Page 8 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)
S tanding at the foot of the steps of Jon’s Mayfair home, Belle studied the gaslit facade of the posh townhouse.
Why, the place was just as she’d imagined.
A sturdy entry door in gleaming ebony posed a perfect contrast to the precisely laid red brick and mortar walls, while the gleaming brass door knocker provided an elegant statement of refinement without appearing in the least bit ostentatious.
A polished brass lamp illuminated the landing at the top of the stairs, revealing a space swept clean of any street dirt, as were each of the steps.
The windows were dark—as was to be expected at that hour of the night—save for one window near the door which glowed with the light of a single lamp.
All in all, his home was entirely what she had expected.
That was, until he opened the door.
A petite woman with a mass of silver curls spilling out from her frilled cap and a squinty gray gaze stood in the portal, her hand outstretched for the knob. She took a step back, grasping the carved handle of an ebony cane while eyeing them with what looked like a barely repressed scowl.
She slowly shook her head, the reproach in her expression nearly palpable. “Oh, dear. Not another one.”
Another one? What in heaven did that mean?
“An enthusiastic greeting if ever I’ve heard one, Mrs. Gilroy.
” Jon’s voice was surprisingly cheerful considering the woman’s quietly scornful tone.
He escorted Belle into the townhouse, past the woman who now stood with her hands planted on her hips, her well-lined features set with curious intrigue as she followed Belle’s every move.
“Awakened from a sound sleep at this hour, I’m not inclined to be enthused about much of anything.” Mrs. Gilroy wrung her hands in a knot. “At least this houseguest won’t be gnawing on the rug.” Her brows drew together. “Nor piddling on it, for that matter.”
“Well, that is something to be thankful for, isn’t it?” Jon replied lightly, his tone teasing.
Belle squared her shoulders and met the woman’s cool gaze. She’d been through too much on this horrid night to be cowed by a woman who barely came to her chin. “Indeed, I cannot say I have a propensity toward either act.”
“A bit of spirit, eh?” Mrs. Gilroy smiled. “I think I like her.” Her eyes narrowed as the soft tinkling of a bell announced the presence of a small, furry dynamo trotting—or would galloping be more accurate?—into the hall. “Pity the same cannot be said of him. ”
Jon raked a hand through his hair as the dog scurried to greet him. Crouching down, he patted the pup on the head. “Should I ask what he’s ruined this time?”
“Nothing tonight.” The woman’s frown eased, if only a bit. “But I still haven’t forgiven him for chomping on my favorite shoes.”
Jon tapped a finger to his chin. “As I recall, I purchased a fine pair for you the very next day.”
“That ye did,” she agreed. “But I’d become quite attached to the others. They were my favorite, ye know.”
Jon’s gaze trailed to the feet poking out beneath the hem of the woman’s flannel robe. “You’re referring to the shoes you’re wearing?”
“Indeed. The wee beast did not destroy them, but I certainly cannot wear shoes with teeth marks while I’m out and about on my daily errands.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Mrs. Gilroy, since you are awake, I’m in need of your assistance.”
“Are ye, now? Well then, that makes us even.” The woman’s keen-eyed gaze swept Belle, lingering over the formerly pristine white skirt of her gown. She pursed her lips. “I’m needing some assistance to understand why the Frost Princess is here, wearing... that , no less.”
Belle met the woman’s questioning gaze, even as she felt her own brows hike. “ Frost Princess ? I hadn’t heard that one.”
“Ice Princess... Frost Princess... something like that.” Mrs. Gilroy pinned Belle with her hawklike gaze. “Ye’re her, aren’t ye?”
“My name is Arabelle Frost,” she replied, suddenly intrigued. “Have we met?”
The woman regarded her as if she were daft. “Do I look like a society type ye’d be hobnobbing with at some ball or another?”
My, the housekeeper is a cheeky one, isn’t she? Not at all what she’d expected. She’d imagined Jon would run a tight ship. But this crabby wisp of a housekeeper definitely did not fit the bill.
“It is possible I’d made your acquaintance,” she replied with a little hike of her chin. “After all, I’ve done more than attend balls while I’ve been in London.”
You certainly have. Belle’s thoughts raced. A charity soiree with some countess or other. A fundraiser for orphans and widows. An impetuous engagement to a scoundrel. And a frantic dash from that very scoundrel’s grasp. Ah, yes, you’ve been a busy Dollar Princess, haven’t you?
“It’s near as likely that I’d sprout wings and fly away from this place.” Mrs. Gilroy shot Jon a glance. “One more person, or beast, to pick up after, and I might just do that, though I’ll be in a carriage, firmly on the ground.”
As Mrs. Gilroy uttered the words, the ball of fur on legs dashed over to Belle, sat on its bottom, and regarded her with beseeching brown eyes.
A dog. How very surprising. She’d no idea the business-and-nothing-but-business tycoon had a pet, much less one that possessed teeth capable of chomping down on shoes.
Perhaps even more surprising was the large blue bow adorning the silver collar about the pup’s neck.
She’d certainly never expected to see such a thing on a dog belonging to Jon Mason.
“Come now, Mrs. Gilroy. You are likely the most well-compensated housekeeper in all of London.” Jon flashed a smile that might’ve charmed an ogre. “You know this won’t last forever.”
“Well, I certainly do hope ye’re right,” the older woman said with an almost-grudging little smile.
“As for ye, Miss Frost, I recognized ye from the morning edition. Yer picture was in yesterday’s news.
And the evening editions, at least twice.
They can’t get enough of yer good deeds.
” Her eyes narrowed again. “And yer engagement with the highbrow nob—as I recall, they dubbed him the Scottish Lord.”
Belle gulped. “ That... that was in the papers?”
“Last week, as I recall.” Mrs. Gilroy’s brow furrowed like a washboard. “Which makes it all the more of a puzzle that ye’re here.”
Belle nibbled her lower lip. Drat the luck.
She’d had no inkling the press had been alerted to her impulsive response to Gideon’s proposal.
Had he—or her conniving aunt—planted the story in the papers?
Why, she hadn’t even informed her mother and father.
They’d be stunned if they saw the news. And utterly relieved to discover the truth that she’d come to her senses before it was too late.
“Are you my new nanny?” The direct yet sweetly voiced query pulled Belle from her dismayed musings.
Nanny?
She turned to the archway behind her, to the precious moppet who’d uttered the question. Abundant curls in a shade of vibrant chestnut framed a round, angelic face. Clutching a stuffed rabbit made of calico against her small body, the girl stared up at Belle with wide brown eyes.
Mulling questions of her own, Belle met the child’s inquisitive gaze. How very interesting. A tot was perhaps the very last thing she’d expected to find in Jon’s home. Had he harbored a secret during his time in America?
“My name is Belle,” she offered with a smile. “Might I ask your name?”
“Her name is—” Jon said, his tone gruff. Evidently, he had not expected to be greeted by the sleepy-eyed imp.
“Carrie,” the child said brightly. Turning to Jon, the child flashed a little smile, as if to counter his stern expression. “I know my own name, silly.”
“Silly, is it?” Jon’s expression lightened, and he chuckled beneath his breath as he went to her. Belle thought he might hug the child, but instead, he offered a gentle pat on the head. “It’s well past your bedtime.”
“I was in bed. But I heard a noise,” the girl explained, sounding as if the reason she was not sound asleep should be quite obvious. She looked up at Belle. “Are you my new nanny?” she repeated, sounding a bit more hopeful this time.
“You’ve no need of a new nanny,” Jon said, seeming oblivious to Mrs. Gilroy’s quiet humph .
The dog trotted over to the girl and plopped down before her small, slipper-clad feet. Evidently, the child had wrapped the furball on four legs around her little finger.
“But I do need a nanny,” the girl said rather confidently.
“Now who’s being silly?” he said gently as he softly tousled her curls with his fingers. He turned to Mrs. Gilroy. “Please summon Miss Pritchard from her chamber so that she might settle Carolyn back into bed.”
“I would be happy to,” Mrs. Gilroy said, looking as if she were biting back a little grin. “If she were still here.”
Jon blinked. “ Still here, you say?”
“Miss Pritchard is no longer in residence,” Mrs. Gilroy said, leaning on her cane with each step as she made her way to the little girl. Bending closer, she took the child’s hand in hers. “Wee one, would ye like to tell us what ye did today?”
“I had a tea party.” The girl’s beaming smile brightened her features. “With Heathy.”
“Heathy?” Belle could not resist the question.
“The dog,” Jon said, his tone weary.
“A rather unique name for a pet,” Belle said, flashing a questioning glance.
“I had no part in choosing the little beast’s name. He’s not mine, you see.”
“Another guest,” Mrs. Gilroy muttered beneath her breath.
“One of my business partners and his wife were called away on an urgent family matter. It was not feasible to bring their dog along, so... here he is.”
“Don’t let his size fool ye, Miss,” the housekeeper added. “Given the chance, he’ll chew anything in sight. Except the cat. She’s the one resident of this house he won’t pester.”
“Another guest, as Mrs. Gilroy likes to say,” Jon added, his tone slightly wry.