Her Froggie was certainly surprising her at every turn, wasn’t he?
As she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was, The next few days will certainly be interesting…
Chapter 7
“I see…danger approaching.”
“Nay, ye dinnae.”
“Aye, I do. See that squiggle there?”
“That’s a bit of sugar, stuck to the leaf. See? It wipes right off.”
“Hmm. Alright, ye’re correct. I dinnae see danger at all. I see…a journey. They’re going on a journey.”
“Of love?”
“Yes, Willa dear. Vanessa and Roland are going on a journey of love. Now do be quiet and let Broca concentrate. Reading the tea leaves is not an easy skill, and not everyone can master it.”
“Like Broca, for instance.”
“I heard that, Grisel!”
“Good, ye were supposed to. Now, what kind of journey?”
“Hold on, the leaves arenae precise. A…plane trip?”
“What’s a plane? Like…a plain trip? They’re going someplace plain?”
“Nay, I got the ‘P’ wrong. Wain? Fain? Main! Maybe they’re going on a main trip?”
“Whizzat mak b’now to ram?”
“I dinnae ken, Seonag. None of that makes sense to me either. How’s the crystal ball coming?”
“Blantawit!”
“…Oh.”
“Look, Grisel, if ye want to drink the damn tea and try to make sense of—”
“Oh! A train trip!”
“That’s it, Willa dear! Excellent deductive work. So they’re going on a train trip, Broca?”
“Aye, I suppose that could be it. A train trip. South.”
“Thank you, Broca. Now, where are they going?”
“Ye dinnae ask the easy questions, do ye? Grisel, ye’d better brew another pot.”
* * *
It was rather a good thing they didn’t have to change trains in Inverness, because Roland was enjoying having her head pillowed against his shoulder far more than he had expected. It also gave him time to study her, and despite his anger at her, he liked what he saw.
Whatever she’d done to her face—she looked gaunter somehow—hadn’t necessarily made her less beautiful, but more approachable. He’d never been a man who was intimidated by beautiful women, and when he’d seen her at the ball, he’d made a point to seek her out because she was the most beautiful woman there.
The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
And he’d enjoyed the time he’d spent with her…especially the time spent touching her. Had her mother not dragged her off, he was only minutes away from suggesting a tour of his father’s library so he could get her well and truly alone.
Finding out she was self-centered and cruel had been a blow indeed.
Except…now, she wasn’t quite as perfect, and he was beginning to realize she wasn’t always cruel. He’d heard her say those things about Lyon with his own ears, it was why he’d started on this disguised journey after all, but now he was beginning to see there might be more to her than her opinions about his brother.
He’d bargained for a kiss from her, thinking it would increase her humiliation once she realized who he was. But he was coming to realize he very, very much wanted to kiss her for his own sake too. She was desirable in a way that wasn’t based on her beauty at all. It was in the way she smiled when she saw the landscape of the Highlands from the train, or the way she didn’t sit back and wait for life to happen to her.
Well, ye didnae expect this, did ye, ye wee dobber?
He might’ve dozed a few times as well, between gazing out the window and scowling menacingly at anyone who gave Vanessa a second glance, but as the train slowed to pull into Edinburgh, he was wide awake, which allowed him to see her startle awake; an experience he was glad not to have missed.
She jerked upright, uttering an adorable, “Oh!” and only then opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, and he watched as awareness came to her features. When she glanced at him, he knew he was smiling.
“What?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Do ye always wake up that way?”
“What way?”
“Ye were upright and functioning before ye ever opened yer eyes.”
She frowned. “How should I ken if that’s normal? I’m asleep when it happens.”
“True. I should ask yer sister.”
“Ye’ll do nae such thing!” When she gasped, he realized she wouldn’t want Monsieur Grenouille talking about anything to her sister, much less about her sleeping habits.
He kept a neutral expression as he teased her. “How else would I learn the answer to my question? Is there anyone else ye regularly sleep with?”
Her second, far-more-outraged gasp caused his smile to break free, and he had to turn away from her to hide it. As the train stopped, he stood and reached for her carpetbag.
“Come along, Vanessa. We should have a half-hour to stretch our legs and get some luncheon before we have to board the next train.”
It took a moment to realize she was staring at his bare legs, and when he cleared his throat, she blushed and glanced away.
Interesting.
After they refreshed themselves—he was reluctant to let her go far without being able to keep watch over her—he offered to escort her to a gentleman who was selling meat pies from a cart.
“Nae need,” she said breezily, settling onto a bench. “I packed enough for both of us.”
His brows lifting in surprise, Roland settled beside her, as she opened her bag and began to remove wrapped sandwiches. He’d noticed the bulk in her carpetbag but had assumed it was the extra clothing he was sure she’d been unwilling to travel without.
“These are good,” he mumbled around a bit of bread and meat.
“They are.” She was daintily nibbling on her own meal. “I can say that without thanking ye because I didnae make them. I ken my skills and working in the kitchen isnae one of them.”
That was an opening he couldn’t pass up. “And what are yer skills, milady?”
“I’m no’ a lady today, remember?” She sent him a teasing look, then settled back against the bench. “I suppose though… I suppose my skills are that I am a lady.”
He snorted.
“Aye, I suppose it sounds silly to someone such as ye,” she admitted.
“Someone such as me? Crippled, poor, ugly?”
Her eyeroll contained more than a touch of exasperation. “I’ve never seen a man so obsessed with his appearance as ye, Froggie. Ye’re no’ ugly, just…”
When she trailed off, he realized he was quite interested in hearing what she had to say about him. “Just what?”
She shrugged. “The beard isnae my favorite, but once ye washed the dirt off, there’s nothing wrong with ye.”
Gesturing to his eyepatch, he scowled, the way he’d seen Lyon do on more than one occasion. “Oh really?”
Rolling her eyes again, she lifted her sandwich. “An eyepatch doesnae diminish yer worth, Froggie. By the way, I’ve noticed yer limp is better. What caused it?”
Oh, damn. He’d forgotten all about the limp.
“It comes and goes,” he mumbled, pretending to focus on his lunch, still reeling from her words.
An eyepatch doesnae diminish yer worth.
If she truly believed that, why had she said those things about Lyon?
After a moment, she blew out a breath. “When I said ye wouldnae understand, I meant as a man. Ye likely have skills I can only dream about, Froggie, but me…”
When he tilted his head enough to look at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head.
“I was raised to be a lady. No’ just sitting around and embroidering, although I do have a lovely hand at that. Nay, I was raised to run a household, and choose menus, and plan parties and events to showcase my husband’s power and influence.”
“Ye’re no’ married,” he pointed out mulishly.
“Nay, I
’m no’.” Her voice was small. “I want to be though.”
And, despite knowing he couldn’t let her know who he was, Roland wanted to push her. “To whom?”
Although she wasn’t looking at him, her lips curled softly as she stared down at her meal. “There was a man I verra much wanted to marry, but I made a fool of myself, and now…” She shook her head.
The sandwich felt as if it were stuck in his throat. “How did ye make a fool of yerself?” he managed.
Vanessa shrugged. “He heard me saying something cruel, and now believes I’m a terrible person.”
“Are ye?” His voice dropped. “Did ye mean those things ye said?”
When she met his gaze, he thought he’d given himself away. He thought she was moments away from jumping to her feet and ripping the tam from his head and declaring him an imposter.
But whatever magic had clouded her vision thus far continued, and she just looked at him; a deep sadness in her eyes. And she didn’t answer.
“Please excuse me,” she finally murmured, then stood, still holding the remains of her lunch.
He watched as she crossed the platform and wondered if he needed to go after her. But before he could rise, he saw her stoop to talk to one of the perpetual beggars huddled in the shadow of one of the buildings. It was an old woman, who watched her warily, until Vanessa handed her the second half of her sandwich. Then the woman’s expression lit up, and she grasped Vanessa’s hand, shaking it, and speaking in a fervent, low tone.
Roland wished he could hear what she was saying, but he suspected he knew.
His traveling companion was far from the spoiled, self-centered bitch he’d thought her when he’d concocted his scheme.
Aye, she was still surprising him, and he didn’t know how he felt about that fact.
When he escorted her to their second train on their journey, he remembered to limp.
As they settled into their seats, she pulled her arm out of his hand and frowned at him. “Why are ye being so grumpy and—and—controlling?”
“Because I’m used to being in control, milady,” he growled, before realizing that was probably too much information.
But she didn’t question why a man who looked like him would be used to being in control. Instead, she just shook her head and muttered something—unflattering, most likely—as she turned to look at Scotland whizzing past.
This allowed Roland to stew, which likely wasn’t helpful.
He was used to being in control. When his mother’s father had died, he’d become Viscount Blabloblal at the young age of sixteen. His mother was already gone by then, but Father had hired the best tutors and men of business he could find until Roland was surrounded by good, honorable men who could teach him what he needed to know to run the Blabloblal estates. And they’d all looked to him.
Now, despite splitting his time between Blabloblal and Newfincy Castle, he was used to being respected and deferred to. And when he was with a lady, doubly so. He was charming; he knew it. Ladies flirted with him and were happy to allow him control.
But here and now, he wasn’t Viscount Blabloblal. And she wasn’t a lady. He was a simple man, and she was a woman on an adventure. She didn’t see any reason to let him be in charge, despite knowing she couldn’t have come on this journey alone, and it rankled.
Damnation, lad. Are ye pouting?
He absolutely was not pouting.
Ye’re definitely pouting. Buck up. It’s only a few days, and then ye can go back to swanning around in front of all the eligible maidens, letting them fall over themselves in their efforts to impress ye enough to offer for one of them.
Strangely, the thought didn’t improve his temper.
Those women—and Vanessa, the way she’d been at the ball—were trying to snare him by being who they thought he wanted. And until today, that’s what he thought he wanted. But since appearing to be someone other than a viscount, and since spending time with a lady who didn’t want to impress him, he was wondering if his tastes had changed.
Perhaps he didn’t want to marry the most beautiful woman in the land, one who could plan parties and help build his influence. He didn’t want or need influence, much less other men’s jealousy.
Maybe he wanted a wife who would show her true opinions and real self. A wife who wouldn’t pretend to be who she thought he wanted her to be.
A wife who wasn’t trying to impress him.
Ye sound as though ye’re considering marrying Vanessa again.
The thought made him frown. He wasn’t considering marrying Vanessa again. He didn’t even like her. She’d shown herself to be vain and self-centered and—
Get yer head out of yer arse and think, ye wee dobber!
Roland stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Vanessa he’d been traveling with today wasn’t vain and self-centered, was she? He’d watched her offer to help that young mother, and she gave her lunch to the beggar woman, and she spoke so passionately about helping the poor when they’d stopped in Perth mid-morning. She’d been concerned about his limp and had told him his missing eye didn’t dictate his worth.
And she’d been satisfied wearing ragged clothes and cosmetics to conceal her beauty. Nay, not just satisfied, but pleased almost, to be going on this adventure dressed like a normal woman.
Shite.
He’d been so certain he understood her, but the last few hours alone—not to mention the days before when she’d offered a stranger food and a place to rest—were changing his opinion of her.
Perhaps she wasn’t the bitch he’d thought she was.
Oh, come off it. She’s no’ a bitch, and ye ken it. She’s a sweet girl, who cares about others, and ye like her.
He didn’t want to like her. She’d said some nasty things about his brother.
She didnae ken ye were listening.
That didn’t make it any better.
True.
But he still wanted to kiss her.
Also true.
And that desire—which was quickly becoming a need—didn’t help his quandary.
“Ye’re frowning again. Is it because ye’re no’ in charge? Do ye want to be in charge?”
At her words—vaguely mocking—his head jerked up from where it had been resting against his chest. “I’m fine.” He scowled.
Her beautiful blue eyes—no amount of cosmetics or ugly caps could hide those—widened innocently. “Is it yer leg?” she whispered, falsely sympathetic. “Yer mystery ailment is bothering ye?”
Reluctantly, one corner of his lips twitched. “It’s no’ my mystery ailment.”
“So ye admit yer ailment is a mystery?”
“Verra mysterious,” he deadpanned.
“Froggie, we’re stuck together for the next two days and dinnae think I dinnae appreciate it.” She resettled herself in her seat so she wasn’t quite blocking him out anymore. “I couldnae travel alone, and I couldnae tell any Oliphants where I was going. I ken ye wear the Oliphant plaid—and ye do it well, despite how barbaric ye look—but for some reason, I trust ye no’ to tell my mother where I’ve been.” With a sigh, she shifted her gaze out the window again. “I trust ye. I hadnae expected that, but ye’ve done nothing to make me think I should doubt ye. It seems…strange that I trusted ye so quickly.”
She was right. And for his part, he hadn’t expected to realize she was different from what he’d assumed. At least not so quickly. It was almost as if…
“I dinnae believe in magic,” he snorted.
When she pursed her lips and looked at him strangely, he shrugged.
“So what were ye thinking about, pouting silently over here?”
He wasn’t about to tell her the truth, that he’d been wrong about her. So instead, he tried a charming smile. “I was thinking about our bargain. I’m owed a kiss after all.”
To his delight, she blushed and dropped her gaze to her lap, which allowed him to study her to his heart’s content. She really was beautiful, e
ven with the cosmetics.
“I trust ye, Froggie, but I cannae kiss ye,” she whispered.
His rebuttal was immediate. “Yet. When I help ye complete yer mission, then ye’ll owe me a kiss.”
“Indeed.” In her lap, her fingers twined together, and he resisted the urge to reach over and cover her hands with one of his. “But a gentleman wouldnae force me to—”
“I’m no’ a gentleman, and ye’re no’ a lady, remember?”
She was silent for a long moment before she nodded. “I’m glad ye’re no’ a gentleman, Froggie. If ye were…”
When she trailed off, he realized he was holding his breath, and that caused him to scowl again. Why should it matter to him what she thought of him?
And why would the thought of being unable to kiss her make him so angry?
“Where are we going anyhow?” he blurted, trying to distract himself, as much as her.
She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, then straightened her shoulders and glanced at him again, before turning her attention out the window. “Fangfoss Manor. It’s an estate, which once belonged to my great-aunt, outside of York. There’s…something I need to find there.”
“Do ye ken what it is?”
“I do.” Blue eyes flashed once in his direction; a little dip visible between her brows.
“And do ye ken how mysterious that sounds that ye willnae tell me what it is we’re looking for?”
A smile seemed to tug almost reluctantly at the corners of her lips. “Aye. Probably.”
“Probably ye will tell me?”
“Probably I ken how mysterious that sounds,” she clarified teasingly.
He rolled his eyes, which was damn uncomfortable under the stupid eyepatch. Grumbling, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to resist the urge to scratch underneath the patch. “Well, we still have hours to go before we reach York, so if ye’re no’ going to tell me what it is we’re looking for, how about telling me about yer great-aunt?”
That conversation led to questions about her family and her life at The Oliphant Inn. He was impressed she didn’t say anything outright negative about her mother, but he could hear the subtext in her stories. Actually, the more she spoke about her mother, the more he realized the baroness was responsible for Vanessa’s inflated opinion of her worth because of her beauty.
The Lass Who Kissed a Frog Page 9
