Page 47 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

A s the low-growl of Jon’s command reverberated through the room, Belle went very still. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Dear God, he’d come after her. Had he walked into a brutal trap?

Desperate to see Jon’s face—to look into his dark eyes—she wrenched against the vise-tight clamp of Gideon’s hands. But the strength of his hold only intensified. As the vicious pressure bit into her upper arms, a low sound of pain escaped her.

“Let her go, you son of a bitch.” Jon bit out the words.

Struggling against Gideon’s relentless hold, she angled her body to set her gaze on Jon.

Her heart raced. He’d discarded his jacket and waistcoat, the linen of his shirt clinging to his lean, strong upper body, displaying the raw power in his sleekly muscled build.

Determination blazed in his eyes. He had promised to protect her. And he’d meant every word.

Her gaze darted to Mrs. Gilroy. Shielding the child with her own body, the old woman held Carrie tight. Roderick stood within an arm’s length, his cold-eyed expression making it clear he would harm them without so much as a qualm of hesitation.

Belle’s pulse hammered in her ears. This seemed her worst fear, come to life.

“Let the woman and child go, you rotter.” The unspoken threat was clear in Jon’s low rasp.

“It’s peculiar, really, how a child provides the ideal leverage,” Gideon observed, his icy tone infused with contempt. “Everyone becomes so bloody emotional over the mere thought of a sweet little girl suffering an unfortunate accident.”

A chill gripped Belle’s nape. She’d never imagined the cold cruelty that lay beyond Gideon’s eyes.

“If you touch that child, I will end you.” A muscle in Jon’s jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Will you, now?” Gideon shrugged. “You must forgive my lack of decorum. I had wanted to have a chat. After all, you’ve kept Belle from me for days.”

“Kept me from you?” She could not hold her tongue. “I ran from you.”

“An emotional overreaction.” He shrugged. “Rather hysterical, really.”

“You are a detestable man,” she said.

“Again, you wound me, my dear. Not that I give a damn.”

“Kentsworth, you are a coward.” Cold fury gleamed in Jon’s dark eyes. “Using women as a shield.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “If you cross me, it will not end well for you.”

“Take your hands off her. Now.” Jon ground out the command. “Leave this house while you still can.”

“You think threats will send me running?” Gideon questioned coolly, even as Belle saw the flicker of fear deep within his eyes. “I had not wanted this to descend into violence. But then again, it might be more interesting this way.” He turned to Roderick. “Where the devil is Chauncey?”

The big man shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

“I assume you’re referring to the bastard who claimed to be Northcutt. He’s taking a nap—of sorts—in the pantry,” Jon said. “When he does come to his senses, he won’t be much good to you.”

“Bugger it,” Gideon muttered under his breath. “The man wasn’t good for much.”

“That should make your decision easier,” Jon said with steely menace. “Call your attack dog away from the women.”

“You’ve charged in here, the knight rushing to the rescue.” Gideon scowled. “I’d never taken you for a fool. Until today.”

Jon met his cruel gaze. “She is not going anywhere with you.”

“You think not?” Gideon gave his driver a nod. A mountain of a man, Roderick towered over them. With the build of a lumberjack and the wits of a worm, he would take little convincing to do whatever his employer demanded. Even if it meant killing a man.

Even if it meant killing Jon.

The mere thought sickened her. She could not stand there helplessly. She had to do something. Anything. She could not let this go on.

She had to stop this.

“Gideon, this is between you. And me,” she said, mustering a strong voice. “Let them go.”

“He will. I’ll make sure of it.” Jon grated out the words. “Get the hell out of my house, Kentsworth. Or you will regret it.”

“Strong words. But can you back them up?” Gideon glanced toward Roderick, a serpent’s smile playing on his mouth. “You may think you can stop me. But first—you’ve got to get past him.”

*

It was about bloody time. Jon had started to wonder if Kentsworth would ever tire of spewing his hollow threats. It would be a cold day in hell before the blustering jackal forced Belle to bend to his will.

He threw his housekeeper a glance. Holding Carrie huddled against her, the old woman stood with a look of clear defiance in her eyes.

“Mrs. Gilroy, take her away. Now.” His gaze darted to Roderick. “This bastard has better things to do than to frighten a woman and child.” He baited the oaf with a deliberate smirk. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Aye,” the man said, an ugly, half-toothless smile on his crude face.

Jon fairly itched to bury his fists in the ox’s flabby middle. The key to taking on any opponent did not lie in strength. But in strategy.

A fair fight may bring honor, mate. But ye must know when to be ruthless—that, my friend, brings victory. Years earlier, a grizzled, bare-knuckled brawler had imparted that particular piece of wisdom.

Ruthless. Victory. The old fighter’s words playing in his thoughts, he sized up the hulking bastard’s weaknesses. He would keep them in brutal focus.

“I’m going to enjoy this, ye bloody fool,” Roderick taunted.

Jon faced the ox with a half-smile. “I suspect I will as well.”

Roderick canted his head, a look of confusion in his dull eyes. Jon’s cocky expression had stirred uncertainty. Blasted good thing, that. A fight was as much mental as physical.

Resembling a bull spurred by a red flag, the big man charged forward.

He swung. Jon darted back. Avoided the blow. Another clumsy punch. Another dodge. Roderick was a burly fool, more accustomed to intimidation than combat.

Suddenly, the dolt got lucky. His fist plowed into Jon’s upper chest.

“Damn.”

As Jon groaned, he heard Belle’s soft cry. The distress in her tone was like another blow. Block it out. He had to keep his full focus on the man who would grind him into the floor if given a chance.

He darted to the left. Avoided another punch. Roderick swung again. And again. Jon dodged the impacts, but then, the ox’s thick fist landed. Bloody hell. Jon steeled himself against the pain.

He had a strategy. It would work. But he had to stay the course.

Red-faced and breathing heavily, Roderick grimaced.

Sweat peppered his brow. Soon, the buffoon would be worn out.

Facing an opponent with well-honed instincts, he was tiring.

Fast. Soon, his strength would ebb. His resistance would falter.

A few well-placed strikes would be all it took to take him down.

Jon slammed him with a fist to the ribs. Another. And another.

Riled up by the blows Jon had inflicted, Roderick struck at him. Another poorly timed punch. Grunting in frustration, the ox swung again. A powerful blow. This one connected. By God, the pain. Sucking in a breath, Jon powered through it.

Time to turn the tables.

Allowing no warning, Jon plowed a fist into the big man’s ribs. Crack. Roderick groaned in pain. Another powerful jab. And then another. Jon pummeled him. The chest. The ribs. The gut.

Despite his pain-filled grunts, Roderick stayed on his feet. His massive fist found its target. Bugger it. The impact nearly ripped the breath from Jon’s lungs.

Taking a step back, Jon aimed for the oaf’s tender middle. For the solar plexus. He plowed his fist into him. Roderick moaned. There was no disguising his misery.

Time to close the deal.

A right hook to the bastard’s jaw. And then, Jon sent an uppercut into the big man’s chin.

Roderick collapsed like a puppet unmoored from its strings. Sprawled on the floor, he stared up at the ceiling. Incoherent groans spilled from his bloody mouth.

“Jon!” At the sound of Belle’s cry, he whipped around.

Kentsworth no longer held her. Her eyes wide with terror, she stared at the revolver in the cur’s right hand. Blast the cold-blooded bastard .

“God above, such a tiresome display.” Kentsworth leveled the gun directly at Jon. “I have always found mutual combat to be the stuff of brutes. A weapon is far more effective.”

Jon felt his jaw clench. Blast it, he knew Kentsworth’s kind. He should’ve known the rotter would be armed. The man was a coward. And now, he was getting desperate.

“Gideon, please, put down the gun,” Belle pleaded. The fear in her voice sliced into Jon like a knife.

“If the two of you make the right decision, I’ll see no need to use this.” Kentsworth made a show of brandishing the weapon. “Come now, Belle. It’s time to leave.”

Jon met his icy gaze. A muscle ticked in the bastard’s jaw. Despite the cool malice in his words, Kentsworth could not hide his fear. That made him all the more dangerous.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Jon stalked toward him. He had to get Belle away from him. And he had to get the weapon.

“You’ve been a thorn in my bloody side.” Kentsworth eyed him with cold malice. “Now, it would appear you have a death wish.”

“If you pull that trigger, you will hang,” Jon said, deliberately calm. “Not a pleasant death, or so I’ve been told.”

“I’ll be long gone.” Kentsworth’s words held a note of false confidence. “And you will be—”

Jon lunged. “Run, Belle!” he ground out as his hands closed around the gun.

Fighting fiercely for control, Kentsworth tilted the barrel toward Jon’s torso. Toward his heart.

Jon blocked the trigger guard. Leveraging his weight, he forced the gun down. Away from his heart. Away from his chest. Battling to wrench the weapon from the cur’s hands, he held nothing back.

But Kentsworth fought hard. And he fought dirty, driving his elbow into Jon’s sore ribs.

By Hades, the pain! The blows came fast. And with agonizing fury. Dragging in a breath, Jon staggered to stay on his feet.

Suddenly, the cur’s strength seemed to surge. Kentsworth tore the revolver away. He raised the gun. Took aim.

Within Jon’s heart and mind, no fear registered. Only raw instinct.

God above, I will not fail her.

Jon reared back. His fist slammed into the bastard’s jaw. Rattling his teeth. Knocking the sneer from his mouth. Sending him into oblivion.

The gun clattered from Kentsworth’s hand to the floor below.

Bloody hell, it was done. Jon stared down at the unconscious man. He’d kept her safe.

Over his shoulder, he heard Kentsworth’s hired oaf mutter an epithet. Bugger it. Roderick was on his feet, lumbering towards him. Jon dragged in a low breath and braced himself for another round.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Belle. What in blazes was she up to? She crept quietly behind the hulking fool. Too blasted close for her own good.

Bloody hell, was that a skillet tucked behind her apron?

Run! The word played in his thoughts like a litany, but he couldn’t risk drawing the oaf’s attention to her.

“Back for more?” Jon taunted the man in deliberate distraction.

Roderick slipped a folding knife from his trouser pocket. With a flick of his wrist, light gleamed off the honed metal blade. “I’ll see ye dead, ye rotter.”

“Tough talk.” With a quick beckoning motion of his hands, he kept Roderick’s attention on him.

The hulking bastard sneered. “I’ll gut ye.”

Belle took a step back. She raised the iron frying pan in her hands.

And then, she swung the skillet as if it were a cricket bat. Straight at the bloke’s thick skull.

Roderick let out a sound of pain, more of a moan than a cry. Utterly dazed, he stared at Belle with dull eyes until his knees buckled.

He collapsed.

“Dear God, Jon,” she murmured. “Is he... is he alive?”

Jon rushed to her side and crouched at the big man’s side. His burly chest rose and fell with even breaths. “I doubt you’ve done him any lasting harm. He and Kentsworth will both live long enough to see the inside of the prison.”

“Well done, lass,” Logan’s hearty brogue announced his presence. He strode in, revolver in hand, his gaze darting to Roderick. “I was prepared to put this to use.” He smiled at Belle. “But damned if ye didn’t beat me to it.”

“Thank God you’re here,” Belle said. “Have you seen Carrie and Mrs. Gilroy?”

“They are safe outside the house. Mrs. Johnstone is with them,” Logan said. “Thanks be to God the child was spared this sight.”

“Indeed.” Jon pulled Belle close and kissed her with all the feeling in his heart. “Ah, my sweet Arabelle. Tell me you’ll always be mine.”

“Always, Jon.” She stared up at him, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “Always.”