Page 85 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
Arabelle, all I want is you. Even now, while she lay alone in her bed, gazing up at the ceiling, the notes of his husky rasp played in her thoughts.
Out of all the pubs in London, she had run into the Rogue’s Lair. And straight into the one man in London who’d captured her heart. Now, she never wanted to leave him. The hours she’d spent with Jon had healed the hurt of the past and soothed the grief over the time they’d lost. This was a new start.
Forcing herself out of the comfort of her bed and the thoughts of Jon that warmed her, Belle dressed and prepared for the day. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Gilroy rapped lightly on her door.
“Just so ye know, ye have guests,” she announced when Belle asked her to come inside.
“Guests?” Belle tried not to frown. “At this early hour?”
“Mr. MacLain has come to visit.” Mrs. Gilroy tapped her cane a bit nervously. “He’s brought a man with him. Says he’s here to guard the place.”
“What do you think of him?”
“He’s a fine enough specimen of a man. I certainly will not mind having him around. He’s easy on the eyes, he is.”
“Why Mrs. Gilroy, you scamp,” Belle teased.
“Before my dear George left this earth, I’d have never looked at another man. Well, at least, I would not have admitted to it.” A wry smile brightened her features. “But now, my hair may have turned to silver, but my heart is still young.”
“How long were you married, Mrs. Gilroy?”
“Nearly thirty years. Until my husband’s heart gave out on him. We were in Cardiff, with the Mason family at their country estate. Ah, Mrs. Mason was an angel to me. She made sure I would always have a place with them. The woman has a kind soul, she does.” A pensive expression fell over her. “Just like ye, Miss Belle.”
The sincerity in the old woman’s slightly scratchy voice touched Belle. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Gilroy. I consider that high praise, indeed.”
“Ye haven’t been around me for very long, lass. But I think ye’ve seen enough to know I speak the truth.” A warmth lit her eyes. “That first night, I’ll admit I was not pleased to see ye at the door. I’d thought ye’d be one of those high-brow snobs who think the sun and moon revolves around them. But now I see ye’re exactly what the wee lass needed to brighten her days.”
“Thank you,” Belle said, moved by an unexpected rush of emotion. “She is a precocious little girl, isn’t she?”
“That she is,” Mrs. Gilroy said with a nod. For a moment, she looked as though another thought had perched on the tip of her tongue, but she did not give voice to it. Glancing about, she seemed to stall before she met Belle’s gaze. “I should be getting back to the kitchen. I’ll let the men know you’ll soon be out to join them.”
“I won’t be long,” Belle said, stifling a little yawn.
Appearing to spot Belle’s telltale sleepiness, Mrs. Gilroy’s mouth pulled a bit tighter. Was the old woman doing her best not to chuckle? Had she heard Belle tiptoe from Jon’s bedchamber to her own not long before dawn?
The housekeeper smiled, the twinkle in her eyes suggesting Belle’s suspicion was correct. “For now, I’m hoping our guest has a hearty appetite this morning. I’m looking to get to know him a wee bit better.”
“Oh, Mrs. Gilroy, I think Carrie might need a bit more rest this morning. Please leave her to sleep a while longer,” Belle said as the housekeeper went to the door. “I’ll see that she’s dressed and ready for the day after I’ve spoken with Mr. MacLain and the easy-on-the-eyes guard.”
“A fine idea.” Mrs. Gilroy gave a brisk nod then headed to the stairs.
Not quite a quarter hour later, Belle joined Jon and his guests in the dining room. At the first sight of Logan MacLain, she understood why the rumor mill had been abuzz with talk of the striking tavern keeper. While his reputed unsavory past remained a topic in London’s gossip hives, most of the talk centered on the way a pretty librarian—of all things, as they liked to put it—had tamed the man they’d dubbed an outlaw, devil, and above all else, a rogue.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in black from his boots to the tie at his throat, he certainly did look the part of an outlaw. Logan MacLain might’ve passed for a buccaneer of old. With his sable hair and dark brown eyes, he was an undeniably handsome man. Though the twitters about his wild and woolly past might’ve been quieted if the gossips had witnessed the scene that met Belle’s eyes as she entered Jon’s study. As Heathy bounced about, yipping delightedly for MacLain’s attention, the man scooped up the dog in his muscular arms and bestowedaffectionate pats on the pup’s furry head, an image that certainly contrasted with the man’s hard-edged reputation.
A man with salt-and-pepper hair combed back from his lean face and a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard stood by the shelves, thumbing through a book. So, this was Mrs. Gilroy’s easy-on-the-eyes gentleman.
As she entered the room, she saw Jon leaning against his desk, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Wearing black trousers and a plain linen shirt beneath a burgundy waistcoat, he might’ve been preparing for a day at his office. But this morning, he’d been dealing with a far different matter—protecting her and the others within his household.
As he met her questioning gaze, his lazy smile warmed her, a vivid reminder of what they’d shared the night before. “Good morning,” he said, coming to her side. He’d managed a bland tone, but the subtle heat in his gaze was anything but proper.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, taking a seat on the loveseat as Jon went about the introductions.
The older man was an acquaintance of Mrs. Johnstone’s. A former colleague, in fact, from her days as an operative for an agency that she’d been a bit hush-hush about. A taciturn man, Henry Northcutt possessed the skills of an accomplished bodyguard. And above all, he had earned the trust of Mrs. Johnstone, which evidently was no easy feat.
Listening to the man’s tight-lipped description of his previous position, providing security for an industrialist’s family in Glasgow, Belle could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for Mrs. Gilroy. If the woman had hoped to strike up a friendship with this man of very few words, Belle suspected she might well be disappointed.
Not that any of that mattered. Not really. For the next several days, Belle would be essentially a prisoner in this house. Even the garden was now off-limits. But there was nothing to be doneabout it. Given the strong possibility that someone had been snooping about the house, even the high wall around the terrace would not provide proper cover from anyone with an ounce of determination to find her. Even a local lad might be employed to spy on the place.
