“I bargained for a kiss once I’ve helped ye on yer mission, so I’d best ensure this task is completed soon!” Before she could do more than blink in confusion, he’d grabbed her hand. “What are we looking for?”
Flustered at his sudden transition from sensual to business, Vanessa shook her head. “Um…a ball.”
“A ball?” he repeated drily.
Clearing her throat, she held her hands up in approximation of how she remembered the sphere. “It is a Roman artifact, some kind of architectural capstone. This one is made of gold.”
His brows—even the one partly covered by the eyepatch—rose. “A golden ball?”
“It is called a sphaera and is apparently quite valuable.”
He snorted. “I’ll bet it is. But who in their right minds would make a ball out of gold? It sounds useless.”
Her chin rose, even as she brushed past him to head toward where she remembered the sphaera being. “It’s no’ useless to me.”
“Well, aye, it’s worth a pretty penny,” he said, turning to stride alongside her, “but it’s just an ornament. A bauble.”
Vanessa missed a step and squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she paused and made herself breathe deeply.
Just an ornament. Worth a pretty penny. A bauble.
She couldn’t help but think his words described her and who she’d been her whole life.
But she didn’t want to be that person anymore.
“There’s a man who lives near me,” she finally said when she opened her eyes, “who’ll pay me ten times the sphaera’s worth just to add it to his collection.”
There was a spark of recognition in his green eye, before he turned away. “Ah,” he said in a rough voice, not looking at her. “And ye have need of that money, I suppose.”
Why did the tone of his voice make her stomach feel heavy?
“My sister does,” she defended herself, then realized why she was doing so and clamped her lips shut.
Instead, she turned and marched to where she guessed the ball had been, although she’d been young, and it had been merely a glance. She’d been kneeling…here.
Determined to focus on something she could change—since it was clear Froggie’s opinion of her was his own business—she dropped to her knees, heedless of the dirt, and peered into the excavated trench. There were still wooden braces and remains of some string here and there, although it had to be close to ten years old by now. She smoothed some of the dirt out of the way, wondering if she could guess what was taken from this spot.
Had her golden sphaera already been excavated?
Had she missed her chance to ensure her sister’s dream would come to fruition?
Suddenly frantic, Vanessa shifted to one side and began to stab at the packed dirt with the stick she’d scooped up. Maybe she’d forgotten the spot! She’d been so young, after all! Perhaps the ball had actually been here, not there, and all she needed was a little effort—
She was breathing heavily when the sun was blocked out momentarily as he sank to his knees beside her. Blindly, she stabbed at the ground, scooping dirt out as she pulled it up, not caring as her fingernails cracked and dirt stained her palms.
“Vanessa.” His voice was low as he curled one hand around hers on the stick. “Please let me help.”
That was all he said. And it was enough.
He wasn’t telling her to stop, he wasn’t telling her what to do. He was offering to help.
Shakily, she nodded, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. It was only then she realized she’d been crying.
“The ball had been there. I was certain, but maybe…perhaps I was wrong?”
“So ye’re going to dig up the rest of the site to look for it?”
There’d been no recrimination in his tone, but she reacted defensively. “Aye, I am.”
“Then I’ll help.” He shrugged and reached for a bigger stick to use to dig. “Although I wish we’d brought shovels.”
She hadn’t thought they’d need them. She’d been able to excavate the sphere with just her hands as a girl, hadn’t she?
It seemed hopeless to find it now if it was even still under the ground. But with Froggie beside her…?
Perhaps not quite so hopeless.
This time her digging was less frantic and more determined. They were logical about it, splitting the area into quadrants and grids. As they dug, they called out progress and encouragement, and Vanessa was struck by what a good team they made. They could communicate effortlessly, teasing or not, and she felt as if she could do anything.
Was that because of him, or because of the way she’d changed on this journey? Did it matter? When this adventure was through, she and Froggie would go their separate ways. He’d be gone from her life, but the things she’d discovered about herself—the things he’d taught her about herself—would remain. She’d always have that knowledge.
“So, this sphaera…?”
“The useless ball of ornamentation, aye?”
He huffed a laugh, which turned into a grunt as he lifted a rock from the dirt he was scratching at. “This golden ball of money, ye say isnae for ye?”
Sitting back on her heels, she told herself she wasn’t taking a moment to admire his legs. Who knew kilts could be so delightful? “I’m going to sell the sphere and give the money to my sister.”
“Aye, ye said that.” He pushed his tam off his forehead far enough to swipe at the sweat with the back of his forearm, but she couldn’t see the color of his cropped hair. “Why does she need the money?”
He certainly was handsome, in his own way, was he not? Her Froggie was well-made, aye, but he had none of Roland’s polish or grace. Nay, that wasn’t true. He might wear a delightfully barbaric kilt and not understand personal grooming habits of beards, but he had his own grace. And the more time she spent with him, the more Vanessa realized, despite the missing eye and the limp which came and went, her Froggie was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met.
“Vanessa?”
“Hmm?”
His lips curled upward. “Ye’re just staring at me, lass. I asked a question. Why does Bonnibelle need the money?”
When had she told him her sister’s name? She shook her head and turned back to her work, realizing it was time to move to a different spot. She’d found no artifacts of any kind so far and swallowed down the terror at what that might mean.
“Bonnie has a goal. She’s written a book—she’s written several books—and cannae get a publisher to agree to publish it. So her dream is to buy her own publishing house and print works from authors like her, books other women might like to read.” She chipped mechanically at the dirt. “There’s one she’s already decided on, and the sale of the sphaera will ensure she has the money to make that dream happen.”
He was quiet for a long moment, then finally said, “Then I owe ye an apology.”
“For what?” She didn’t look up at him.
“For assuming the worst of ye. I thought a lass as beautiful as ye must want a useless bauble like that for her own enjoyment, but yer plan is verra noble.”
Her shoulders tugged up toward her ears, half-shrugging, half-hiding her burning cheeks. Part of her was hurt at his admission, but part of her was flattered by his words.
“I ken ye didnae expect it,” she whispered, pulling more dirt out of the way. “Nae one does. I ken everyone thinks I’m self-centered, and I am—”
“Nay!” When his hand closed around her wrist, she flinched back, and he gentled his tone. “Nay, Vanessa.”
The pile of empty dirt in front of her, which she was beginning to realize represented her failure, blurred. She shifted her gaze to his hand, where it gently tugged the stick from her grip and shifted her to face him.
He was kneeling beside her in the dirt, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of her hand, and she wasn’t sure if she was ecstatic or heartbroken.
“Nay, Vanessa,” he whispered again. “Ye’re no’ self-centered.”
>
“I am.” She sniffed, trying not to allow the tears to fall; the hope of the last few days crashing in on her all at once. “I’m beautiful, aye, and I ken it. But all I am is beautiful, and I ken that too.”
“Ye’re wrong.” Now his voice was low, passionate, as he moved to hold her by the arms. His hands were warm through the rough blouse of her disguise, and she stared up at him with something akin to hope.
Prove me wrong, she wanted to shout, but held herself back, because she wasn’t certain he could.
“Vanessa, love, ye’re sweet and thoughtful and ye care about others.” His hands were making her shiver. “That is who ye are. Yer beauty is remarkable, aye, but it is no’ what makes ye worthy.”
“What does?” she whispered, staring up at him.
“Och, lass. Yer actions, yer heart, yer mind. Yer worth is remarkable as well.”
And then, before she could process the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to her, he was leaning toward her, his intense green gaze on her lips.
She leaned to meet him, and when his lips finally claimed hers, they both moaned low in their throats.
His skin was warm against hers as he pulled her closer, and her knees trembled in the dirt. The beard was rough, but the sensation only made her shiver, even as a warmth traveled down her limbs and settled between her legs.
His lips pulled and tugged and suckled in the most incredible of ways, and when his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, hers parted and welcomed him in. He groaned again, deepening the kiss, as his fingers dug into the simple bun she wore under her cap.
Her hands weren’t still either. It was as if this kiss was the excuse her body had been waiting for, and she touched him entirely without guidance from her mind. Her palms skimmed up the strong muscles of his upper arms, then scratched at his sideburns, then moved around to cup the back of his head, tugging his tam off so she could touch his hair.
Dear Lord in Heaven.
There’d been a moment at the ball, which now seemed so long ago, when she’d thought Roland would kiss her. He hadn’t, although she’d been near breathless from anticipation.
But whatever that kiss would’ve been, she knew—knew—it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as miraculous as this one.
And it was much better than kissing a frog.
He was the one who pulled away first, and a voice in the back of her mind whispered that it was likely a smart move, since she didn’t appear to be capable of stopping. If events remained in her hands, she’d likely have him down on the ground, straddling his hardness, just so she could rub against—
With a groan, she closed her eyes on her own wanton thoughts. Ye dinnae even ken his name!
He seemed to echo the groan as he pressed his forehead against her. “I ken,” he whispered.
She was trying to get her breathing under control. “I dinnae even ken yer name.”
“Roland.”
It wasn’t the word, but the way he froze after he whispered it, that made her realize something was wrong. She forced her mind to catch up with her ears. What had he said?
Roland.
Roland?
Sucking in a startled breath, she reared back. “Roland?” she blurted.
It was the look of guilt in his eye, more than anything, which told the truth.
That, and the fact the ubiquitous tam was lying on the ground, and she could see the shape of his face clearly for the first time, even with the beard.
“Roland!” Reaching out, she ripped the eyepatch from his head, trying not to care as it snagged and pulled on his ear.
Sure enough, two perfect eyes blinked down at her, then shifted their gaze away.
She’d thought her Froggie’s eyes had been green, but here and now, shadowed by guilt, she saw they were Roland’s hazel, as changeable as he apparently was.
Pushing away from him, she scrambled to her feet. “It is ye!” she accused, as she tripped over her skirt and stumbled slightly. Righting herself, she whirled back to him. “Roland? Ye’ve been my Froggie all along?’
She’d slept against his shoulder. She’d admired his legs. She’d held his hand.
Ye kissed him too, remember?
Dear Lord in Heaven.
He rose to his feet, slower than she had.
“It’s me, Vanessa,” he admitted in a low voice.
“Why would ye do this?” she whispered, lifting shaking fingers to press against her lips, and trying to forget how good he’d tasted. “Why?”
He winced and ran his hand through his hair. “Because…I thought ye were vain and self-centered,” he finally admitted. “I thought ye were cruel and…”
Her traveling companion was Roland. Roland was her Froggie. The man who’d taught her so much about herself, who’d made her feel strong and capable and determined…and he was the man she once thought she loved.
Ye loved him for his money and his handsome face and his charming manners.
Her subconscious’s tone was surprisingly sly, and Vanessa tried to ignore what it meant. She’d thought she loved him, but the reasons had been as superficial as his opinion of her had been.
But all she said was, “I’m no’ cruel.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can ye blame me for thinking that?”
And in that moment, she understood.
She knew why he’d done this, why he’d tricked her. She remembered what she’d told him yesterday—Oh God, had it only been yesterday? Her heart had changed so much in such a short amount of time!— on the train about how she’d wanted to marry a viscount. And why it hadn’t happened.
“Because of what I said,” she whispered dully, turning away from him. “What ye heard me say about yer brother.”
It hadn’t been a question. But as she looked out over the completed dig, knowing—knowing—the sphaera was already beyond her reach, she heard him shift behind her, and mutter, “Aye.”
Vanessa straightened her spine, knowing he was watching her, and not sure how she could keep from falling apart while he watched. He’d done this to her in revenge, she knew it.
And despite the pain of knowing all the feelings from the last few days were false, she also knew she deserved it.
She cleared her throat. “And yer intentions in response to my words, milord? It was all an elaborate plan…to what?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment, but then she heard him blow out a breath. “To humiliate ye, Vanessa.”
Squeezing her eyes shut on the tears, she managed to keep her breathing from sounding like a sob. This man had just stripped her down to her very soul, making her feel better than any person ever had…and then admitted it had all been in an attempt to hurt her.
She couldn’t allow him to see how much that hurt.
There was nothing here for her anymore. The sphaera was gone, and her self-respect along with it.
Stiffly, she turned toward the curricle and the distant horse, contently munching on grass. Her carpetbag was there, and she could return to York. There was an afternoon train which would return her home in the wee morning hours. Inconvenient, yes, but she couldn’t stay here any longer.
To humiliate ye, Vanessa.
She lifted her chin, took in a slow breath, and kept her voice from shaking by sheer will alone. “It worked.”
Chapter 9
“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear—”
“Calm down, Willa, things are not—”
“Actually, Evangeline, she might be correct in her response. Things do look verra bad. I cannae believe Seonag got the crystal ball working just in time to witness that! How in the world did they get to York? That isnae in the original Number Forty-Seven.”
“Oh dear.”
“You might be right, Grisel. But, Willa dear, do try to keep yourself calm. It only looks bad because we missed out on the middle bits.”
“And because Roland has turned into a right arse—”
“Nay, Broca, he was just a bit misguided!”
“Stitch f’r naw kin bay leenerstick!”
“Thank ye, Seonag, for that. Sister, do try to remain calm, for Willa’s sake, if nothing else. Deep breaths. Good. Alright now, pass the tea, Grisel. Thank you. Now, Willa, I appreciate this is your first assignment, and you are naturally nervous about it, but what is it I—and The Book—always tell you?”
“Trust narrative causality, Evangeline.”
“That’s right. Narrative causality; say it with me. Narrative causality. Excellent, thank you—although I noticed you being less than enthusiastic, Broca.”
“Last time one of us was enthusiastic, Grisel broke the crystal ball.”
“Och, I said I was sorry!”
“And now the ball has been fixed, and Willa will be able to ensure Roland and Vanessa’s eventual Happily Ever After, right?”
“Aye, Evangeline. Even if it didnae go exactly as planned.”
“That is acceptable. Now, let us see how we can help straighten out this mess…”
* * *
Roland knew he deserved to feel like shite, so he supposed it was rather convenient he did.
When she walked away from him, he just felt…numb. If he were honest with himself, he’d have known yesterday—perhaps even earlier—that this had been a bad plan. She wasn’t the woman he’d thought she was, and she didn’t deserve to be hurt in the way he’d wanted to. He should’ve protected her.
But he hadn’t protected her from himself.
She was trying to climb into the curricle on her own, and he knew he couldn’t allow her to come to more harm. With a sigh, he brushed his palms against his kilt and followed her.
She didn’t say a damn word to him on the drive back to York but sat so her shoulder was turned away from him, clearly keeping her face tilted away. He tried several times to apologize, but each time he tried to start a conversation, she’d rebuff him. And he wasn’t sure how to say what he needed to say, so each time, he stopped trying.
They returned the curricle to the hotel, but rather than retiring to her room, Vanessa picked up her bag and the packed food neither of them had touched and began to walk. He paid the rest of their bill and hurried after her, not quite surprised to find her heading for the train station. Once there, she said nothing to him as she bought her ticket north.
The Lass Who Kissed a Frog Page 11
