Page 33 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

The stark difference between Belle’s cheerful smile and Miss Pritchard’s cool gaze was impossible not to see.

He’d little doubt Carrie had perceived the lack of warmth from the woman he’d employed to watch over her.

Bugger it, he should’ve tossed the woman out on her scrawny arse before she’d had a chance to pack her bags.

He now knew what to look for when it came to hiring on Carrie’s next governess.

The next governess. The thought of it landed in his gut like a rock.

In less than forty-eight hours, Belle’s presence in his home had added a warmth that he’d forgotten to crave.

She’d already won Carrie over, and the dog seemed to adore her.

Good God, even Mrs. Gilroy could not maintain a frown when Belle was around.

Only Cleo seemed unaffected. The cat seemed to pride herself on her highly cultivated feline indifference, but he sensed it was a matter of time before even the cat came around to Belle.

But it wouldn’t be long before Belle had to leave. Once the threat Kentsworth posed was in the past, she would return to the life she’d known. Most likely, she’d leave London and return to New York.

Belle would leave him behind. Just as he’d left her. By hellfire, the realization was like another rock plummeting into his gut.

“Will ye be taking yer supper here? I’ve prepared a hearty stew,” Mrs. Gilroy’s question offered a welcome pause from his thoughts.

Jon glanced toward Belle. He needed to leave, if only to clear his head of notions that served no purpose. “Not tonight. I’ll be off to the Lair shortly.”

“I can keep it simmering on the stove until ye return,” she offered.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Jon said quickly, before he had a chance to change his mind. “I don’t expect I will return before midnight.”

*

Taking the reins of his phaeton, Jon set a brisk pace on his route to the Rogue’s Lair.

The evening was foggy. No surprise there.

But the full moon managed to show itself among the clouds.

On this night when he felt strangely unsettled, more discontent than he had in ages, he wanted nothing more than a hearty drink and perhaps a few bites of food he knew couldn’t possibly hold a candle to Mrs. Gilroy’s stew.

He’d needed to leave the house. He’d needed to put distance between him and Belle.

This was no time to think of what might’ve been—of what they might’ve had together.

At this moment in their lives, she trusted that he would protect her.

She was vulnerable. He could not take advantage of her, no matter what.

Jon had no sooner walked into the pub than a familiar voice greeted him. “Jon, I’m surprised to see ye here tonight.” Logan MacLain stood by the bar, a well-filled stein in his hand.

“I might say the same,” Jon replied. “I was not expecting you to return from the Highlands before the end of the month.”

“I received word of a new opportunity, a possible partnership that might lead to an expansion.” Logan motioned to the barkeep to bring a pint for Jon. “I’ll brief ye on the details later.”

“An expansion?” Jon considered the thought. “It may prove worthwhile.”

“It will be,” Logan said with his typical brash confidence. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“I’m more interested in the financial projections than your creaky bones, but we shall see,” Jon responded, pragmatic as always.

Logan shot him a muted scowl. “Sometimes, a man has to trust his gut.”

“Indeed,” Jon said. That particular strategy had worked well for Logan. Every venture the Scot touched had proved a rousing success. But Jon still trusted a logical analysis over any semblance of intuition.

Logan chuckled. “Ye still haven’t learned to have faith in yers, have ye?”

“Only when it tells me I’ve eaten too many of Mrs. Gilroy’s heavy dumplings,” Jon replied as the barkeep placed a stein before him. “I take it Amelia and your son are well.”

“Amelia—brave woman that my lovely wife is—has charmed the old lion.” Logan smiled as he referred to his aging father. “She decided to stay with my family a while longer so Finnegan might have more time with his grandfather. Our boy melted my father’s heart like nothing I’d ever thought I’d see.”

Jon took a hearty draught of cold ale. “When you found Amelia, you struck gold, my friend.”

“Aye, when I wake up with Amelia by my side, I still wonder at my good fortune,” Logan said. He glanced about the room, then lowered his voice before he went on. “I suggest we continue this discussion in my office.”

“That would be wise,” Jon agreed.

Once they were behind the sturdy doors of his oak paneled office, Logan spoke freely. “I understand ye’ve had an unexpected visitor since I left for the Highlands.”

Jon took another drink. “Are you referring to the child, the cat, or the woman?”

“When Macie wrote Amelia about the young lass in yer care, she mentioned ye’re also looking after her cantankerous feline.” Logan chuckled. “So that leaves the woman. Murray said she’s an American.”

“She is.” Jon felt a sudden tension in the back of his neck. “I presume he told you who she is.”

Logan shook his head. “He said if I care to know, I should ask ye.”

“Did he now?”

“He mentioned the lass was under yer protection, but he did not care to elaborate.”

“Murray is indeed a man of few words,” Jon said.

“Now that is an understatement.” Logan took a seat in his wing-back chair. “Care to tell me what in blazes is going on?”

Jon settled into a chair and stretched out his legs. “A few nights ago, Arabelle Frost came through the door of this pub.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The pretty lass ye knew in New York?”

Jon knew his friend had kept his description deliberately vague. Logan MacLain was one of the three people on the planet —including his sister and Finn—he’d allowed to see how bloody torn he’d been about leaving Belle behind.

“That would be the one. She was on the run,” he said. “From a man.”

“A cutpurse after her bag?”

“Nothing so simple as that,” Jon said. “The man pursuing her was not a stranger.”

“I think I’m getting the picture,” Logan said. “She is an heiress, is she not?”

“Her father is one of the richest men in all of New York, if that gives you an idea.”

Logan nodded his understanding. “What is the bastard after? A payoff?”

“It’s worse than that,” Jon said. “The cur has men actively searching for her. I suspect he intends to coerce her into speaking her vows with him.”

“Definitely a more lucrative option for a scoundrel,” Logan observed. “So, who is the rotter?”

“A Scottish lord by the name of Kentsworth.”

Logan took a hearty drink. “Kentsworth, ye say.”

“Gideon Kentsworth,” Jon said. “When she speaks of him, Belle looks as if the devil himself was on her heels. Just as she did that first night.”

A look of bitter recognition filled Logan’s eyes. Bollocks, what did he know?

“Like the devil was on her heels, eh?” Logan drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair in a steady rhythm. “If she was tangled up with that rotter, the lass has gotten herself into a true fix. She has good reason to be frightened.”

“At the moment, she is in my home. Under my protection.”

Logan steepled his fingers, frowning as he often did when he thought through a problem. “That may not be enough,” he said finally. “Obviously, ye cannot be with the lass every hour of the day.”

“True.” Jon considered his words. “I’d thought to hire on private security, but that presents its own risks. The more people who know she’s at the house, the greater the chance word will make it to the jackal.”

Logan nodded his agreement. “I have a suggestion, but ye will not like it.”

“If you’re thinking about Mrs. Johnstone, I’ve already pursued that option. The woman is out of the country.”

“You’re in luck, Jon.” He smiled. “The Dragon has returned to London.”