Page 29 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

“If they find you, the blighters will bloody well have to deal with me. And I promise you, they will not like the consequences.” His jaw set in a resolute, granite-hard line, he tipped up her chin.

As the pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip, his eyes darkened, and he met the questions in her gaze.

“You’re safe with me.” A hint of amusement brightened his features.

“And I would not underestimate the value of Mrs. Gilroy’s broom as a means of defense. ”

“Is that so?” she said, resisting the urge to smile at his wry tone.

“You think I’m not serious?” His forehead furrowed. “It wasn’t long ago when that sprite of a woman chased off a cutpurse with only a loaf of crusty bread and her cane. She’s a tough one, she is.”

Again, she bit back a smile. “You are exaggerating.”

“I would swear to it in a court of law.” A sly grin played on his full mouth. “Of course, I cannot say that I actually observed the act. I heard the tale secondhand.”

“From whose lips, might I ask?”

“Her own,” Jon said. “But I still would not doubt it. I would not want to cross that woman when she’s angry.”

“Oh, I do understand. She has the capacity to be a force of nature,” Belle said, relaxing into a smile.

“But I am not being followed by a hungry thief out to snag a few coins. As you said, those men are on the hunt. ” Even at that moment, even as Jon’s touch comforted her, the words held the power to ripple a chill through her.

“I’ve never before experienced this sense of being pursued, as if I were a rabbit chased by hounds.

Why, the very idea of it cuts against the grain. ”

“The fact that those bastards are searching for you is all the more reason for you to stay right here. In this house. Under my protection.”

The very thought of needing Jon’s protection—or that of any man—chafed like a too-tight shoe. But there was nothing to be done about it, was there?

His brows furrowed into a stern line as he seemed to read her thoughts. “You understand the people you’re dealing with, Belle. The rotters have too much riding on their scheme to be easily put off.”

“I know what is in their treacherous hearts.” She swallowed hard against the bitter truth. When her aunt dropped the oh-so-pleasant demeanor she’d used as a disguise, Belle had seen the stunning hatred in her eyes. “Truth be told, I may have more reason to fear my aunt than I do Gideon.”

“It’s personal for her, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Since her husband’s death, Vera had relied on Belle’s family to support her lavish lifestyle. But her aunt had wanted more. Always more. “She won’t rest until she gets what she wants.”

Or until she silences me.

He gazed down at her for a long moment, seeming to study her. “Bloody hell, that settles it. You’re staying here for as long as it takes.”

She searched his eyes. “Am I now?”

“I don’t care if they show up at the door with an army of oafs and a blasted dragon to boot. I will not leave you to face this on your own.”

Was Jon acting out a sense of duty? Or was it something else altogether?

Something deeper. Something far more enduring.

“I see you’ve acquired a newfound sense of chivalry,” she said, not quite teasing.

He seemed to mull over her words. “I’ve never had reason to play the white knight. Not until now.”

“You have no duty to protect me,” she reminded him.

He slowly shook his head. “How could I not protect a lady in the face of danger?” His voice was low and husky, so very appealing. “You may not agree, but I do consider myself a gentleman.”

“How very civilized.”

He regarded her with a slight frown. “Belle, if my sister was alone and in peril while your brother was in a position to provide assistance, I’d expect Jeremy to meet the challenge.”

“I suppose he would,” Belle said. “Though the endeavor would require him to consider something other than our family’s business. Jeremy strives to keep operations functioning as smoothly as the gears of a fine Swiss watch, as he likes to say.”

Meeting Jon’s perceptive gaze, Belle felt a sense of relief. He had soothed her fears. Eased her apprehension. Yet a hope she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto began to dim.

As she drank in the familiar scent of Jon’s shaving soap, she suspected an ever-so-slightly bitter truth—his protective instincts had little to do with her.

His motives were likely rooted in duty. In a determination to do the right thing.

And to act as a gentleman, no less. Jon might well have done the same for another woman facing a desperate situation.

His mouth hitched. Not quite a smile. “And remember this, Belle—I can be bloody stubborn when I have cause to be.”

“Stubborn? You?” She infused the words with a deliberately light tone. “Never.”

“Once I’ve made up my mind, no amount of argument will change it. You know that.”

“Well, we shall see.” Belle relaxed, if only a bit.

“In any case, if you leave this house now, I don’t think I could endure days of Mrs. Gilroy’s frown, and I depend on that woman to cook my meals. A smart man does not irk the person who prepares his food.”

“I rather think you would survive,” she countered.

“Besides, she’s counting on you to assist her with the wee lass . Not to mention the dog.” His full mouth widened into a smile. “And there is the matter of our wager.”

“Surely you would not hold me to a trivial bet in the face of danger at the door.”

He cocked a brow. “Trying to weasel out of it so soon, eh?”

She suspected his light tone was intended to distract her from her worries, to ease the awful tension of not knowing whether a threat would soon present itself. She allowed herself to relax. There was no harm in enjoying this simple moment now, was there?

“You know me better than that now, don’t you?”

“I know this: I am looking forward to the aroma of apple pie baking in the kitchen.”

“Perhaps not so much as I am looking forward to preparing said pie.” Pity I’ve no idea how to actually bake the infernal pastry.

“Do I detect a lack of confidence?” Blast the man’s perceptive gaze, seeing through her so readily.

She shook her head, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Not at all,” she said, pausing to collect her thoughts. “But you must promise me that you will take swift action to protect Carrie and Mrs. Gilroy if there is any sign that Gideon’s lackeys suspect I’m here.”

“I will see to the protection of everyone in this house.” He spoke with a resolve which comforted her. “On that, Belle, you have my word.”

*

A rabbit chased by hounds.

As Jon poured good scotch into a tumbler and settled into a leather wing chair in his study, he pictured the tense set of Belle’s soft mouth as she’d put her current predicament into words.

The fear in her voice was palpable. But she was strong of heart.

Courageous. She wasn’t about to be cowed by bastards like Kentsworth and his lackeys.

Damn the curs, trying to chase her down as if they were hunting dogs in pursuit of prey. What the hell was driving Kentsworth? Belle had been ready to cry off their engagement, and the discovery of his relationship with her aunt had proven her instincts were right.

Many in the high-brow social circles of London looked upon Belle as an especially valuable trophy, an heiress who was as beautiful and clever as her father as wealthy.

He knew what his sister had endured over the years with the bloody heiress hunters who chased after her fortune.

Macie had managed to put most of them off with a well-timed, mildly scandalous scene or some other shenanigan.

A rare few had conducted themselves without a bloody scruple to their name, pursuing her as if she’d been a bounty to be claimed.

What was the bastard’s endgame? Was Belle the prize he sought? Or was it a matter of the funds the rotter might bleed from her father?

But now—now that Belle knew he’d been carrying on with her aunt—Kentsworth could no longer go through the motions of a courtship. He could not entice her back to him with pretty lies.

I had to escape . . . I ran.

Belle’s words had cut like a rusted knife. He’d heard the distress in her hushed voice. The fear. Escape. Propelled by desperation. She’d rushed into the night. Into the unknown. Did the blighter intend to compromise her, to coerce her into speaking her vows? Bloody hell.

Belle had become a bit reserved after the revelation. In his gut, Jon knew there was much she had not told him. It had all been too fresh. Too hard for her to bear.

He hadn’t pressed for more. Her trust was so very fragile. Not that he could blame her. He certainly had not proven worthy of it in New York, had he?

The only thing that mattered now was earning her confidence. As long as she had faith that he would be there for her, he could keep her safe.

Whatever it took, he would protect her. From Kentsworth. And from himself.

He couldn’t deny his hunger for her, even as he stared down a bitter truth—they were tempting fate. By thunder, he wanted her. In his arms. In his bed. But giving in to desire would lead to consequences neither of them were ready to face.

But bloody hell, it was a challenge to pretend he wasn’t absolutely mad for her. Since he’d become a man, he had encountered his fair share of women. Flirtatious socialites. Pretty dollar princesses. Sophisticated widows. But none of them—not a blasted one—could hope to compare to Arabelle Frost.

She was a diamond, a true treasure. In his eyes—in his heart—she was utterly incomparable.

At the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d fallen for her. Hard. And fast. He had always considered himself a logical man—a man who’d believed the notion of love at first sight to be sentimental drivel—but damned if he hadn’t had the wind knocked out of him when he looked into her sapphire eyes.

He’d soon discovered she deserved better than a man like him. Their civilized but far from amicable parting had been proof of that.

But that was then. Now, Belle was here. He would defend her, no matter the cost. And perhaps he might truly repair the trust he’d so foolishly shattered.