Page 18 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

“She does. But that cousin is not me.” He couldn’t help but smile as he pictured his sister and her antics. “Carrie reminds me a great deal of Macie. My sister takes after our mum, free spirit that she is. When she was a girl, I suspect Macie drove more than one of her governesses to imbibe.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating,” she said lightly.

“Am I?” He reached for his own drink. “Macie and her husband are due back from their recent expedition by the end of the month. I’m sure she’ll verify what I’m saying as the absolute, unvarnished truth.”

“I will definitely enjoy making her acquaintance. If I’m still in London when she returns, that is.”

Still in London. Why did the simple phrase feel like a kick in the gut?

“You’d asked about my little cousin’s preferred activities,” he said, refocusing the conversation, if only to distract himself from the sensations he didn’t want to feel. “Mrs. Gilroy could tell you more on that subject than I can. I do believe she and Carrie are a bit fond of one another.”

“I can see that as well,” Belle agreed. “When I was a child, I enjoyed playing with my dolls. Does Carrie have a favorite?”

“She does have dolls. Quite a few actually,” he said, picturing the carefully packaged delivery that had arrived a week or so earlier. “But I’ve only seen her play with that old cloth doll she’s so fond of. It looks as if it should be destined for the refuse pile.”

Belle’s eyes lit with what looked like a memory. “The rag doll?”

He pictured the simple stitching on its worn linen face. “I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

“Oh, I call mine Hildy.”

His brow furrowed. “Hildy?”

“After one of my favorite aunts. Hildegard is a bit much for a three-year-old to manage, so my mother suggested we shorten the name. I’ll have you know I still treasure that plain little doll.” A gentle smile accented her words. “I suppose that may sound rather silly to you.”

“Not at all,” he said truthfully. “I’m assuming a sentimental connection.”

“Ah, you know about such things, do you now?” She flashed a teasing look. “And there I thought you were a hard-boiled tycoon.”

“Tycoon?” he scoffed. “My father can lay claim to that title. Not me.”

She wrinkled her pert nose. “Many would disagree, you know.”

“He would not. Of that, I’m quite sure.” Somehow, the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Now, tell me more about your doll. There must be a family connection.”

“You are a clever one, aren’t you?” she teased again.

“Hildy has been in my family for generations. I’m told the doll was sewn nearly a century ago, while George Washington was in the White House and passed down through the generations.

My great-grandmother gave it to my grandmother when she was a tot.

Grandmama named the doll after her aunt, and choosing a special name became a family tradition.

Eventually, Hildy made it to me. One day, I hope to pass it on to my own daughter.

I suspect someone who loved Carrie may have given her the doll she cherishes. ”

“I hadn’t considered that,” he said, feeling every bit the dolt.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” she mused. “Jon Mason admitting he may have overlooked an important detail... why, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“A rare thing, indeed,” he replied flippantly.

She hiked a questioning brow. “It must be difficult to live with the knowledge that you so seldom make a mistake.” Her words might have seemed harsh if not for the playful glint in her eyes.

“Now that’s where you are wrong, Arabelle. I make many mistakes. But I’m not inclined to admit it.”

“Truer words have seldom been spoken,” she said with a little grin. “I do hope it wasn’t very painful for you.”

He gave another shrug. “At least now I have a logical reason for refraining from tossing that threadbare doll of hers out with the rubbish.”

“You do have a way with the little ones, don’t you?” she chided.

“I make no such claim,” he said, giving another shrug. “We’ve already established I have no experience with children. And that brings me back to my initial question. Do you truly know what you’re doing, acting as governess to my exceedingly clever and curious young ward?”

“Of course,” she replied quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re quite sure of that?” he pressed lightly.

She lifted her pert chin, meeting his question directly. “You, of all people, know of my fondness for children.”

“There’s more to it than fondness, and we both know it.”

“Watching over Carrie will be a new experience, but I will relish it. As I told you, it will be as easy as pie.”

He could not hold back his skepticism. “Might I ask if you’ve ever actually baked a pie?”

“I’ll have you know that apple pie is my specialty.” Veiling her gaze with her lashes, she glanced down at her hands. Interesting. He knew her well enough to know the implication of that small gesture. She was being less than truthful in that moment.

“I shall remember that,” he said, meaning every word. “Perhaps you will indulge my taste for sweets at some time in the near future.”

“It will be my pleasure,” she said, grazing her top teeth over her bottom lip. “When time permits, that is.”

“Of course.” He studied the way her teeth played with her lip and she fidgeted her fingers. Yes, she was definitely exaggerating her ability in the kitchen. But he wouldn’t have expected her to back down. That wouldn’t be the Arabelle he’d known, now, would it?

“You’re quite confident that your experience with Carrie will proceed smoothly. Without a hitch, as they say.”

Her teeth grazed her lower lip again. “My time here should be a pleasant change from my everyday routine.”

“Ah, yes, taking tea with some railroad tycoon’s bored wife and deciding upon a gown for your next ball must be utterly exhausting.”

“It’s not so easy as that,” she said, hiking her chin. “In any case, I’m looking forward to every minute of my time here.”

“Are you, now?” He studied her for a moment.

Her intentions were good. Of that, he had no doubt.

She genuinely wished to be of help. But Arabelle Frost had never had to lift a finger to cook, clean, or care for anyone other than herself.

She was a quick study. But who might even be able to teach her?

“Of course,” she said with a little grin. “If only to prove I’m right to a naysayer like you.”

“Naysayer, eh?” He stroked his chin as an idea took shape. “Would you care to make it interesting?”

“Interesting?” she repeated, the grin replaced with a look of intrigue in her dark blue eyes.

“A wager,” he explained. “Or, if you prefer, a challenge.”

“And what might be the terms?”

He met her questioning gaze. “If a week passes and you continue to see no reason for me to bring in a governess from the agency to relieve you, I will donate to whichever of your charities you choose.”

A smile played on her beautiful mouth. “I assume you’re proposing a generous donation.”

“Quite substantial,” he agreed.

“And if, by some chance, I should lose this wager, we both know I have no money at the moment.” Her brow furrowed. “What would you propose to receive as my forfeit?”

“What I’m thinking will not require so much as a penny from your purse.”

The furrows deepened. “Then what?” She looked puzzled rather than wary. At least she still trusted him not to be an utter scoundrel, even now. That was something to be thankful for, at least.

“I shall expect to taste a delicious slice of your culinary specialty, an apple pie baked by you.” He resisted the urge to grin. “For me.”