Page 40 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

“W hat in blazes have you heard?” Reading the concern in Mrs. Johnstone’s eyes, Jon knew that troubling had to be an understatement.

“To begin with the most immediate issue, it would appear that Belle’s aunt has not stopped her scheming.

” Mrs. Johnstone poured herself another cup of tea and plopped in two cubes of sugar as she went on to explain the new intelligence she had gleaned.

“The shrew has planted a rumor to explain Belle’s sudden absence from society. ”

Jon considered her words. “And what might that be?”

Belle’s face paled. “What sort of lies is she spreading?”

Mrs. Johnstone appeared to hesitate. “She is claiming that ye’re no longer staying with her.” Again, she hesitated. Her lip curled with a look of utter distaste for what she had to say. “The woman has implied that ye ran off with Kentsworth.”

“Good heavens.” Her face paled to the hue of freshly washed linen, but Belle remained steady. She met his eyes. “If these tales reach my family, my mother will be beside herself.”

“Indeed.” Jon thought to reach out to her, to comfort her, but held back. “I will send word to them.”

“I believe they are in the midst of a river cruise at the moment. Mama’s latest correspondence indicated they would depart for England following their tour of the Nile basin.

” Belle laced her fingers together, as she tended to do when she was on edge.

“The telegrams were delivered to my aunt’s residence.

She and Gideon will be privy to whatever information my mother might relay. ”

“Your brother is in New York, is he not?” Jon went on.

She nodded. “Jeremy could not spare the time away from the business.”

A situation with which I am well acquainted . Raking a hand through his hair, he did not give voice to the thought.

Jon caught her hand in his, reassuring her. “I will arrange a telegram. With discretion, of course.”

“We will find a way,” Mrs. Johnstone spoke up. “I also have contacts who will be useful in getting a message to yer family.” She rose and went to the window, looking out into the twilight. “Mrs. Gilroy mentioned that Heathy was agitated this morning, but neither of ye could determine the cause.”

Belle’s mouth thinned to a seam. “Something had definitely stirred him up, but we did not see anyone.”

“How frightening,” Ellie said.

“I suspect the dog’s barking scared them off,” Mrs. Johnstone said.

Bloody hell. “You think someone was here.”

Her expression taut with concern, she nodded. “I’m fairly certain of it. A quick stroll around the grounds revealed areas where the shrubs have slight damage, as if someone was looking for a way into the house.”

“There seemed to be no cause for alarm. It wasn’t as if there was an attempt at entry,” Belle said. “We suspected a neighbor’s dog may have gotten loose.”

“That may indeed have been the case. But it is also possible that whatever set the wee beast to sounding the alert was not an animal.” She made her way back to the window and motioned them to join her. “Do you see what I see?”

Jon surveyed the landscape surrounding the house. “A cluster of broken branches.”

“It’s entirely possible that someone was there,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “The dog might’ve sent him running.”

“Have you learned anything that suggests he knows she’s here?” he asked.

“No,” Mrs. Johnstone replied. “But he’s still searching.”

“He will not give up,” Belle said.

“Ye’re right,” Mrs. Johnstone agreed. “It might be helpful if we understood precisely why yer aunt would spread such a lie. What is her part in their plan?”

“I’m convinced she is the one who put the scheme into play,” Belle said. “Now that I know she was lying to me, she has a great deal at risk. My father will see to it that she pays for what she has done.”

“Ye were wise to run from them,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “There’s reason to believe they are quite dangerous.”

Belle stared down at the fingers she’d laced together in her lap. “I honestly do not know what they are capable of.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Mrs. Johnstone went on. “But I am wondering what ye know about Gideon Kentsworth.” Her mouth tensed. “About the man’s past.”

“He told me he’d been married... some time ago, when he was quite young. But his wife took ill with a fever.” Belle met the older woman’s questioning gaze. “She did not survive.”

“Her name was Fanny, and like ye, she was an American. But she did not die of fever. Her family suspected she’d been poisoned, but they could not prove it.” Mrs. Johnstone seemed to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t believe she was the only one.”

“Not the only one?” Belle said on a gasp.

“There’s reason to believe the man has many secrets,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “What I’ve been told may be little more than rumor. But my gut tells me to listen.”

“What have you heard?” Belle stared at her as if she’d seen a ghost. “You must tell me.”

“At this point in my inquiries, I have not yet verified much of what I’ve uncovered. But Belle, please, be very careful.” Mrs. Johnstone directly met her gaze. “Kentsworth is dangerous. I feel it in my bones.”

“Bloody hell. I’m taking you away from London.” Jon reached for Belle, clasping her hand in his. “Out of that cur’s reach.”

“An excellent idea,” Mrs. Johnstone agreed. Lines of strain framed her mouth. “In the meantime, I would strongly suggest posting a bodyguard at the premises when ye cannot be at the residence. Someone ye would trust with her life.”

*

Belle moved through the evening as if Mrs. Johnstone’s words had not chilled her to the core.

She assisted Mrs. Gilroy in serving the meal she had prepared.

She sat down to supper, managing a light conversation, if only for Carrie’s sake—after all, it wouldn’t do to upset the child with uncharacteristic reticence, now, would it?

After the meal, she helped Mrs. Gilroy with the kitchen tasks.

Her skill in the kitchen might’ve been limited, but was certainly capable of washing dishes in the manner Mrs. Gilroy preferred.

And when it was time, she ushered Carrie off to bed, tucking her in and reading her nighttime stories until the child nodded off.

She’d been thankful for the pleasant tasks she’d focused on, as they provided an excellent reason to avoid any further discussion of Mrs. Johnstone’s revelations.

During their time at the supper table, Jon had feigned a casual manner she knew was an act.

His face bore lines of tension. Of responsibility.

Her presence here had only added to the weight on his shoulders.

Perhaps she should never have come here.

But that moment in time could not be undone. And now, she knew Jon was waiting for the time when they might be alone.

And soon, they would be. Ellie and Mrs. Johnstone had departed before sundown.

Mrs. Johnstone was intent on meeting with Logan MacLain.

She trusted her nephew—and Jon’s business partner at the Rogue’s Lair—implicitly, and with his connections, he might well be counted on to arrange discreet security for the house.

She’d offered Ellie a lift back to her flat in her phaeton, a carriage she called The Spider, and Ellie decided the open-air ride would be more refreshing than a stuffy hansom.

That left only Mrs. Gilroy as a distraction from the discussion Jon meant to have.

When the housekeeper went to her room, as she customarily did immediately after the kitchen chores were done, Belle had no reason to avoid the conversation she knew they needed to have.

“Shall we go into my study?” He sounded rather formal, nothing like the man who’d kissed her so passionately the night before.

“I suppose we do need to talk. There’s no more putting it off, is there?”

“I’d say not.” He led her to the richly paneled room, closing the door behind them as Belle settled onto a comfortable chair. He went to the sidebar. “Sherry?” he asked.

“I’d like that.”

He half-filled a crystal glass and poured whisky into a tumbler for himself, then joined her on the settee.

“Well, the last week has not gone according to plan for either of us, has it?” The slightest trace of a curve to his lips took the edge off his words.

“Now that, Jon, is quite the understatement.”

“Belle, I know you’re worried, but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust?” She pondered the word. “I suppose it’s ironic—given all that’s gone between us—but I do trust you. As I told you, of all the men in London I might’ve run into, I am thankful it was you. But I don’t know that this is right.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t right that I’m here.” She allowed the words to tumble out of her. “I’d feared I was bringing trouble, perhaps even danger, to your doorstep. And now, it seems my concerns were well justified.”

“Whatever this situation brings to my door, I will meet it head-on. And I will handle it.”

“But this isn’t your problem to solve.” She took a sip of her drink, savoring its taste and aroma. “I’ve made quite a mess of things, haven’t I?”

“And if I disagree?” Jon’s expression was unreadable as he took a drink. Setting the glass to the side, he met her eyes. “Whatever happens, I will see you through it.”

“I can’t bear to imagine what my parents will think if word of my aunt’s vile rumors reaches their ears. Mama will be beside herself, and Papa... well, I don’t even want to think about it.” She let out a breath. “But if you send them a message, there may be repercussions.”

Jon caught her hand in his. Gently. So very gently. “I don’t give a damn about repercussions.” He drew his thumb over her palm. “At this moment, all that matters is your safety. And your peace of mind.”

“But if you inform my family that I am here, that I am with you, there may well be consequences.”

His brow furrowed again. “After all that you’ve been through, you are concerned about a blasted scandal?” His voice was low and a bit raw.

She met his dark brown eyes. “And you are not?”

“I don’t care about scandal. Or anything of the sort, for that matter.” He regarded her for a long moment, a look of determination on his features. “As I told you that first night, if a complication should arise, it may be rectified with a few well-chosen words... with a proper proposal.”

“This is not a conversation we should be having.” She went very still.

Her heart sped up, if only slightly. She would not—could not—see him forced into a marriage of mere necessity.

Nor could she settle for such a hollow existence.

She let out a low breath. “I should leave this house. I can arrange passage on a steamship home. Surely, he would not dare to follow me to Manhattan.”

Jon’s jaw hardened. “I won’t stand back while you risk your neck.”

“What alternative is there?” she said. “He will not give up. And now, Mrs. Johnstone has uncovered even more reason to fear him.”

“Belle, I need you to trust me.”

“This has nothing to do with trust. And everything to do with necessity.” She took another taste of sherry to ease the scalding emotion in her throat. “It may be too late for me, Jon. Too late for my future. But it isn’t for you.”

“Too late?” He spoke the words in a husky, scoffing tone.

“You can still make a good match—a woman who will suit you well, who will be everything you want in a wife.”

“Everything I want, eh?” He scrubbed his hand along the edge of his jaw, over the bristles of new beard. For a long moment, he studied her, his brow furrowed again. “Belle, might I ask if you’ve gone absolutely batty?”

She sat up straighter, nearly convinced she’d misunderstood. But in her heart, she knew she’d heard him correctly. Each and every word.

She faced him directly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me, Belle. Now answer my question—have you gone batty?”

“I don’t understand you at all.” She took another drink, more than a sip this time. “But for the record, I will say that I most definitely have not gone batty, absolutely or not.”

“Very good,” he responded with a crisp nod. “Now, to cut to the chase. What in blazes would make you think I’d ever want any other woman?” Reaching out, he traced his fingertips along the curve of her face. “That I could ever want anyone but you?”

Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her cheeks burn with emotion. But she had to keep her head about her. “Well, it is said that you are one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”

His eyes narrowed, a faint curve to his mouth brightening his expression. “In Cardiff and Edinburgh as well, for that matter. Or so I’m told.”

She bit back a smile that surprised her, given the ache in her heart. “I see none of this experience has put a damper on your ego.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn about any of it.” His voice had gone low and gruff, deliciously husky. “The truth of it is, I haven’t cared about another woman since I left New York.”

“Is that so?” She gulped against a surge of emotion.

“Damned right it is,” he said. “Arabelle... all I want is you.”

A delicious heat coursed through her whenever he spoke her name in that delicious low rasp of his. Searching his expressive features, she saw the raw depth of feelings he no longer tried to hide.

“My, I must say, you do know how to surprise me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears she struggled not to shed, but she lost the battle.

One warm teardrop trickled down her cheek.

With exquisite gentleness, he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.

For the span of several heartbeats, he regarded her with what seemed a sense of amazement brightening his dark brown irises.

“Ah, my Arabelle.” His arms enfolded her, and he drew her to his lean, muscular body. The subtle spice of soap and bergamot filled her senses. “Bloody hell, I want to kiss you.”

“I’d like that too,” she whispered.

His mouth curved at the corners, not quite a smile. So tempting. So very seductive. A ribbon of anticipation unfurled within her, all the way to her toes. When he cupped her chin and tilted it up just so—just perfect for him to kiss her oh-so-properly—she met his intense gaze.

“Arabelle Frost, all I’ll ever need is you.”