Page 11 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

“Well, then,” he looped his thumbs under his suspenders, sweeping his gaze over the wrinkled white silk of her gown. He cleared his throat. “I trust Mrs. Gilroy has located something for you to wear.”

“She found an ensemble that might work. I do hope she’s right.”

His brow furrowed. “If not, we’ll find something else in the morning.”

“There will be no need for that,” Mrs. Gilroy said, making her way into the room with two dresses in her hand. “In her rush to leave for the journey with her husband, Miss Macie left these behind.” Her gaze swept over Belle. “These should do.”

Belle quickly sized up the colorful, high-necked dresses. They did indeed appear to have been made for a woman of similar—but perhaps less generous—proportions to her own.

“Thank you so much,” she said as the housekeeper handed her another garment, a heavy flannel night dress with ruffles at the neck and wrists that looked very much like something her grandmother would have fancied.

“That one should do. It’s not as if ye need something fancy for taking yer rest.” Mrs. Gilroy hung the dresses in the wardrobe before settling a narrow-eyed gaze on Jon. “Now that that’s done, I should ask what ye think ye’re doing, intruding on a lady’s quarters?”

A bland look of amusement pulled at Jon’s mouth. “I’ll have you know I am assessing the progress made towards providing Miss Frost with suitable accommodations for the night.”

“So that’s it, is it?” Mrs. Gilroy looked as if she tried to scowl but couldn’t quite pull it off. “This is not one of yer stores. You’ll find no need to supervise with me under this roof.” Her eyes flashed with warmth and a hint of warning. “I have the situation well under control.”

For the first time since she’d encountered him that night, the crinkles on Jon’s forehead eased. He smiled. “So you do, Mrs. Gilroy.” He turned to the door. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

“I’ll see that Miss Frost is settled in for the night,” she said. “I trust the wee one is tucked in her bed.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, feathered lines of tension crinkling around his eyes. “For the moment.”

“I’ll check on her later,” Mrs. Gilroy said with a weary nod. “Before I lay down to rest.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gilroy,” he said. “It’s been a very long day... for all of us.”

“Things will settle down soon enough,” the housekeeper said.

“As a betting man, I would not like the odds on that,” Jon said with a thin smile, then bid them a good night’s sleep and closed the door behind him.

“Shall I run ye a hot bath, Miss?” Mrs. Gilroy offered, relying heavily on her walking stick as she made her way to light the small bathing chamber.

Hearing the weariness in the woman’s tone, Belle gave her head a little shake. She certainly did not need to trouble the woman any further, much less at this hour. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll run it myself.”

“Good enough, Miss,” she said with a touch of relief. “Ye’ll find clean towels on the shelf, and Miss Macie left behind a dressing gown.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Belle said. “I realize this is quite an imposition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss. I should thank ye as well for yer kindness to little Carrie.”

“I don’t understand how anyone could be unkind to that darling girl.”

Mrs. Gilroy hiked a brow. “Ye’d be surprised, Miss.

As much as I shudder to think about trying to keep up with the wee imp on this cantankerous knee of mine, I cannot say I was sad to see her governess pack her bags.

Some people simply do not have a warm heart for children. And Miss Pritchard was one of them.”

“I once had a governess who had no fondness for me. Mama saw to it that she did not stay on for very long,” Belle recalled. “I suppose some are drawn into the vocation due to circumstances rather than any nurturing heart.”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Gilroy said. “Carrie’s governess was not cruel. I would not have allowed such a thing. But she was cold as ice, she was. And so very critical.” She let out a low breath. “The child has been through so much. She deserves affection in her young life.”

“You mentioned that she’s been orphaned. How long has it been since she lost her parents?”

“It’s been more than a year now. Her parents were killed in a terrible fire.

With her last bit of strength, the child’s dear mum got Carrie to safety.

But the smoke had done its damage, and the poor woman succumbed not long after.

Since then, the wee lass has been shuttled around from kin to kin.

Mr. Mason would not turn his back on her.

It’s not in his nature, ye know. But the demands of his various enterprises leave little time for anything but his business.

The man is gone more than he is here.” She bent her head, staring down at the rug for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts, then lifted her gaze. “Oh, dear, I’ve said too much.”

“Not at all,” Belle said. “I am acquainted with Mr. Mason and his dedication to, shall we say, meeting his responsibilities.”

“Ah, ye do know him, don’t ye, Miss?” The housekeeper made her way to the door. “If ye don’t mind, I’ll have ye sleep in here in Miss Macie’s old chamber. The linens are freshly laundered, and I haven’t had a chance to prepare the other guest room.”

“I shall be entirely comfortable,” Belle said with a smile. “Please, do get some rest. I don’t wish to be any trouble.”

“Thank ye, Miss. I suspect I will sleep like a rock tonight.” Mrs. Gilroy scooped up the dog and made her way to the door. “Good night, Miss Frost.”

“Good night,” she replied as Mrs. Gilroy left the room with Heathy in hand. The door closed behind her with a snug click of the latch.

Venturing into the bathing chamber, Belle spotted a bottle of lavender bath salts on a shelf by the tub.

How very nice. She ran a bath, liberally scenting the water with the fragrant crystals.

Ah, the aroma was so very relaxing. For the first time since she’d bolted from Gideon, Belle felt she could let down her guard.

Peeling off the silk gown she now detested, she tossed it to the floor.

She’d been such a fool. So very impulsive, wooed by sweet words and an all-too-convenient sharing of her interests, of her passions.

She’d believed every lie from Gideon’s mouth, her trust in the man nurtured by her scheming aunt.

Never could she have imagined such betrayal from a woman Belle had considered a fond member of her family for as long as she could remember.

Never could she have imagined she’d be so vulnerable. For years, she’d kept alert for the lies. For the courtships motivated by a love of money, rather than her.

But when Gideon had swept into her life, she’d looked past the signs that he was too perfect to be true.

When her aunt sang his praises, she’d never considered a motive other than a sincere interest in Belle’s happiness.

She’d looked past every hint of their conniving ways.

Thank heaven she’d come to her senses. Before it was too late.

Stripping off her undergarments, she folded them and placed them on a small chair, then tested the water’s heat with her finger. Perfect.

Easing into the tub, she leaned back against a folded towel and closed her eyes.

She’d be safe here. How very ironic that of all the men in London—of all the men on the planet—she’d encountered Jon Mason.

Goodness, she’d nearly run into his arms. Even then, as he’d gazed down at her with incredulous eyes, she’d known she could trust him.

He’d said he would keep her safe. In her heart, she’d no doubt he would do just that.

At least, as long as he could.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Gideon’s expression as he’d blocked the door of her chamber at Aunt Vera’s home.

Anger had blazed in his gray eyes. And contempt.

He’d closed her in and bolted the door from the outside.

He hadn’t counted on her desperation. Hadn’t known the depth of her will to escape his control.

But would it be enough? Could she stay out of his grasp for a fortnight longer?

With a sigh, she stared up at the ceiling. A fresh foreboding crept through her thoughts. Gideon is a powerful man. He knows what he wants. And he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Easing lower into the water, Belle drank in the calming essence of lavender oil. She wouldn’t dwell on her predicament tonight. For now, she would savor this brief moment of peace.

Still, her mind wandered. She left the tub, donned the flannel night dress that barely came to her knees, and made her way to bed.

As she slipped beneath the quilt, another image entered her thoughts—a child’s large brown eyes, filled with a keen sadness her sweet little smile could not camouflage.

The little girl had endured such terrible loss in her young life.

How very desolate the tot must feel in a life of being shuttled from home to home.

From caretaker to caretaker. The girl was lonely.

Vulnerable. And sadly, without anyone to show her true affection.

The very thought of it seemed a thorn pricking Belle’s heart. If only there was something she could do.

Closing her eyes again, she mulled over Mrs. Gilroy’s words of gratitude for Belle’s small show of kindness to Carrie.

The housekeeper had disapproved of the girl’s governess, of the woman’s sour attitude toward the girl.

It seemed the old woman with her hobbled knee was the child’s only true ally.

Was it any wonder Carrie clutched her little stuffed rabbit as if it were her only source of comfort in the world?