Page 4 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

She’d likely never see any of those possessions again.

At least, not until her parents returned from their expedition to Egypt.

Perhaps then, Papa would set the jackals straight.

But then again, she didn’t even want Papa to know the truth.

She had been so very gullible. Mama would understand the longings of her heart.

But Papa... now, he was another story entirely.

Belle toyed nervously with the lace at her throat, her fingertips brushing against the silver chain and paste-jewel pendant she’d carried for good luck.

Her grandmother had gifted her the necklace on her thirteenth birthday, and even now, she couldn’t help but smile as her fingers glanced over the faux sapphires.

While the necklace would fetch very little in coin, its true value could not be measured.

Thank heaven she’d had the presence of mind to snatch the cherished piece from her trunk before she’d made her escape.

A light rap at the door interrupted her thoughts. The low notes of Jon’s voice followed, and she crossed the room and unfastened the latch.

“They’re gone,” he said without emotion.

“Thank heaven.”

“You can thank Murray, the barkeep. He thinks fast on his feet, responded to their questions as though the pair of them were daft, and sent them on their way.”

Belle continued to toy with the necklace. Since she’d been a girl, the very feel of it against her skin had soothed her anxious nerves. “Did they speak with anyone else? Any of the patrons who might’ve seen me?”

“The place was filled with our regular blokes tonight. If anyone spotted you with me, they’d have seen no reason to reveal it to a stranger, a high-and-mighty nob at that.”

“Well, that is a relief.”

“Unfortunately, I suspect it is only a temporary respite.” His blunt tone was somehow comforting, if only for its honesty, its utter lack of artifice.

A twinge of alarm prickled over her skin. “You think they will return?”

“I don’t expect they are about to stop looking.

They’ll likely be out until they’ve exhausted the logical possibilities.

” Jon went to the cabinet behind his desk, opened a crystal decanter, and poured a splash of liquor into a tumbler.

“I would offer you a drink, but I suspect you haven’t yet had a proper supper. ”

A proper supper. Goodness, when she’d run from Gideon and the scheming, sweet-faced jackal she’d so foolishly trusted, she hadn’t had time for a hurried bite of a sandwich, let alone an actual meal.

She’d had not given any thought to eating, not even when the child so movingly pleaded his hunger.

But suddenly, she could not deny her stomach’s own quiet yet insistent pangs.

“Your suspicion would be correct,” she admitted.

He motioned to the plush settee between the window and a towering bookcase. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She glanced down at her soggy dress and cloak and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to chance ruining the upholstery.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s only rain.”

“Rain... and heaven only knows what else from the street.”

He went to the low chest beneath the window, retrieved a knitted blanket, and splayed it over the cushions. “This sofa has been used for many a year. I suspect it will readily withstand the task of comfortably seating a slightly soggy American.”

She followed him to the settee. “Thank you.” Her fingers went to the fastenings of her cloak. “I suppose I should remove this scratchy thing.”

“That would be wise.” Jon took the cape from her hand.

Holding it by the hood as if it were a curiosity, he draped it over a hook on a coat rack.

A wry smile played on his mouth. “Somehow, this does not suit your usual tastes. As I recall, you possessed a fondness for fine wool and velvet.” He plucked a wilted white petal from the edge of the collar. “There is a story here.”

“There is,” she agreed wearily. “I convinced a flower peddler to sell it to me.”

Jon eyed the rough-woven wool. “I suspect she got the better of the deal.”

“She was well compensated, but I was exceedingly grateful. I needed something, anything, to conceal this horrid dress.”

His gaze glanced over her from the lace at her throat to the newly ragged hem. He rubbed his chin, looking as if a comment perched on the tip of his tongue. Still studying her, he raked a hand through his hair.

“So, are you going to tell me what in blazes is going on?” he said, eyes narrowing. “Or am I to pretend to enjoy the suspense?”

“It’s quite simple, really.” She forced herself to meet and hold his gaze. “The man intends to acquire a wife. At one point, I thought I was amenable to the idea. But... I’ve had a change of heart.”

“A rather sudden one, I’d say.”

“Not so very sudden,” she admitted. “But my decision to finally follow my instincts came fast as a lightning strike.”

“I must say this is a first—a runaway bride.” His deep brown eyes flashed with interest. “How bloody original.”

“As you can imagine, he was not pleased.”

Jon rubbed his chin, as if to ease the tense set of his jaw. “Given the questions the high-and-mighty rotter was asking, I’d say it’s not that simple.”

Belle pictured the cold fury in Gideon’s eyes when she’d made it clear she had no intention of spending her life with a cad like him. She gulped against the fresh pain of betrayal. “What that man wants does not signify. Not now.” She pulled back her shoulders and faced him directly. “Not ever.”

“We have some matters to discuss” He gestured to the settee, then took a seat in a leather wing chair and stretched out his long legs. Belle settled onto the cushions and arranged her cumbersome skirts around her.

Seeing the questions in his eyes, Belle squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I do realize how very unusual this all must seem.”

Especially to a man like Jon. Heaven only knew how much he prided himself on his orderly, methodical approach to life.

“That is one way to phrase it,” he said, his tone confoundingly bland.

“In any case, I didn’t plan to rush in here. And I certainly did not anticipate running into you.” She glanced down at her folded hands. “I realize things did not end well between us.”

He quirked a brow. “As I recall, our parting was amicable.”

Amicable? Belle quirked a brow of her own as she mentally echoed his words. “I suppose that’s one way to phrase it.”

“Fate does indeed possess a sense of humor.” He studied her over steepled fingers. “Or should that be irony?”

“Perhaps a bit of both,” she managed, gathering her thoughts. “Well, I suppose I should get to the point. I really must be on my way. When I took refuge here, it was never my intention to pose a bother, but I’m in a bit of a fix. If I might make one request of you.”

“And what might that be, Arabelle?” he said, enunciating her name with infuriatingly precise manner of his. “Might I see you to your residence?”

An invisible fist dug into the pit of her stomach. “I’m afraid that is not an option.”

His mouth thinned as he nodded. “If you prefer someone other than me to escort you, I will arrange for a trusted conveyance to see you to wherever you’re staying.”

“It’s not that.” The raw truth felt like a burning in the back of her throat. “You see, at the moment, I have no place to go.”

His forehead furrowed as his dark brows knit together. “Do you care to explain?”

She swallowed against the emotion welling within her. Now that the shock of the afternoon had faded, a dull ache penetrated to the bone. But still, she had her freedom. She would be no one’s fool.

“I was staying at the private residence of a woman I believed to be trusted family.” The grating notes of Gideon’s taunting laughter played in her thoughts. “Suffice it to say, I was mistaken.”

“I assume the situation is complicated,” Jon said.

“That would be an understatement.”

He nodded his understanding. “And your parents? Or your brother?”

“Mama and Papa are in the final weeks of a journey to Egypt. In her last telegram, Mama indicated they were about to embark on a tour of the Nile. Jeremy is happily keeping the family train on the tracks back in New York.”

“So, you are here in the city on your own?”

“For the moment.” She brushed away a flicker of doubt she could not afford to dwell on.

“As you can see, I find myself in a bit of a predicament. The same fate that displayed its rather trying sense of humor in bringing me here, of all places, has left me on the streets of London without a shilling—or even a penny, for that matter—to my name.”

“A dollar princess without a penny.” Jon fiddled with his cuff links. “Another first.”

“Well, I see little has changed since we last met. You are still exasperating.” Belle clipped the words between her teeth.

“Upon that occasion, I believe you used the term vexing . I rather prefer it.”

Belle squared her shoulders. A flush of heat rose to her cheeks. If she were in New York—if she were surrounded by familiar sights and sounds, by family and friends—she would march out of this office and never look back. But the reality of the situation called for a cooler head.

“Exasperating. Irksome. Aggravating. Vexing. Nettlesome.” She came to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. “Take your choice, Mr. Mason.”

The faintest hint of amusement played on his mouth. “I believe you left out ‘confounding.’”

“Indeed.” A smile tugged at her lips, despite her best effort to suppress it.

For a long moment, he appeared to study her. The look of amusement faded, replaced by a far more serious expression.

“So, tell me this, Arabelle... the full truth. A man like Kentsworth is not likely to carry on like a lovestruck schoolboy.” His gaze locked with hers, and he scraped a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw. “Why in blazes is the rotter chasing you all over the city?”