Page 37 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

T ucking soft quilts around Carrie, Belle pressed a quick kiss to the child’s forehead, then settled into the chair by her bed and waited for her to fall back to sleep.

The child’s quiet, contented sighs as she drifted off brought Belle a sense of peace.

Not quite a quarter hour earlier, Carrie had awakened from what must have been a horrid nightmare and come looking for her.

The girl’s muffled whimpers had left Belle a bit shaken, but she’d had no trouble calming the child.

The little girl had experienced such loss.

So much upheaval. Belle sighed to herself.

If only she could find a way to offer the child stability and consistency and, above all, love.

No matter what happened in the future, she hoped she might have a presence in Carrie’s life.

It wouldn’t be long before Jon’s sister returned and welcomed the child into her family.

With any luck, Macie would be receptive to Belle’s visits.

But for now, she would focus on the present.

She’d fill Carrie’s days with as much joy and learning as possible.

Satisfied that the child was sleeping peacefully, Belle returned to the sitting room. To her surprise, she was not alone.

Jon glanced up from the evening edition. “I went to check on Carrie, but I saw you had matters well in hand.”

“She’s sleeping now,” Belle said as she went to the bookshelf.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, catching Belle by surprise. “Carrie is very fond of you.”

“As I am of her,” Belle replied. Surveying the shelves on the towering case, she selected a volume of poems. “I must say, I did not expect to find poetry in your collection,” she said. “Much less the works of the romantics.”

“And why might that be?” A trace of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “I am not a heathen.”

“Surely there must be some unspoken rule or another against a decidedly practical man like you reading Byron.”

He shrugged. “I cannot say that I recite his verse during a night at the pub. But I do possess a familiarity with his works.”

“I suppose this might impress a female visitor?”

“Ah, you’ve deduced my secret.” He hiked a brow. “Would that include you, Belle?”

“Most definitely not. After all, I know you far too well.”

“You wound my pride. And there I thought you were drawn to my intellectual side.”

“I might have been had you not kept it so well hidden.”

He flashed a half-smile that once would’ve charmed her. “Well then, you’ve stumbled upon it now.”

“I’m still not sure it truly exists.”

“Is that so?”

Setting his paper aside, Jon joined her at the bookcase.

He was dressed in casual attire—dark trousers, an unadorned white linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and a silvery gray waistcoat only partially fastened.

The subtle spice of soap wafting from his skin betrayed he’d quite recently bathed.

His dark hair was combed back from his face, emphasizing the angles of his cheeks and the carved edge of his jaw.

Somewhat irked with herself that she was so very aware of him, she pulled in a low breath. Why, she could even identify the familiar aroma of his preferred soap.

“A single volume of poetry proves nothing,” she countered. “For all I know, this book might be one of your sister’s possessions.”

Jon retrieved a leather-bound book from the shelf and placed it in her hands. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. “This is more to my taste.”

Her interest was piqued. “I’m quite familiar with Thoreau’s works. Of course, my father would’ve preferred that I focus my attention on ladies’ journals and such.”

Taking a step back, she steadied herself to express a truth that had played in her thoughts. “There is something... something I’ve wanted to tell you.”

A slight touch of humor played on his mouth. “You’ve decided to confess you’ve no more knowledge of how to bake a pie than I have training in how to properly curtsy before Her Majesty?”

“Truth be told, the matter of my baking ability is moot—I do not intend to lose our wager. But if I did wish to make a pie, I’ll have you know you would savor every last bite.”

“We shall see,” he said, looking a bit smug.

“Jon, what I’d wanted to say... though I now question my better judgment... I wanted to tell you that of all the men in London I might’ve encountered that night, I am glad it was you.”

He appeared to ponder her words. “Might I ask if you suffered a blow to the head during Mrs. Johnstone’s instruction?”

“I assure you I did not.”

His brows knit together. “You’ve helped yourself to more sherry than you can handle?”

“Not so much as a drop.”

“Then perhaps the blows I suffered at Mrs. Johnstone’s surprisingly brutal hands have altered my perception.” Amusement brightened his brown eyes. “It sounded as if you were glad it was me —of all people—that you came upon when you were dashing about the city in that abominable gown.”

“Your ears did not deceive you. That is precisely what I said.”

He scrubbed a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “By thunder, you do possess the ability to confound me.”

“And why might that be?”

When he met her eyes, his expression had been stripped of amusement. “When I left New York, you made your feelings clear. You thought I was a heartless cad.”

“That is not correct,” she said, biting back a smile. “An arrogant arse, perhaps. But never heartless. And not a cad.”

“An arse, is it?” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I might actually prefer cad .”

“I believe arse is a better fit. Besides, I rather like the sound of the way you Brits phrase it. It doesn’t sound like a blasted mule.”

“I must say, I like this spark in you.” His eyes darkened as he met her gaze. “At first, I’d thought it might’ve been doused. But you’re as feisty as ever.”

“Much to your chagrin.”

“Precisely the opposite.” Again, he seemed to search for the truth in her expression. “I know things did not end well between us.”

“That is true.” She held her tone steady.

It wouldn’t do to give in to the emotion lurking so near the surface.

“In my life, I’ve dealt with my fair share of bounders and scoundrels.

Men who will sweet-talk a woman with pretty lies, without a shred of honesty.

But you... you’ve never lied to me. If anything, you have been exceedingly truthful.

” She let out a little sigh. “Even when I didn’t want you to be. ”

With a gentle touch, he tucked a rebellious curl behind her ear, searching her face for answers she wasn’t ready to give.

“Belle, there’s one more thing.”

Seeing the intensity in his eyes, her pulse sped up. “What is it, Jon?”

He cupped a hand to her cheek. When he touched her like this, it was so very hard to reconcile this man with the cold-voiced tycoon who’d once walked away. Even now, she could hear the click of the door latch behind him as he’d taken his leave.

As one breath followed another, she savored the simple touch of his skin to hers. His gaze held hers.

“I wanted to tell you... the dress you’re wearing... it suits you.” He’d spoken the words with a hesitance. Instinct told her he’d thought to say something else entirely but had held back. It was better that way, she supposed.

Pulling in a breath, she affected a cheerful tone, when in truth, she felt a slight, dull ache in the region of her heart. “Thank you,” she said. “Ellie was so very helpful.”

His brows knit in a line. “I still cannot fully comprehend why Miss Blake now refers to herself as Ellie. Since she was a girl, she’d gone by Nell.”

“I believe her new preference has something to do with a man she met while traveling on the continent. She told me the mere thought of her name on his lips made her teeth clench.”

Jon offered a brisk nod. “I suppose that would do it.”

“I do understand her reasoning.”

He nodded again, more thoughtfully this time. “Do you, now?”

“Very much so. Though in my case, it was the memory of your name that set my teeth on edge.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well then, we should consider it fortunate that we usually exist with an ocean between us.”

An ocean was not far enough to make me forget you.

But she was certainly not about to admit that bitter truth. Even if they existed —as Jon had phrased it—on opposite ends of the earth, she would still hear the passion-roughened timbre of his voice in her maddeningly decadent dreams.

She shot him a little frown. “Don’t go thinking I ever moped about over you.”

“The notion never entered my mind.”

My, the man is a poor liar, isn’t he? “I suppose that is a relief. I wouldn’t want you to think I wasted so much as a day in a melodramatic malaise.”

“I have it on good authority that was not the case.”

“Do you, now?” She echoed his question. “I am surprised our mutual acquaintances would inform you of my rather tame exploits.”

“I can assure you they did not. On those rare occasions when I did inquire about your wellbeing, their replies were cool. Stilted, in fact. But the New York press has been more forthcoming in their coverage of your charitable ventures.”

“Oh, yes, that would be me, the Frost Princess of Good Deeds.” She forced a smile. “You follow the American papers?”

“Given our expansion, it is imperative that I keep up with the happenings across the pond. Generally, my assistant provides a summary of relevant news in the New York press. At times, I will thumb through a paper or two. I understand your last gala was a smashing success. Not that I am at all surprised.” He spoke with a tone of sincerity.

“My sister also supports a variety of charities. Though after her shenanigans with Miss Blake at their last masquerade ball, I’d wager the founders of the charity would prefer that she simply offer a donation.

Now, back to Miss Blake’s new nickname; you say the change was tied to some gent on the Continent. ”