrowed again. “Belle, might I ask if you’ve gone absolutely batty?”
She sat up straighter, nearly convinced she’d misunderstood. But in her heart, she knew she’d heard him correctly. Each and every word.
She faced him directly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me, Belle. Now answer my question—have you gone batty?”
“I don’t understand you at all.” She took another drink, more than a sip this time. “But for the record, I will say that I most definitely havenotgone batty, absolutely or not.”
“Very good,” he responded with a crisp nod. “Now, to cut to the chase. What in blazes would make you think I’d ever want any other woman?” Reaching out, he traced his fingertips along the curve of her face. “That I could ever want anyone but you?”
Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her cheeks burn with emotion. But she had to keep her head about her. “Well, itissaid that you are one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”
His eyes narrowed, a faint curve to his mouth brightening his expression. “In Cardiff and Edinburgh as well, for that matter. Or so I’m told.”
She bit back a smile that surprised her, given the ache in her heart. “I see none of this experience has put a damper on your ego.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn about any of it.” His voice had gone low and gruff, deliciously husky. “The truth of it is, I haven’t cared about another woman since I left New York.”
“Is that so?” She gulped against a surge of emotion.
“Damned right it is,” he said. “Arabelle...allI want is you.”
A delicious heat coursed through her whenever he spoke her name in that delicious low rasp of his. Searching his expressive features, she saw the raw depth of feelings he no longer tried to hide.
“My, I must say, you do know how to surprise me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears she struggled not to shed, but she lost the battle. One warm teardrop trickled down her cheek. With exquisite gentleness, he brushed it away with the pad of histhumb. For the span of several heartbeats, he regarded her with what seemed a sense of amazement brightening his dark brown irises.
“Ah, my Arabelle.” His arms enfolded her, and he drew her to his lean, muscular body. The subtle spice of soap and bergamot filled her senses. “Bloody hell, I want to kiss you.”
“I’d like that too,” she whispered.
His mouth curved at the corners, not quite a smile. So tempting. So very seductive. A ribbon of anticipation unfurled within her, all the way to her toes. When he cupped her chin and tilted it up just so—just perfect for him to kiss her oh-so-properly—she met his intense gaze.
“Arabelle Frost, all I’ll ever need is you.”
