Page 9 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“Quite so,” she agreed, her tone a bit more relaxed. “He was utterly shocked when I refused to meekly follow his dictates.”
Jon cocked a brow. “The man does not know you well, does he?”
“Truth be told, it was I who did not know him. Not at all.” She spoke the words as though they revealed an ugly truth. “But that does not matter now. I do feel I can breathe more easily now. That chapter is over.”
Jon studied her for a long moment, seeing the truth. Even she did not believe her own words.
He allowed her a moment’s pause before pressing forward. “So, do you have any idea of what comes next?”
“Not precisely.” She rose, turning about to take in all four corners of his office. As she met his gaze, a spark of inspiration lit her eyes. “Unless...”
“Belle...” He suspected he knew the direction of her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”
A smile brightened her face. “Perhaps I might stay here.”
He regarded her for a long, speechless moment. “In my office?” he ground out finally.
She offered a hopeful shrug. “It might work.” She gestured to the small sofa. “At least I would have a safe place to bed down for the night. After all, you’ve even laid out a blanket.”
“My dear Miss Frost—” He rubbed his neck, kneading out a sudden ache. “Have you gone daft?”
She hiked her chin. “It is not such a farfetched idea. Not really. After all, I don’t take up much space.”
“The volume of space you occupy does not signify.” He plowed his fingers through his hair. “I cannot vouch for yoursafety here. And I do not intend to spend the night sleeping on the floor, playing bodyguard.”
“That would not be necessary,” she countered. “I presume the doors have stout locks.”
“There are too many access points—too many panes of glass which could be broken by an intruder. You would be far too vulnerable.”
“Gideon does not know I am here,” she pointed out. “You saw him leave.”
He shook his head. “It is out of the question.”
“In that case, I shall have to find suitable accommodations at a hotel.” She let out another little sigh. “However, as you know, I am currently penniless. If you might advance me the funds to cover my stay—likely no more than a fortnight—and a small amount to provide for meals and a new dress or two during that time, I would be in your debt.”
He stood and walked to the window. Mulling the idea, he peered down into the night. “You think to hide in a hotel in London?”
“I see no other option.”
“The bastard was determined to find you tonight. What makes you think he won’t keep looking?”
“I suppose I shall have to take a chance.” She pulled in a breath. “Now, will you assist me in reserving proper accommodations?”
Jon turned back to her. “Absolutely not.”
Her eyes went wide, betraying that his answer had taken her aback. She nibbled her lower lip. “Very well, then.” She looked to be holding back tears. “I suppose I should be on my way.”
“I can’t let you do that, Arabelle.” He reached for her, placing his hand gently on her forearm. “I must insist—you’re coming home with me.”
*
Belle jerked awayfrom his touch as if his hand had transformed into a scorpion’s stinging tail. “Coming home?” she repeated his words like a confused parrot. “With you?”
The slightest hint of amusement touched his lips. “Doubting your own ears again, are you?”
Squaring her shoulders, she pulled in a breath. “I do wish someone had informed me that you’d gone mad.”
“Mad?” His gaze trailed over her dress. “Fine words coming from a woman running about London in a wedding gown.”
