The Lass Who Kissed a Frog

by Lee, Caroline

  “Vanessa,” he coaxed in a whisper, as he gently untangled her fingers from one another and lifted her hands in his. “Roland please.”

  Unable to quell the shiver of need which shot up her arm at his touch, she numbly nodded. “Roland.”

  He smiled again, and her knees went weak.

  “Now,” he began in a no-nonsense tone, “it is my turn to apologize to ye. Are ye prepared?” Without giving her time to answer—not that she could’ve done anything more than nod mutely—he took a deep breath and launched into what was obviously a prepared speech.

  “Vanessa Oliphant, I have done ye a grave injustice. Ye are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I also kenned ye kenned yer own appeal. I was entranced by ye at the ball—by yer beauty, and the way ye charmed me.”

  When he paused, she murmured, “Thank ye,” which clearly startled him.

  With a quick frown, he shook his head. “It was no’ a compliment. I understand how to be charming, ye recall, and I kenned the women around me were trying to charm me as well. Charm me into offering them marriage. I met ye, and…” He blew out a breath. “I wasnae thinking of marriage, no’ yet, but I was thinking, ‘Prince, here’s a beautiful woman whom ye wouldnae mind getting to ken better,’ and that’s why I called upon ye here at yer home.”

  “Ye call yerself Prince?”

  “What?”

  Her lips twitched. “When ye talk to yerself, ye call yerself Prince?”

  “Well, of course.” His brows dipped in. “It’s my name. Better than calling myself viscount— Why are we talking about this?” he blurted. “I had this apology memorized!”

  “Mea culpa,” Vanessa intoned, inclining her head regally. “Please continue.”

  He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, momentarily tightening his hold on her hand. “Where was I?”

  “I was entrancing ye at the ball, and ye called on me for tea.”

  “Och, aye. Thank ye.” His lovely hazel eyes went out of focus for a moment, as if he were reading over internal notes. His muttering confirmed it. “Beautiful…own appeal…tea— Nay, we covered that.” He blinked. “Did I get to the bit about yer being haughty and self-centered?”

  “Nay,” she said drily, “I’m certain I’d remember that.”

  “Good.” He nodded once more, cleared his throat, and launched into his speech again. “I kenned ye thought highly of yer own beauty, and having met yer mother, I could understand why. She’s the reason ye were vain, I ken that now. But when I overheard ye say those things about my brother, an entirely new vision of ye coalesced in my head.” He paused to squeeze her hands and wince apologetically. “I was certain that understanding was correct. I was certain ye were vain and self-centered, thinking yer beauty put ye above others and allowed ye to say things like that.”

  Unable to stay quiet, Vanessa pushed herself up on her toes—not quite close enough to kiss him, but close enough to cause him to blink in surprise. “Ye werenae wrong, Roland. I was vain and self-centered—”

  “Nay. Ye kenned yer beauty, but ye were also caring and loving, Vanessa.” His expression softened as his gaze caressed her face. “The verra first time ye met me as Monsieur Grenouille, ye offered me charity. I’d been so certain going to ye poor and dirty and ill-mannered and disfigured would expose the prejudices and cruelty ye’d been hiding from me in an attempt to charm me.”

  Now it was her turn to blink in confusion. “Ye thought I would…what?”

  He winced again. “I thought ye’d kick me aside, stick yer nose in the air haughtily, and perhaps piss on me on yer way to better things.”

  “It doesnae work that way.”

  “What? Ye donae think women are capable of acting that way?”

  Her lips had thinned. “Women can be cruel, aye, but we’re incapable of pissing on anything as we pass by. Have ye seen how many petticoats we must wear?”

  “I cannae believe we’re discussing pissing in the middle of my apology.”

  That’s right, he had been apologizing, hadn’t he? “Ye certainly had a poor opinion of me, did ye no’?”

  “I did,” he agreed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “And I am sorry for giving ye reason to have such a poor opinion of me. I can understand why ye might’ve wanted to hurt me in return.”

  “Never!” he gasped, pulling suddenly so she took a small step closer. “I swear to ye, Vanessa, I never wanted to hurt ye.”

  “Ye wanted to humiliate me,” she reminded him, proud of the way she kept her voice steady.

  To her surprise, he nodded in agreement. “I did. I wanted ye to understand what yer prejudices had cost ye, but I never wanted to hurt ye beyond that. My plan was to reveal myself, and when ye begged my forgiveness for the horrible way ye’d treated me, to stick my nose in the air and saunter off, content in the knowledge of a job well done.”

  Before she could respond—not that she quite knew how to—he hurried on.

  “But ye treated me kindly, even though I was a stranger to ye. No’ just that first day, but the next as well. And then on our journey…” He lifted her hands, bringing them close enough to clasp against his chest, and the intensity in his gaze told her this hadn’t been part of his planned speech. “I saw ye werenae haughty and self-centered, Vanessa. I saw ye cared deeply, even for those ye didnae ken, and were willing to undergo hardships for the sake of those ye loved.”

  In her chest, she was certain her heart was stuttering. She’d been so certain she’d never get a chance to apologize to this man, much less tell him how she felt about him…and here he was, pouring out his feelings…to her?

  “Roland,” she whispered.

  Holding both her hands in one of his, he touched her cheek gently with the other. Unlike when she’d sat in front of the mirror upstairs, she felt this touch…felt it clear to her soul.

  “Vanessa, ye are a beautiful woman, aye, but yer heart is even more beautiful. I’m sorry I had to be the one to point that out to ye—and dinnae deny it. Yer mother, the woman who is supposed to raise ye to believe in yer worth, focused entirely on yer beauty, did she no’? But it is yer heart which makes up who ye truly are. Yer heart makes ye loveable and loving.”

  Her breath caught. Was he saying…?

  “Roland, what ye did…” She hesitated, then decided she needed to say it all, here and now. “I was hurt and embarrassed, no’ because of how I treated ye, but because I’d given ye cause to make ye think ye needed to hurt me in return.” She shook her head. “That was convoluted, I’m sorry. I meant…” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I kenned I deserved yer trick, although I’m glad ye came to ken my true self. But what hurt was kenning that the man I was coming to love had so thoroughly proven we couldnae be together.”

  His eyes had widened. “Love?” he murmured.

  “I thought I loved Viscount Blabloblal after only a few dances. But when ye snubbed me, I realized what I felt had been infatuation, based on a charming smile and an impressive title.”

  “I’m handsome too.”

  “Aye, verra,” she intoned solemnly. “But my Froggie taught me love was based, no’ on appearances or wealth, but how a person could make me laugh, and whom I trusted. I realized I wanted more than just a handsome face. And even though I’d kenned Froggie for such a short time, I realized he was the sort of man I’d like to spend my forever with.”

  Roland looked endearingly hesitant when he asked, “And now, Vanessa? Now that ye ken the viscount and the frog are one and the same?”

  “I think…” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think I’d like the chance to love both of them. The charmer with the handsome smile, and the adventurer with the thrilling bare knees.”

  “Ye think my knees are thrilling?”

  She shrugged. “Most of yer legs actually. And yer neck.” Her gaze landed on the body part in question. “Until I met Froggie, I hadn’t realized a man’s neck could make me feel all warm inside. Oh, and yer forearms. And lips.”
>
  “Hell, lass! Is there any part of me ye havenae admired?” he grumbled good-naturedly.

  “I didnae care for yer beard, milord.”

  “Did ye happen to notice I shaved it off? And I’m wearing a kilt?”

  “Aye.” She made a show of dragging her gaze over him, although they were standing too close for it to be effective. “And I find I dinnae mind ye looking just a wee bit barbaric after all, milord.” Although to be truthful, he looked far more civilized than she’d guessed a man could look in a kilt. “It suits ye.”

  With a sound which might’ve been a growl, he pulled her flush against him. Beneath his kilt, she could feel the firm result of her admiration.

  “Lass, ye tempt me to forget the rest of my purpose here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured demurely, breathlessly, although she was anything but.

  “Our little journey changed me as well, Vanessa. I realized I didnae want the beauties who thought only to charm me for my estate and title. I began to seriously consider a marriage built on mutual understanding and trust might be a better future.”

  She pushed herself up on her toes. “And love?” she murmured; her lips close to his.

  “Aye, and love. But no’ yet.”

  With that, he tore away from her, leaving her swaying, as he stalked across the room to the mantel. As he reached to pull down a box she didn’t recognize, Vanessa’s knees finally gave up the fight, and she sank down into a nearby chair.

  She’d been so close to closing her lips around his. She’d confessed her love to him, for the love of God! And he’d said…not yet?

  But then he was in front of her once more, sinking to his knees and holding the wooden box in both hands. “Open it,” he commanded, and without really thinking about it, she did.

  Gold winked up at her.

  With shaking hands, she brushed her fingertips over the curved, carved surface of the sphere tucked into its protective hay bedding. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “It’s the sphaera from Fangfoss Manor’s excavation, love. The day after we returned, I bought another ticket to York, and I called upon the Earl of Fangfoss and his wife—whom, it turns out, was actually the owner of the old finishing school my sister went to, the ex-Miss Julia Twittingham.” His lips curled self-deprecatingly. “But anyhow, I explained I was a collector and had heard a golden sphaera had been found. They cared nothing for the artifacts—yer great-aunt, his mother, had been the one interested in such things—and were pleased to allow me access to the collection. I offered a fair price for the sphaera, and they accepted.”

  She was smiling rather sadly as she closed the lid and took the box from his hands. “Ye didnae have to do that, Roland.”

  “Aye, I did. I had to find a way to apologize to ye, and to show ye how much I cared for ye. I love ye, Vanessa Oliphant. No’ because of yer beauty, but because of yer heart.”

  “And I love ye,” she whispered. “But…are ye certain ye wish to give me such a valuable gift?”

  “The sphaera?” he scoffed. “Its worth is nothing compared to yer love and admiration, Vanessa. Please accept it. Ye must give it to Bonnie, who can sell it to Phin—he’s already promised ye ten times its worth, and I’ll ensure he stands by that promise—and buy her publishing house.”

  Vanessa settled the box on the little table beside her chair. “Ye would do that for Bonnie?”

  “I would do that for ye.” He took her hands in his, his hazel eyes intent as they darted between hers. “I love ye, and this was yer goal; to enable yer sister to buy her publishing house. Thus, it’s become my goal as well. Please let me help ye, Vanessa.”

  He really was the most wonderful man, wasn’t he?

  Vanessa pursed her lips, pretending to consider his plea. “And this has nothing to do with our bargain?”

  “Bargain?” His knees must be getting tired, considering they were bare against the floor, but he cocked his head to one side, his attention completely on her. “What do ye mean?”

  She darted a glance at the wooden box beside her, her lips curling impishly. “Ye made me a bargain, remember? If ye helped me reach my goal, I’d grant ye a kiss. Is that why ye brought me the sphaera?”

  He was grinning charmingly. “Did it work?”

  Helping her sister had become her goal, and Roland had made it happen. But at that moment, the sphaera wasn’t what interested her. All she knew was he loved her as she loved him, and he was oh-so-close to her.

  So she surged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing her lips to his. He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, then he was dragging them both to their feet, his arms wrapping around her back, pressing her closer.

  And his lips…? His lips were as perfect as she remembered. Nay, more so! Because this kiss involved caresses and moans, and the way his tongue teased hers had her grinding her pelvis against him, desperate for the pressure and the release he offered. His hands skimmed everywhere, from the exposed skin of her throat—which made her shiver—to her breast behind what she was now realizing was an infuriatingly buttoned-up bodice.

  This kiss proved what she wanted in her forever.

  “Vanessa,” he growled against her skin, as his lips trailed along her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear, “I’ve wanted to do this since I first held ye in my arms.”

  “Aye!” she gasped, arching her back and neck so he had better access. “Aye, Roland! Oh, please, my love!”

  He chuckled, before swiping his tongue across her already-primed skin, causing her to shudder.

  “Soon, love. Soon. We’re going to be together—”

  Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. Breathing heavily, he clasped his arms tightly around her and spun them both toward the door where Bonnie stood, holding a laden tea tray. Vaguely, while trying to remember how to get her legs to support her, Vanessa noted her sister was blushing and looking everywhere except at the embracing couple.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting,” Bonnie muttered, glancing over her shoulder, “but Mother has walked past the parlor door four times since I’ve been watching, and I had to sneak in. If I’d kenned ye were so…occupied, I wouldnae— Well, I suppose ye wouldnae be so occupied at all, had I stayed.”

  Breathlessly, Vanessa tried to set her coiffure and gown to rights, although she suspected it wasn’t much use. “I for one appreciate ye leaving so we could be occupied.”

  “Aye, verra occupied,” drawled Roland, snagging her hands in his. “And stop fussing. Ye look fine.”

  Fine.

  Slowly, Vanessa raised her gaze to his. Fine. Her whole life, she’d been more than fine—she’d been beautiful, gorgeous, stunning—but thanks to this man, she was realizing being fine was good enough. Because her worth wasn’t based on her appearance at all, was it?

  From the way he was smiling at her, he understood her thoughts and approved of them.

  “Congratulate us, Bonnie,” he called, without dropping his gaze from Vanessa’s. “Yer sister has agreed to marry me.” He dropped his voice. “Ye will, love, will ye no’? Marry me, but no’ the kind of marriage we thought we might have when we first met.” One based on beauty and charm. “Nay, I want a marriage where we’re equals, and we understand our strengths, and aye, we’re going to have to host parties and events, but we’ll do so together, each supporting the other. And we’ll use our influence to help those around us who need it.”

  She smiled up at him. “I’d like that verra much.”

  “And ye get to marry a viscount.” He winked. “Albeit one who wears a kilt.”

  Chuckling, she pulled on his hands until he bent toward her. “I find yer terms acceptable, my Froggie. Now kiss me.”

  “Nay, lass,” he murmured as their lips brushed. “If I’m yer frog, then ye must kiss me.”

  So she did.

  Epilogue

  The wedding took longer to plan than Roland would’ve liked, but he had to admit it was def
initely the social event of the season. Baroness Oliphant was crowing to anyone who would listen that her daughter would be a viscountess, although Roland had made it clear she wouldn’t be living with them.

  Vanessa, apparently, was thrilled by that. The weeks spent preparing to make her his wife were surprisingly nice, once her mother decided to take over the planning. She insisted the wedding be held at Oliphant Castle, where everyone could see her triumph…but Roland whisked his new wife away to Blabloblal before the well-wishers had even begun pouring the champagne.

  After he finished lifting Vanessa into the carriage, he turned, and was surprised to see his brothers standing there. Lyon, for once, was wearing a suit, although he looked damned uncomfortable in it. Of course, he always looked damned uncomfortable these days.

  Phineas pulled Roland in for a hug, pounded his shoulder, and said, “I’m glad ye didnae manage to fook this up too badly, big brother. I always knew yer harebrained scheme to punish her was a bad idea.”

  Before Roland could do more than sputter in his defense, Lyon was there. His handshake was crushing, and his expression serious. “Good work, Roland.” It was all he said, but his approval meant the world.

  Since Roland couldn’t seem to make his tongue work, he just pulled them both in for another quick hug—Lyon was stiff of course—before cheerfully saluting them, and the gathering crowd, and climbing into the carriage.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, a pair of small hands grabbed his lapels and yanked him forward. He ended up sprawled across the seat, with Vanessa—his wife—atop him. Her lips were everywhere, and although he’d started off chuckling, soon he was groaning in surrender.

  “Love, if we continue this, we’ll no’ make it to Blabloblal.” He was going to have to have her, right there in the carriage.

  “That is alright,” she gasped, shifting, so she could throw one leg over his thighs. “The journey is long.”

  Humming, he agreed. It would take them several hours to reach his—their—estate, and who knew what kind of intriguing activities they could get up to in the meantime.