He would’ve rather his brothers ken he’d been knocked on his arse than think he was pining.
But Roland clucked his tongue. “Oh, is that all?”
And Phineas exhaled as he sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Thank God. I thought Bonnie was going to cry when I drove her away from this place, and there was nothing I could say to console her, because I assumed ye didnae care for her.”
“I—” But Lyon had the sense to cut himself off before he confessed he did care for the woman.
Roland began to pace. “And I’ve had to live with the poor lass for the last week, Lyon. She’s put on a brave front of course, but her heart has been breaking.”
“When did ye become a romantic?” Disgusted at his brothers—and himself—Lyon swallowed down the pain and pushed himself upright, resting his weight on his hands. “Or so maudlin?”
But Roland merely grinned and shrugged. “Since I fell madly in love with my wife. She’s doing fine, by the way, thank ye for asking.”
“Good,” Lyon grunted, refusing to rise to the taunt. “And why are ye here?”
“We cannae wish to see our eldest brother for nae reason?” Phineas asked from Keith’s other side, as he helped the younger man upright.
Lyon was about to snarl a negative when Roland shrugged again. “She’s gone.”
Lyon’s head whipped around fast enough to cause the ache to start again, but he didn’t care. “Who is?” he snapped, holding his breath.
“Bonnie’s gone to Inverness, and she didnae say if she’s coming back.”
Keith nudged him. “And even if she did return to Oliphant land, there’s nae way she’ll come back here. No’ after ye pushed her away.”
Good. Good. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?
So why did the thought of never seeing Bonnie again make him feel as though he’d eaten hot coals, which were now trying to burn their way out of his stomach?
He swallowed down the sour taste and tried to tell himself this was for the best.
But it wasn’t.
It couldn’t be for the best.
Because the best would be holding Bonnie in his arms forever.
Uttering a muffled curse, Lyon squeezed his eyes closed tightly.
Roland had stopped pacing, and now cleared his throat. “Da, as the laird, has some business to take care of in Inverness. Usually he’d send me, as ye ken, but with Vanessa’s health so delicate, I dinnae want to leave home.”
Delicate health was Roland’s way of saying he was wrapped around his wife’s little finger, and he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.
On his other side, Phineas shifted. “I could—”
“Nay!”
Lyon opened his eyes in time to see Roland glaring at their archeologist brother, his brows waggling.
“Nay, ye cannae go, Phin. Remember? Ye have that thing to take care of.”
“What the— Oh. That thing.” Phineas nodded quickly. “Aye, I have that thing to take care of, so I cannae go to Inverness.”
Lyon swore Keith’s cough had started as a chuckle.
With another muttered curse, he pushed himself to his feet, then had to wait for the dizziness to pass. “Just get to the point, Roland.”
His brother didn’t seem fazed by his growl. “Since I cannae go because of Vanessa, and Phin cannae go because of that thing he has to do, that just leaves ye. To go to Inverness. For Da.”
Lyon narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Dinnae think I am fooled by all this.”
Roland just shrugged, and to Lyon’s surprise, clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’re a prickly bear at times, brother, but we want ye to be happy. Da needs ye to go to Inverness, but once ye’re there, it’s up to ye if ye find Bonnie and spend more time with her.”
Nay, he would not spend more time with her. When Lyon found her, he vowed to take her in his arms once more and tell her everything, especially why he couldn’t offer her a future, despite how wonderful their pasts—and perhaps their presents—were.
She deserved that much, didn’t she?
Aye.
Still, he couldn’t allow his brothers to manipulate him so easily. “I hate ye all,” he growled, glancing at each of them in turn.
And damn them, but Roland, Phineas and Keith all broke into wide smiles. Roland patted his shoulder once more.
“We love ye too, brother.”
Chapter 7
“Lyon’s going to Inverness! Lyon’s going to Inverness!”
“Oh do shut up, Grisel! It’s no’ like this is unexpected. It’s all here in my notes. This was part of the plan, ye daft godmother!”
“Sisters, enough bickering. Broca, she’s allowed to be excited.”
“Excuse me. I have a question.”
“Go ahead, Willa dear.”
“Um…Lyon’s going to Inverness, and that’s all rather exciting, I ken, but…he’s still the Beast of the Oliphants, is he no’?”
“Is he? Does that matter to Bonnie?”
“Well, I dinnae ken, Evangeline. That’s why I asked. But it seems to me if he’s following her to live in her world, to prove he does care about her…well, how will she ken all of this?”
“She willnae! No’ until he takes his heart in his hands and confesses everything he feels for her! And until he tells her about his past and everything he’s never told her or anyone else! That’s how we ken a hero really—”
“Ye sound like a hopeless romantic, Grisel.”
“Excuse me. I am a godmother.”
“She’s right, Broca. We are godmothers, and it’s our job to be hopeless romantics.”
“No’ me. She sounds daft.”
“I’m sitting right here, Broca.”
“Are ye? Damn.”
* * *
If Bonnie was being honest with herself, she hadn’t expected to see Lyon again.
Of course, his brother was married to her sister, so presumably there’d be some events such as the christening of her niece or nephew where it would be unavoidable. But…he rarely left his castle, and it was clear he wasn’t willing to risk his normal existence for anything.
Like her.
So nay, she hadn’t planned on seeing Lyon again. If she had to seem him at some family function, she’d assumed she could just stand on the opposite side of the room from him or something.
Something which didn’t require her to look into those beautifully haunted hazel eyes, or stare at those perfect lips, and remember how it had felt to be held by him.
She certainly hadn’t expected to back out the front door of the respectable boardinghouse, where she was staying in Inverness, bidding goodbye to the kindly proprietress, and then, as soon as she turned around, run smack into his chest.
But that’s exactly what happened, and as she raised her hand to rub at her smooshed nose and met his worried gaze, her brain went blank. Completely numb. Everything stopped working actually; she simply froze in place and her mind screamed, “Whaaaaaaaa?”
“Hello, Bonnie.”
And then it all started working again, all at once, nudged into motion by that fabulously low growl of his. Her brain sped up, as did her breathing, and as for her sexual desire…well, that sped up too. Heat pooled between her legs, and her gaze went to his lips, remembering their taste.
“I’m sorry to barge into yer life like this…” he began.
“More like I barged into ye.” She tried to grin as she lowered her hand to press flat against her own chest. “What are ye doing here, Lyon?”
She’d never planned on seeing him again…
“Looking for ye.”
Oh.
But then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “I had some business to attend to in Inverness.”
Oh.
He was here on business?
Now that she looked at him, she realized he was dressed for it, in a finely tailored overcoat of dark blue and a gray scarf, the somber tones setting off his golden hair, which—
She sucke
d in a gasp, her fingers instinctively rising, only for her to remember they stood in the middle of a street in Inverness, and it wasn’t proper for her to touch him, not like this.
“Ye cut yer hair,” she whispered, not sure why she hadn’t noticed it right away. “It looks so…so stylish now.”
She didn’t miss the flush which climbed his neck and cheeks as he snatched his hat off his head, so she could see it better.
“It was Roland’s idea,” he mumbled, and she had to grin.
“And I’m sure Keith was thrilled.”
His nod was jerky. “I thought ye might like it.”
Oh, be still her traitorous heart! “Ye look verra much like a gentleman.”
Although she wasn’t certain she liked that.
“And no’ like a beast? Even with the scars?”
It was impossible to miss the note of hope in his voice, and her smile softened. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “Lyon, ye never looked like a beast. But I’ll confess”—she darted a glance at his fine trousers and shined shoes—“I miss the kilt.”
His expression turned rueful as he shifted slightly, picking up one leg and shaking it a bit. “Aye, I do as well. Trousers are…restrictive.”
She burst into laughter, remembering the exciting chess game they’d played where he’d explained he liked the “freedom” of kilts. She didn’t have to guess what he meant now.
Still chuckling, she slid her arm through his. “If yer business is complete—”
“Nay, Bonnie. It was my father’s business, and it was just an excuse to get me to Inverness. I’m here for ye.”
Oh.
Oh my.
Breathless, Bonnie had to swallow a few times to make her tongue—and her brain—start working again. “Walk with me?” she managed.
Immediately, he nodded, and they set out at a leisurely pace.
“It’s no’ quite as cold here,” Lyon murmured after a block or so. “Although still too cold to be pleasant.”
Bonnie, who’d relaxed now that she was pressed against his side, peeked up at him. “I suspect ye’d no’ be entirely comfortable anyplace away from Oliphant Castle, aye?”
“Ye’d be right,” he rumbled. “But…” It was difficult to tell, with him bundled up the way he was, but she thought he swallowed. “I had to.”
“For business?” She held her breath, realizing how much his answer mattered.
Hazel eyes cut her way. “For ye.” His tongue darted out over his lower lip as he turned once more to the street ahead of them. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Aye.” Her heart was beating faster than normal. “I stop at my favorite café before work. Would ye like to join me?”
“I would.” The fervent tone in his voice told her he wasn’t just talking about coffee and pastries, and it made her heart feel light.
The café was nearer to the publishing house than the boarding house, snuggled in a working-class neighborhood. No one here in Inverness knew that she was, technically, the daughter of a baron. All they knew for sure was her mother ran a prosperous inn, and Bonnie, the new owner of a publishing house, was a bit eccentric.
Because of course it was eccentric to want to follow her own dream or make her own way in the world, right?
As she walked with Lyon—a bit faster than a stroll because, although the sun was out, the snow hadn’t melted yet and it was still quite chilly—she pointed out some of her favorite parts of the neighborhood and waved to people she recognized.
The man at her side would one day be laird, but he didn’t seem to mind the fact she didn’t live in the lap of luxury. In fact, although he kept his hat pulled low and his face turned toward her so his scars weren’t as visible to others, he nodded politely to the people they passed.
He listened to her as she talked about her time in Inverness, which she’d started to do just as a nervous way to fill the silence, but shortly, they fell into the easy camaraderie they’d shared at Oliphant Castle, where she’d felt comfortable talking to him about all sorts of things, and he’d seemed genuinely interested, just as he did now.
“I’m excited to show ye the publishing house, Lyon. It’s an old building, in a row of old buildings, and I’d love yer suggestions on how to improve the quality.”
“I dinnae ken I’m the man—”
She scoffed. “Ye are one of the smartest men I ken. And ye ken all about machines and mechanics in a way I cannae comprehend. Listening to ye talk that evening in yer library, it’s obvious ye ken more about printing presses than I do.”
“But ye’re the owner.”
“I am, and I understand how it works, but I have a foreman for the actual printing. I’ve been devoting myself to finding new clients.” She shrugged. “Truthfully, I need new clients, because I havenae been able to afford to keep the presses running on only the few commissions we get. It’s just me and my foreman right now, and a rickety old building full of dusty bales of paper and a few presses a century old.”
Lyons’s brows went up as they rounded the corner and saw the café ahead of them. “A century?”
“Aye, Grimm and Sons was once a respected house, but the man I bought it from—Mr. Grimm—was the younger of the two sons, and he was ready to retire and go live with his grandchildren. This is no’ a modern publishing house.”
The noise he made, as his breath huffed out from him and formed a cloud in front of his mouth, might’ve been a laugh, were he the kind of man to laugh.
Bonnie didn’t mind that he wasn’t, because he was here.
When they reached the café, he held the door for her and the next few minutes were a flurry of removing their outerwear, making small talk about how cozy and warm it was inside, and ordering their coffees and pastries. But soon enough, they were settled at a small table in front of the window, where they could watch passersby hurrying through their busy lives.
But neither Bonnie nor Lyon were particularly interested in them.
Her back was ramrod straight as she sat with her hands in her lap, fingers gripping one another, waiting for him to speak. Not even her delicious looking pastry, when it arrived, could distract her from the ache in her stomach as she thought about how he’d followed her to Inverness.
Surely that was a good sign, aye?
Lyon, for his part, spent the time studying his coffee with far more interest than it necessitated.
Just when she wondered if she needed to find a way to start the conversation, he took a deep breath and finally—finally—met her eyes. There was so much emotion in their hazel depths—worry, confusion, hopelessness—she wasn’t sure which to address first.
“Bonnie, I told ye I came to Inverness on business, but that was just the excuse my family needed to kick me out of the castle. I’m really here because—”
When he cut himself off, sounding as if he might be choking, Bonnie realized she was leaning forward. “Aye?” she whispered.
But he shook his head, his gaze finding the window and studying the shop on the other side of the street as if it were most fascinating. When he swallowed, she saw the long column of his throat flex and wondered what he would taste like there.
Likely perfectly wonderful, ye ninny. Just like the rest of him.
Well, aye. She wouldn’t mind tasting the rest of him either.
He swallowed again, his coffee and pastry untouched, and she saw his fingers flex against the white tablecloth. Finally, he asked in a low voice, “Ye didnae want to leave Oliphant Castle, did ye?”
It was a candid question, and she knew the least she could do was grant him the same courtesy. “Nay. I enjoyed being with ye.”
I enjoyed being part of yer life.
He blinked, but his gaze didn’t waver from the distraction across the street. “And I ye, but…”
It was the heartbreak she heard in his voice which told her what the problem was. That, and the fact his hand had now curled into a fist, which looked wrong against the lace tablecloth.
Lyon Pr
ince wasn’t the beast everyone assumed. He was a broken, hurt man who had hidden himself away.
She reached across the table and covered his fist with her hand. “Ye dinnae think yerself worthy of love,” she finished for him in a whisper.
Now he turned to meet her gaze, and she almost cried aloud at the sight of the pain in his eyes.
“Ye’re wrong.”
“Nay, ye’re wrong, Lyon.” She squeezed his hand as she continued fervently. “Yer reputation is wrong, and ye’re even more wrong if ye believe it. Ye’re no’ a beast. Ye’ve been wounded, aye, but ye’ve shown so much courage and determination to overcome it. Ye take care of yer body, and ye dinnae drink or overeat, or indulge in any of the vices a man in yer position might. Ye show more strength in yer little finger—and I dinnae mean physical strength, ye daft man—than others do in their whole lives.”
“None of that has anything to do with what I deserve, Bonnie.”
“Then tell me.”
To her surprise, his hand twisted under hers until his fingers were twined with her own.
“Do ye ken how I—” Using his other hand, he gestured half-heartedly to his ruined cheek and neck. “How this happened?”
She shook her head mutely, and he took a deep breath.
“I’d like to tell you.”
Her heart sped up, and she tightened her hold on him briefly. “I’d like to hear it from ye.”
He nodded once, then took a deep breath and pulled his hand out from under hers. She tried not to feel bereft, and when he gripped his cup with both hands, she realized it was only because he felt uncomfortable.
“Rose and I were married when we were quite young. We were both determined to be good spouses, though we didnae have much in common.”
As he began, Bonnie felt herself exhale, relaxing slightly against the back of the chair behind her. Not because she wanted to be more comfortable, but because she knew what was coming and was bracing herself.
“Rose was a painter, as ye ken. No’ watercolors, which is common for young ladies, but oil painting, which is almost a science. I loved watching the way her canvas could blend and shift right before my eyes, and she used her fingers as often as the brushes. As I told ye before, she’d asked for a private space where she could lock everyone else out and suggested the auld stables.”
The Lass Who Loved a Beast Page 9