Page 21 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)
“You certainly have not done that,” he said, stretching out his legs. “You’ve worked tirelessly to keep up with the changes about this place. I must tell you I appreciate that.”
“What else would I do?” she questioned, her tone more gentle than usual. “I take pride in this household.”
“Well-justified pride,” he said as Belle joined them.
She’d changed into a pale green dress he vaguely recalled his sister wearing the previous year.
Of course, when Macie had worn the garment, its hem had skimmed the floor.
But on Belle, the lower edge of the dress was a full hand’s breadth from the floor.
Mrs. Gilroy’s eyes widened as Belle crossed the threshold, and she seemed to hesitate. “My, doesn’t that look nice,” she said eventually, even as her brows lifted in mild contradiction.
“It is rather fetching,” Belle agreed, her expression as doubtful as Mrs. Gilroy’s had been. “Pity I can scarcely take a breath.”
Mrs. Gilroy offered a sage nod. “Ah, ye could never tell, Miss.”
“You wouldn’t say something simply to make me feel better,” Belle said, a faint smile tugging the corners of her mouth, “would you, Mrs. Gilroy?”
“No one could know it’s too tight but ye, lass. But do stay away from the spices,” the older woman said with a soft chuckle. “We wouldn’t want another sneeze to come upon ye. Now, would we?”
“Most definitely not,” Belle agreed.
“I think you look pretty,” Carrie said. “Like a doll.”
Jon rubbed the back of his neck, working loose a sudden knot in his muscles.
He couldn’t betray that his gaze was drawn to Belle like a magnet to iron ore.
The modest, high-necked garment she wore was, as Carrie had said with a child’s honesty, pretty .
But the word didn’t begin to describe the woman wearing the dress.
Even now, standing there in a snug, too-short garment that was not her own, she was beautiful. By God, Belle was a true diamond.
“Thank you,” she replied half-heartedly. “I suppose it will do.”
“For the time being,” he agreed. “I expect that Miss Blake will be helpful in remedying this situation.”
“Miss Blake?” Scrunching her forehead, Mrs. Gilroy seemed confused. “Miss Macie’s friend, the one who always seemed to be there when Miss Macie got herself into fixes?”
“The one and only,” he said. “Eleanor Blake is... an original.”
“That is putting it mildly,” Mrs. Gilroy said. “I hope she doesn’t get Miss Frost wrapped up in her shenanigans.”
“Now that perks my interest.” Belle’s expression brightened. “I do believe I’ve heard of her.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Jon said. “She’s drawn to society balls like a butterfly to a flower.”
Mrs. Gilroy gave her head a slow, rueful shake. “’Tis not my place to speak my thoughts about the miss and her taste for mischief.”
“Come now,” he said with a smile. “When has that ever stopped you?”
“’Tis admittedly a rare occurrence.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Regardless of a penchant for shenanigans, as you put it—the vast majority of which were instigated by my dear sister—Miss Blake is someone we can trust. At this time, that’s the most important thing.”
Belle nibbled her lower lip. “Does she understand the circumstances that led me here?”
He read the unspoken questions in her eyes. “She knows discretion is of the utmost importance.”
“Heaven knows she should be good at keeping quiet,” Mrs. Gilroy agreed. “After all, she kept Miss Macie’s secrets from ye all those years.”
Jon’s attention darted to his housekeeper.
Macie’s secrets? He kneaded his neck again, deciding against pursuing the subject.
God knew his younger sister had brought about more than one gray hair on his head.
But if Miss Blake had been able to resist spreading tales of Macie’s amusing exploits, he’d no doubt Miss Blake would be able to keep Belle’s presence in his home a well-guarded secret.
“You can trust her,” Jon said, turning back to Belle. “I would not have called upon her if I wasn’t sure of that.”
“I understand,” Belle said. “So, she knows who I am?”
He nodded. “I’d considered employing an alias in the interest of security. But it was pointless. As soon as I described the situation, she deduced your identity.”
“How did she know?” Belle’s complexion paled. “Are you telling me my dash through London made the papers?”
“It’s nothing like that,” he explained. “Miss Blake is clever, so any attempt to evade the truth was bound to fail. She’s exceedingly well-connected with the latest gossip running through the city. That may prove helpful.”
“Perhaps,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “But I cannot help but wonder what she will think of my presence here.”
As she grazed her teeth over her lower lip again, his gaze was drawn to her rosy mouth. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned tracing the soft curves of her lips, drinking in the satin texture.
With ruthless efficiency, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Belle was not here to rekindle what had gone between them all those months ago. She was here seeking refuge. She was alone. And vulnerable. He’d best remember that over these next days.
Blast it, the desire to hold her, to offer comfort—or so he tried to convince himself—was getting the better of him. He had to return to his office, the sooner the better. He had work to accomplish, an appointment or two. Possibly a negotiation. There was no time to dawdle here.
At least he tried to tell himself that his need to leave was a matter of work. Truth be told, it was more than that. He had to leave while he could still think straight about something—anything—other than Belle.
Still, he wouldn’t leave without easing her concerns.
Even with his sparse explanation, Eleanor Blake had fully understood Belle’s predicament.
She would not judge Belle for taking refuge in his home.
He’d known his sister’s friend for years, and had come to see her as both kind and worthy of trust.
“She knows you’ve come here for your safety,” he said truthfully, reaching out to take her hand in his. “She will not perceive a scandal where there is none.”
Belle regarded him with uncertain eyes. “I do hope you’re right.”