Page 35 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

J on returned to his home following a thankfully uneventful day to the sound of Carrie’s cheerful voice singing a tune. But on this evening, the tune had nothing to do with a nursery rhyme. Rather, the child sang out the word “stomp,” followed by a giggle and the word “kick.”

Bloody peculiar, that.

He followed the enthusiastic, off-key notes to the sitting room. The door was open, so he watched the scene from the entry.

“Poke.” Belting out the word followed directly by a giggle, she jabbed her bent arm backwards, as if to elbow an invisible person.

“Very good, Carrie,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Tell us what comes next?”

“Punch,” she said, acting out the word with her right hand clenched into a small fist.

He propped an elbow against the doorframe and took in the scene. After Carrie followed her punching with another top-of-her-lungs rendition of the word stomp, he deduced what was going on. And he had to admit, he was bloody pleased to see it.

Mrs. Johnstone stood in the middle of a space created when the women had slid the furnishings to the perimeter of the room.

Carrie stood before her, practicing her stomping and kicking and jabbing and punching with an imaginary opponent while Belle, Ellie Blake, and Mrs. Gilroy looked on with pride.

Glancing his way, Mrs. Johnstone flashed a half-smile that told him she’d known he was there. “I see ye’re impressed,” she said as Carrie rushed up to him.

“Cousin Jon, did you see me stomp?” The girl gave him a hug. Thankfully, she did not utilize his feet in a demonstration of her new skill.

“I did,” he said with pride. “Well done.”

“As ye can see, we’ve been busy,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Carrie is a quick study.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I hadn’t realized you could teach a child such tactics.”

“I see no reason why the girl—and every woman in this house—should not have a means of defending herself.”

“I am impressed,” he said. “But I cannot say I am surprised at your capabilities. You come highly recommended.”

“Is that so?” As Mrs. Johnstone smiled, he spotted Belle biting back a little grin. “It wasn’t that long ago that yer new brother-in-law, Finn, also called upon my services.”

“I recall Macie mentioning the instruction you provided.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Sadly, the instruction has been lacking in one aspect.” She’d narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, he felt a creeping suspicion he was not going to like was coming, especially given the way she was looking at him the same way a lioness might eye up some unfortunate animal in her path.

“And what might that be?” he asked.

“A true demonstration with an attacker... a man-sized attacker.”

Good God.

Finn had complained about his creaky back for a full three days after serving as Mrs. Johnstone’s demonstration attacker. This was most definitely not what he’d had in mind.

“Will you be back tomorrow? I’ll send my assistant. Mr. Bennett won’t know what hit him.”

“I don’t think this will wait,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Ye’re tall. Fit. Reasonably powerful.” Her eyes gleamed with humor as she put him on the spot. “I see no reason why ye would not suffice.”

Suffice. What in blazes was she getting at?

“I can name one good reason,” he explained.

“And what might that be?”

He flashed a grin that usually helped him out of a fix. “Well, you see, I have an aversion to pain.”

“Ye will survive the experience. I assure ye of that.”

“Here’s another—my father taught me to never raise a hand to a woman. Now, given that, how can I attack you? Even in the name of self-defense.”

“I guarantee ye will not have a chance.”

“It’s much too awkward,” he said truthfully.

“We do need a demonstration,” Belle spoke up as Ellie and Mrs. Gilroy looked on with subtle half-smiles on their faces. “For the sake of our training.”

Blast it, she had gotten him good. She’d found his Achilles heel.

He couldn’t let her down.

“By thunder, I’ll do it.” He sent Belle a speaking glance. “In the name of education.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “I was hoping ye’d see it that way.”

Mrs. Gilroy and Belle looked at Carrie. Seeming to share the same realization, Belle nodded as Mrs. Gilroy took Carrie’s hand. “Shall we go have a wee snack? I’ve made shortbread.”

Carrie nodded enthusiastically, and Mrs. Gilroy led her from the room. Once the child was out of the room, Jon met Mrs. Johnstone’s cool-eyed gaze.

“First, I’d suggest ye remove yer jacket,” she said. “We wouldn’t want to tear that fine wool, now would we?”

“I suppose not,” he agreed. Shrugging off his coat, he laid it over the back of a chair.

“Now, when I count to three, I want ye to come at me,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Rather like a hooligan in some dark alley.”

He studied her for a long moment. Good God . Was it possible she was toying with him? “I cannot take the chance that I might injure you.”

“Why? Simply because I am a woman?” Mrs. Johnstone regarded him with a hint of taunt in her eyes. “A woman who is quite literally old enough to be yer mother?”

“I’d say that has something to do with it.”

“Ye will not hurt me. I promise ye that.”

“Very well,” he said. “But don’t think I’m going to give this my full strength.”

“I am not concerned,” she said with a sly confidence.

“I’ll do what I can to assist you,” he said, attempting to sound, at the least, civilized before he acted, to use her term, the hooligan.

“Again, attack when I count to three.” She looked quite serious, other than the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“And by the way, the ladies told me ye still refer to me by that rather undignified name my dear nephew Logan came up with when he was an incorrigible young rascal. Oh, what was it?” Her smile was sly now. “The Dragon.”

Bloody hell. He braced himself for what was going to come next. Bugger it, this is going to hurt.

*

Oh, dear. Belle winced as Mrs. Johnstone employed Jon as her model for teaching techniques for disarming, distracting, and essentially knocking the stuffing out of an attacker.

Although it appeared the woman had used stage blows in most of the cases, Jon’s foot had been stomped, his shin kicked, and his ribs jabbed.

At one point, he’d landed on his back while Mrs. Johnstone demonstrated a martial arts throw, and he’d come uncomfortably close to suffering a particularly unfortunate strike from the woman’s weighted umbrella.

Throughout the lesson, he’d been a good sport, and when it was done, he offered a half-hearted salute. With a quiet groan, he hobbled off, presumably to change into more comfortable attire.

“He’s a gutsy one, he is,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Not many men would assist me in that particular task.”

Ellie smiled, looking a bit wistful. “He did it for you, Belle.”

“I find that rather doubtful,” Belle replied as Cleo plopped down from her feline perch on a shelf. She’d been napping, but now she landed on the carpet and gave her head a little shake. She strolled over to Mrs. Johnstone, displaying an easy familiarity with the woman.

“Well then, we simply must agree to disagree,” Ellie replied with a coy grin. “Perhaps we will carry on this conversation another time, over tea and scones.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Belle said. “As I will need to stay out of the public eye for a while longer, I do hope you and Mrs. Johnstone might enjoy paying another visit.”

“Of course. We shall be happy to, and if any busybodies should happen to question my presence here, I will simply inform them that I am looking in on Cleo in Macie’s absence.”

“Good thinking,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “I agree that it would be wise to remain out of sight until this problem with Kentsworth has been put to rest. The training I have provided ye is valuable, but ye do not want to make yerself an easy target. With any luck, ye will not have to put those tactics into play.”

“Indeed,” Belle said as Ellie nodded in agreement. “Perhaps I will ask Mrs. Gilroy to prepare some of her marvelous shortbread when you return.”

“She is a master of the art of baking,” Mrs. Johnstone said. She picked up her yellow reinforced umbrella. “Even while ye’re here, in this house, do keep the tools I’ve brought ye close at hand. They’re not foolproof. But they will buy ye time.”

She toyed with the brolly, running a finger over its ribs lined with bits of stone and crystal and pebbles.

“This is perhaps the most effective tool I’ve given ye.

With a proper swing, it’s quite possible to disarm an assailant.

Aimed at the bridge of the nose or combined with a stout jab to the ribs, I’ve found it particularly effective. ”

“It would certainly offer a nasty surprise to someone bent on harm,” Belle agreed.

Ellie unfolded the special handkerchief Mrs. Johnstone had given her. The tiny crystals and stones sewn into the fabric lent the cloth a vibrant shine. “This might prove interesting.”

“It’s quite effective, especially to create a momentary distraction. The pain of the burrs flung against an attacker’s face would sting quite a bit, buying some time,” Mrs. Johnstone explained. “It’s especially useful because it is so small and easy to hide.”

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your assistance,” Belle said, grazing her fingertips over the silky, stone-reinforced cloth.

“It was my pleasure,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “If it would not be an imposition, I would enjoy returning for tea, perhaps without the simulations of violence, as well.”

“I would certainly enjoy that. Your journeys must’ve been truly fascinating.”

“I will be sure to regale the two of ye with tales of my recent travels,” she said with a little laugh.

“Along the way, I met the most fascinating man.” A soft smile pulled at her mouth.

“Of course, no one could ever replace my dear late husband. But a clever man may certainly provide a delicious distraction.”

“Oh, you are shocking,” Ellie teased. “I love it!”

“After all the years that have passed since I lost my husband, I see no reason to be coy about my treasured friendships. I believe it unhealthy to pretend to be happy when one is not.” A smile that looked rather bittersweet curved her mouth.

“Since my Franklin died, I’ve made a point to be deliberate in seeking out my own contentment. ”

“Bravo,” Ellie said. “I knew I liked you.”

“Ye’re a bit of a free spirit. Rather like me,” Mrs. Johnstone said, then turned to Belle. “I don’t suppose you’ve had the opportunity to make Amelia’s acquaintance.”

“Not yet,” Belle replied. “But I am hopeful our paths will soon cross.”

“Ye would so enjoy her company,” Ellie said. “She has established a wonderful library. Tell me, Belle, have you read Miss Braddon’s latest?”

“Not yet, but I am looking forward to getting my hands on a copy.”

“In that case, I shall make a point to visit Amelia’s lending library and obtain a novel or two for you. I’ll be sure to see if her work is available.”

“I suspect I will enjoy anything you might select,” Belle said with a smile of appreciation.

“Shall I bring a book or two that you might read to little Carrie?”

“Absolutely. I would be in your debt.”

“It will be my pleasure. I cannot imagine Jon has anything in his personal library that would be of interest to a child.” Ellie shrugged. “Or to anyone who doesn’t particularly have a taste for the business reports in the papers.”

“I’ve noticed a few volumes of poetry,” Belle said. “As well as a few of the classics.”

“I’d imagine the poetry anthologies belong to Macie,” Ellie said. “I cannot imagine Jon Mason would spare time to read verse of any sort.”

“Ye might well be surprised,” Mrs. Johnstone spoke up. “In the years since he first visited my nephew Finn in the Highlands, I’ve seen there’s more to him than ledgers and profits.”

Ellie regarded her curiously. “Have you now?”

Mrs. Johnstone nodded without a trace of amusement. “I first met Jonathan when he was still a lad, only twelve or so. He was not so serious-minded then, but over time, he became the son his father expected him to be.”

She threw Belle a speaking glance. Moments later, a rhythmic rap upon the wooden door was followed by Jon’s cool tones.

“It is not locked. See yerself in,” Mrs. Johnstone called in response.

After he strode inside the room, Jon turned first to Mrs. Johnstone, offering his gratitude for her time and efforts.

As he spoke, Belle’s gaze trailed over the length of him.

Rather than his usual wardrobe of fine wool trousers and expertly tailored shirt, he wore garments that resembled a workman’s attire: trousers, unadorned cotton shirt, boxy jacket, and a workman’s flat-brimmed cap.

The unfussy garments presented Jon’s essential masculinity without distraction.

Indeed, the plain attire appealed to Belle.

She sipped her tea, fervently wishing that her cheeks had not flushed as her gaze traced the broad width of his shoulders. His dark eyes met hers.

“I will be heading out for the evening,” he said without elaboration. “I’ve informed Mrs. Gilroy that I shall take my supper at the pub.”

“Have you learned anything new pertaining to this situation?” Belle asked on the off-chance that a messenger had arrived unknown to them.

He shook his head. “Nothing of the sort.” He turned again to Mrs. Johnstone. “Something has come up... something that requires my attention.”