Page 53 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

W ith Finn at the reins, Jon joined Mrs. Gilroy and Mrs. Johnstone in his coach as they hurried to the train yard.

Setting a brisk pace, Finn deftly navigated the crush of traffic—coaches and carts and pedestrians filled the streets, going about the ordinary business of their lives on a rainy afternoon that was far from ordinary for Jon.

It was as if he’d finally awoken from an existence that wasn’t entirely whole.

He knew now what he’d needed all along—the love of a spirited, bright-eyed woman who somehow still cared about him despite the fact he’d been an utter arse.

Belle was the woman he loved. The woman he needed. And she loved him. At least, she had.

You have my heart. But it’s up to you to claim it.

She’d spoken the words in cool, even tones, even as tears had filled her eyes. The days that had passed since then had only thickened the ice between them.

An invisible weight landed in his gut. He simply had to see her before she boarded the train. But was it too late? Had he already damaged their bond beyond repair?

If he had—if she did not want him to accompany her, he would honor her wishes.

If she desired more space and time to clear her head, as she’d put it, he would allow her whatever she needed.

And if she’d come to a realization of her own—if he’d extinguished the spark of passion she’d held for him, he would have no choice but to live with that truth for the rest of his life.

But first, he had to tell her what was in his heart.

The carriage slowed. Then stopped. Each passing moment felt like an eternity. Still, they made no progress. He heard Finn swear an epithet from the driver’s bench, and Mrs. Gilroy peered from the window.

“I don’t see what’s causing the problem,” she said with a shrug.

“Accident ahead,” Finn called from the bench. “A blasted wagon has overturned. Take a look for yerself.”

Jon opened the door enough to survey the scene.

Bollocks. Not only had a wagon overturned in the middle of the street, but its cargo—sacks and more sacks of potatoes, from the looks of it—strewn about the pavement.

Adding to the chaos, some of the burlap bags had split, their contents spilling over the road.

Finn pulled his hat lower to shield his face from the pouring rain. Seated on the bench, his raincoat offered some protection from the deluge, but he still looked to be getting soaked.

“I don’t see an opening. The wagon’s blocking the whole blasted road,” he said. “There’s no way to proceed.”

Rain pelted Jon’s face. “How far are we from the station?”

“At least ten blocks, by my estimate,” Mrs. Johnstone spoke up.

He smiled to himself. Finn was wrong. There was a path. And he was going to take it.

Pulling his flat-brimmed hat lower, he eyed his traveling bag. The cumbersome satchel would only slow him down.

“Surely ye’re not thinking to proceed on foot,” Mrs. Johnstone said.

“Of course he is.” Mrs. Gilroy turned to Jon. “I always knew ye had spirit. Now, go get the pretty lass.”

“That, Mrs. Gilroy, is precisely what I intend to do.”

“Ye’ll be drenched and in no condition to travel,” Mrs. Johnstone cautioned. “A bit of patience might be in order.”

“Patience is highly overrated,” he said. “Goodbye, ladies. Wish me luck.”

“Ye will not need it,” Mrs. Gilroy said, her eyes bright with encouragement. “Miss Belle is over the moon for ye.”

“Now that is a thought which inspires a man to get going.” He grinned at the old woman. “Mrs. Gilroy, there’s one more thing—please tell the wee lass I’ll be coming back for her soon.”

He jumped to the ground, his feet hitting the pavement as Mrs. Gilroy called after him.

“Coming back?” she said. “Are ye saying what I think ye’re saying?”

“Indeed, I am.” With that, he turned from the carriage.

And he ran.

The downpour had intensified as the wind picked up speed and the sky darkened to a stormy gray. Wind-driven drops of rain slapped against his face. But he didn’t give a damn.

He heard the sound of his boots pounding against the cobbles.

He felt the cool, heavy drops penetrate his layers of clothing, soaking him to the skin.

As he pictured Belle in his mind’s eye, he quickened his pace, even as he dodged a carriage and a man walking an exceedingly small dog.

She was all that mattered. He had to get to her.

He couldn’t spend another day—and night—without her.

*

Belle impatiently tapped the tip of her umbrella against the floor of the train station. She’d only been waiting an hour or so, but her nerves were on edge. And she was eager to get going. It was difficult to leave London as it was, but delaying the inevitable would only worsen the pain.

“It seems appropriate that even the sky is cross today,” she said, turning to Ellie. “This dreary rain rather fits my mood.”

Her friend looked up from happily knitting a scarf she would likely never wear.

“Mine as well,” she said. “I do hate to see you go, Belle. It’s a pity I cannot travel with you, but my aunt—not the one in Paris, but the one who’s heading off to Egypt—is in need of a companion.

With any luck, I’ll discover an archaeologist of my own on the expedition. ”

“I don’t doubt you’ll find yourself a handsome explorer.”

“I do hope so,” Ellie said, her tone a bit dreamy.

“Take care, my friend,” she said. “And promise me you’ll soon come to New York.”

“Of course,” Ellie said. “I look forward to visiting the Metropolitan Museum.”

“You’ll love it. The collections are—”

Belle saw him then. The sight took her breath—and by extension, her ability to speak—away.

“Are you alright?” Ellie asked.

“Yes, I do believe I am.” She stared at the man who’d walked into the station—or perhaps, sloshed into the place wearing rain-soaked shoes was a better description. My goodness, he looked as if he’d been in the rain for far too long. “Goodness,” she murmured.

Leaping to her feet for a better look, her gaze locked with his. Her eyes were not deceiving her. The man was, indeed, Jon.

Drenched. Soaked to the skin. And utterly irresistible.

The straight, dark strands of his hair were plastered to his head while raindrops beaded his forehead, his cheeks, his face. His wet clothing clung to his lean, muscular frame like a second skin.

Oh, my. Her pulse raced. She dragged in a breath, as if that might calm her. There were many reasons why Jon might be at the station. But only one would make her heart sing.

“Good heavens. Why in the world...” Ellie made a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a gasp. “Such a pity Macie isn’t here to capture this moment with her camera. I doubt we’ll ever again see anything like it.”

Curious onlookers scrunched their foreheads and hiked their brows at the sight. Undeterred by the questioning stares, Jon cut through the crowd on a direct path, his gaze set firmly on his destination. On her .

Belle’s heartbeat sped up as Jon came to stand before her. He didn’t reach out. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t even take her hand. Instead, he searched her face, seeming to seek an answer to a question he had not yet asked.

“You’re still here.” He sounded both a bit out of breath and relieved.

“Hello, Jon,” she said. “Might I ask why you look as though you’ve been walking in the rain?”

“I wasn’t walking,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I was running.”

“Has something happened?” Her gaze trailed down to his soaked shoes. “Something urgent?”

“Extremely urgent.” His eyes darkened as he held her gaze. “I realized I’d left something unfinished—a matter of the utmost importance.”

“I see,” she said, steeling herself. It was quite possible, after all, that this matter of utmost importance had nothing to do with what was in his heart.

He gave a solemn nod, even as his eyes gleamed with something that looked like hope. “Arabelle Frost, the dolt standing before you has finally come to his senses.”

She met his eyes, seeking the truth. “Jon, I don’t understand.”

“But you will.” The slightest of smiles played on his full mouth as he fumbled about in his sopping wet jacket. When he found what he’d been looking for, he appeared to cup something in the palm of his hand.

“Oh, my. He’s going to do it,” Ellie commented in a breathless whisper. “He is actually going to do it.”

Belle stared at him, a sense of confusion blending with a rekindled ember of joy. “Jon, what is happening?”

“I want to be with you until I take my last breath.” A keen intensity gleamed in his deep brown eyes. “Arabelle Frost, love of my life, will you marry me?”

Joy crashed over her like a rogue wave. Her knees wobbled, and Ellie came to her side, propping her up by the elbow.

“This is so... so very unexpected.” Belle gulped a breath, then another.

This was the moment she’d waited for. The moment she’d longed for.

But there was a truth they both had to face before she could speak the word perched on the tip of her tongue.

“But I cannot stay in London. I must return home.”

“I know.” Jon’s husky rasp seemed a caress. “I don’t give a damn if we are in London or New York or on the blasted moon, for that matter. All I need is you, Belle. By my side. Every day... for the rest of my life.”

“And if I say ‘yes’?” Nearly overcome with emotion, she heard the quaking of her own voice.

“If you do, I will accompany you to Southampton. And then, we will marry in New York.” His eyes gleamed with promise and hope.

“If you will have me, that is.” He extended his hand, presenting a ring, perhaps the most beautiful Belle had ever seen.

The breathtaking sapphire at the center gleamed with an intense hue, accented by the brilliant diamonds flanking it on both sides.

“Oh, my,” she gasped in a little whisper. Of all the things she’d expected might happen on this day, she could not have anticipated this moment. Her heart raced even as it soared.

“Please say ‘yes,’ Belle, so that I might kiss you.” His low voice was rough with the emotion he made no attempt to hide. So very tempting. So very irresistible.

“Well, when you put it like that,” she said with a little smile. “How could I possibly resist?”

“Say it, my Arabelle.” A muscle in his jaw went taut. “Say you’ll always be mine.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, and yes again. Oh, Jon, I cannot wait for the day when we speak our vows.”

His gaze intent, he slipped the ring onto her finger. And then, he framed her face between his hands. His fingers threaded through her hair as he kissed her, a slow, tender caress that spoke of passion and love and a lifetime of promise.

When he released her, he looked at her as though she were the most precious treasure he’d ever seen.

“I had planned a far more romantic proposal than this,” he said, his voice gruff and tender.

“I’d selected an elegant venue with musicians and candles and such, rather than standing here, dripping all over the floor of a train station.

But I simply could not help myself. I had to tell you the truth.

” He caught her in his arms, gazing down at her, not giving a damn about the gawking passengers who looked on eagerly.

“I love you, Arabelle. I always have. I’ll love you until I take my last breath, and beyond. ”

“Oh, Jon,” she whispered against his lips. “This is a moment I will always remember.”

“I’d wanted to make this a memorable proposal.” He grinned. “I suppose I succeeded.” He glanced around. “For these good folk as well.”

A familiar voice cut through the whispers of the crowd.

Finn strode toward them, a satchel in hand.

“Looks like ye’ll be needing this,” he said with a broad smile, handing Jon the traveling bag.

“By thunder, ye didn’t leave any rain in the clouds, did ye?

From the looks of it, it’s all in yer shoes. ”

“If I were not in a deliriously happy state of mind, I’d tell you what I think of your observations,” Jon said lightly. “But instead, I would like to introduce you to the future Mrs. Mason.”

“In that case, I’ll wish ye all the good fortune in the world.” Finn gazed down at Belle, a twinkle in his eyes. “He’s a lucky man, lass. The bloke will make ye happy. Of that, ye can rest assured.”

“I am over the moon.” She clasped Jon’s hands in hers. “I cannot wait until I am officially your bride.”

“Safe travels, my friends,” Finn said as he strolled away with jaunty steps. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Macie and I will see ye at the wedding.”