Page 17 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

T he dollar princess, the dog, and the tiny dynamo... a combination Jon had never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams. The mix of players had the makings of a comedy of errors he might actually enjoy. If it were not playing out in his home, that is.

Leaning back in his leather wing chair, he resisted the urge to chuckle.

Bloody hell, Belle had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Her motivation stemmed from a tender heart for the young and the weak and the vulnerable.

But the role of governess in this home entailed watching over a tiny whirlwind in curls.

His precocious little ward had the sweet face of a young angel, but her energy, strong will, and penchant for mischief might well test the patience of a saint.

At the moment, Carrie and the dog had scurried off to her room.

With any luck, she would not resume the creation of pretend pastries, of all the bloody things.

At least within the house, he didn’t have to worry about her making a colossal mess.

Though he didn’t doubt she might find something else to use in place of the mud that had been her creative medium the day before.

Mud pies. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the thought.

What a ridiculous concept. Three short months earlier, he’d never considered that such a thing might even exist. But there was a silver lining to it all.

The child had single-handedly managed to solve his dilemma over the employment of her governess.

He’d found Miss Pritchard as sour as a ripe lemon, but he’d been loath to consider removing her from the position given the simple fact that he certainly wasn’t capable of running his business and reining in the rambunctious child.

If there was one good thing about the blasted mud pies, they’d been the final straw that had sent the stiff-upper-lipped nanny on her way and, as a result, forced his hand.

He’d assisted Mrs. Gilroy to the sitting room to recline and rest, if only for a few minutes.

Knowing her as he did, he doubted she’d stay idle for long.

His housekeeper was at least twice his age, but her energy—most likely the product of her desire to oversee every small detail of the daily tasks—might well prevent her from enjoying any significant rest.

Now, behind a not-fully-closed door in his study, he and Belle were alone. Finally. Somehow, it seemed a long time had passed since the carriage ride from the tavern the night before. So much had changed in less than twenty-four hours.

She’d settled upon a small sofa, perusing the daily news.

The wool skirt of her suit brushed the floor.

The rich blue color suited her, but she appeared a bit uncomfortable in the ensemble.

He would have to see to obtaining garments which were more to her preference.

But how? She couldn’t be seen gallivanting about town, visiting the fashionable shops and such.

He’d have to enlist someone to obtain the garments—someone he could trust. Who would know any blasted thing about women’s clothing?

It was a puzzle, but he’d figure it out. After all, he always did.

As she scanned the paper, Belle seemed more at ease, perhaps for the first time since he’d encountered her the night before.

This morning, she’d pulled her long, honey-colored hair into a simple braid and secured it with a simple velvet tie.

The unadorned style accented her perfect oval face and gentle features.

God above, she was every bit as lovely as he remembered.

No, he was wrong. With the morning sun streaming through the window, dancing over her softly etched features, she was even more beautiful.

When she’d taken on the role of governess to little Carrie, he’d wondered if she might be over her head. Suddenly, he knew the question could apply to him as well.

He couldn’t deny he’d had doubts about bringing her here, not even to himself. But damned if he would leave her alone and vulnerable, on the run from a man she evidently feared. He would shield her from the bastard. He’d do whatever it took to protect her.

Blasted shame he’d never found the means to put the memories of her—and what they’d had—behind him.

When he’d made the decision to leave New York, he’d made the logical choice.

The only choice. Or so he’d convinced himself at the time.

But as soon as she’d dashed into the Lair , his certainty had crumbled like a child’s sandcastle facing off against the tide.

And now, she was here. In his blasted study, of all places.

Had she sensed him watching her? She lifted her attention from the paper, took a sip of tea, and met his gaze. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Thoughts? So many blasted questions filled his mind. Questions with answers that might cause her distress. It wasn’t the time. Not yet. He’d allow the moment of peace to linger. After what she’d been through, she bloody well deserved it. For now, he’d focus on the present.

“I can’t help but wonder if you have any notion of what you’re getting into by taking charge of my little ward.”

“Ward?” She bit off the word as if it were somehow distasteful. “How very formal. The child is your kin.”

“Indeed, she is. Carrie’s father was my cousin.

Fred was a good man, and his wife was one of the kindest souls I’ve ever had the privilege to know.

” He stared at the leaded glass in the window for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“The child was so young, not quite three, when her parents were killed.”

“She’s quite precocious.”

“Indeed. The girl is exceedingly bright. And even more curious.”

“Children are naturally inquisitive,” Belle countered. “Curiosity is a good thing, is it not?”

“At times,” he said. “But then again, you remember the old saying about curiosity and the cat.”

“Personally, I believe inquisitiveness is a wonderful attribute in a child. Or in an adult, for that matter.” Belle took another sip of tea, seeming to study him. He’d no doubt her last statement was aimed at him.

“I agree,” he said, taking the bait, if only to see the glimmer of surprise in her beautiful eyes. “I consider myself positively overflowing with natural curiosity.”

“You?” She cocked a brow. “I can’t say that I recall that aspect of your personality.”

He lifted one brow in reply to hers. “I don’t know how you failed to notice.”

A slight smile played on her lips. “I shall make a mental note to pay close attention you put your abundant interest in the world into play.”

Ah, there was the Belle he’d known. Her natural wit could charm the most dedicated cynic, while her smile never failed to draw him in.

“Might we talk a bit more about Carrie?” she went on. “I’d like to consider how best to guide her during my stay. Since she has been here with you, what has most captured her interest?”

He mulled the question. The first word that came to mind was everything.

But that certainly was not the answer Belle sought.

In the weeks since the girl had arrived at his doorstep—with scarcely twenty-four hours’ notice, no less— he had delegated much of her care to the governess he’d hastily arranged through the agency.

Fortunately, Mrs. Gilroy had shown a clear fondness for the girl, her keen eyes and ears watching over the prim Miss Pritchard as the governess conducted her duties.

He’d done his best to ensure the girl was well cared for, devoting attention to the child during the rare times when he was not in the office consumed with Mason Enterprise’s most recent endeavor or overseeing the operations at the Rogue’s Lair.

He certainly didn’t want to admit he was utterly stymied.

“My little cousin possesses an abundance of interest in the world around her,” he said, vague enough to maintain his truthfulness. “From what I have observed, she is especially drawn to the dog.”

“I noticed that as well,” Belle said with a thoughtful nod. “Not surprising. I adored our family pets.”

“Speaking of pets, you mentioned that you miss Angus.” He gently broached the subject that had been on his mind since the night before. “Did you... lose him?”

“Last year.” Her expression somber, Belle nodded again. “It was so very hard. I’d known he was old and didn’t have much time left, but somehow, that didn’t help. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know how much he meant to you.” If he were sitting by her side, if it were still his place to hold her, he would take her hand and comfort her. He would do whatever it took to ease her sadness. But nothing in her manner or expression invited his touch. That time had passed.

Like a fool, he’d thrown it all away.

“Now, please, tell me a bit more about Carrie,” she said, bringing his focus back to the moment at hand. “What activities does she prefer?”

“Activities?” Blast it, he was drawing from an empty well on that question. He had no bloody idea. But he didn’t care to admit it.

“I take it she enjoys playing outdoors,” Belle said.

“Well, she does seem to have a fondness for making creations out of the dirt in the garden.”

“Ah, the infamous mud pies,” Belle said, amusement in her tone. “I shall have to be careful to avoid taking a spill like her previous governess.”

“I suspect you could not replicate that scene even if you tried,” he said. That morning, he’d taken a look at where the child had been playing. How in blazes had the stiff-backed governess managed to end up bustle-first in a spot of mud not much larger than a serving platter?

“I’ve learned to never underestimate my own penchant for mishaps,” she said brightly.

“Miss Pritchard’s temperament was not well-suited to caring for a child as spirited as Carrie,” he said. “She did not know how to channel the girl’s energy. Or her intelligence.”

Belle’s expression warmed as she met his gaze. “She sounds like she takes after her cousin.”