But even though she knew she was beautiful and believed—thanks to her mother—that fact made her more important than others, she didn’t seem to believe people were less worthy because they were ugly or malformed. Her response to him and his eyepatch had proven that.
So can I stop wearing the damn thing?
Nay, because if he did, she’d realize his deception. As it was, there were a few times during the afternoon, sitting close enough their shoulders occasionally touched—that he wondered if she’d guessed his identity. There were times when she’d look at him strangely, or when she’d brush her fingers against his sleeve, or when she’d laugh enchantingly…and he wondered if she knew who he was and was trying to charm him again.
But she said nothing to indicate she knew, and he had to assume this was just her normal personality. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
In fact, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her in general. The woman he’d gotten to know over the last few days was pleasant and sweet and cared about others. She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she thought, or to take control, or to stand up for herself or others.
She was a woman he’d enjoyed being with and talking to, and he didn’t feel as if he had to watch his words. Although he hadn’t told her any personal information, he’d made her laugh more than a few times by teasing her about kisses and frogs and warts.
And he liked her.
But every time he felt himself relax around her, the voice in the back of his mind would remind him of the things she’d said about Lyon, and he’d get that sour feeling in his stomach, which had nothing to do with the other ways his body was responding to her.
They reached York late, and she was yawning as he scooped up her carpetbag and offered his arm. She took it wearily and didn’t even comment on the fact he’d remembered to limp.
But when they stepped from the station, and he turned them toward the Ritz, she tugged at his arm and pointed to a much more modest hotel nearby. “This will be fine for just the two nights.”
Frowning, he allowed her to pull him in that direction. “Ye dinnae want to stay at the Ritz?”
“I cannae afford two rooms at the Ritz, Froggie. I can afford two rooms here.”
“I told ye I’d protect ye. How can I do that from a separate room?”
In the light of the streetlamps, her eyes widened in surprise. “Ye think to”—she glanced around, then lowered her voice and her chin as she leaned toward him—“to share a room with me?”
“It’s no’ like I’m asking to sleep on yer pillow and eat from yer plate, milady. If we book separate rooms, especially at an establishment like this, it’ll be sending a message that ye’re available.”
Her chin rose defiantly. “It’ll send the message I can take care of myself. Besides, if we stay together in one room, everyone will assume we’re…ye ken…married or something.”
That sour taste rose up his throat again as they reached the front of the hotel. “Och, and we cannae have people thinking someone like ye would be married to the likes of me, eh?”
She shot him a sharp glance. “Ye said ye’d protect me, and that includes my reputation, Froggie.”
“It’ll ruin yer reputation to be seen with a one-eyed—”
“And people think I’m obsessed with my appearance!” Vanessa huffed as she rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the front desk. “I dinnae care what ye look like, Froggie. I’m concerned about the fact ye’re my chaperone, and it would ruin my reputation were people back home to learn I slept with ye—I mean, in the same room as ye.”
She was right. Roland knew she was right. He tried to keep himself from physically reacting to the thought of her sleeping with him, but it was difficult.
“Good evening, sir,” she said brightly, as they approached the young man behind the desk. “My brother and I need two rooms for tonight and tomorrow, next door to one another, so that he may protect my virtue.”
As the young man stammered and blushed and reached for his ledger, she sent Roland a sweet smile. He glowered.
“Brother?” he murmured under his breath.
“Aye, brother dear. Just give the nice man our names. I’ll let ye take charge, but just this once.”
God help him, but her teasing made his lips twitch and threaten to give himself away.
Much later, after ensuring she was secure in her room, he sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair in his own room and sipped at some brandy. He’d pulled aside one of the staff and made the request after Vanessa was out of the way, knowing she’d pester him about having the money to pay for such extravagance. Part of him felt guilty for allowing her to deplete her pin money on this adventure, when he could’ve hired a private train car and the two rooms she’d demanded at the Ritz, where they would have had hot running water, by God.
But the other part of him, the part which was growing uncomfortably hard under his kilt, admitted he liked the way she took charge, as if she knew best. As if she knew exactly what she wanted.
And part of that was the way she gave him commands, which he was learning he didn’t hate as much as he thought he would.
With a sigh, Roland dropped his hand to the tented front of his kilt and his head back against the chair. He still had no idea why they were in York, but he was realizing he was happy to be there with her, even if there were several inches of paneling between his eyes and whatever she was wearing to sleep.
Picturing her curled up in the bed next door, nice and cozy, made him groan in frustration. Would she sleep nude, or had she packed a sleeping gown? Did it matter? He could have it off her in—
Nay, lad. She’d guess who ye were then. Ye cannae make love to a virgin, especially with her calling ye Froggie.
A wry grin flashed quickly across his lips, and he admitted that was the truth. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Vanessa Oliphant, but he knew exactly how his body felt about her, and what he wanted.
For tonight though, his hand would have to do. Tomorrow, he’d get some answers.
About this adventure, and also about who she really was.
And maybe he’d even get that kiss.
Chapter 8
“If I drink another cup of tea, I’ll pop.”
“If I drink another cup, I’ll have to visit the water closet.”
“First of all, Grisel, we do not need to hear of your bodily functions at these meetings. Second of all, I’m certain none of us has missed how often you’ve visited that particular room already.”
“Well, can ye blame me? It’s such a new-fangled fancy room! At home, I just piss in a pot!”
“Ye have a pot? That’s unhygienic! I at least have a hole in the ground—”
“Sisters! Decorum, please!”
“Aye, Evangeline.”
“Thank you. Now, Willa, dear, I’m sorry to say, but I suspect you will need to drink another—”
“Hab zit! Rechurn does tat!”
“Evangeline, look! Seonag has fixed the crystal ball!”
“Thank God! I’m sick of tea.”
“Broca, you’ve done a marvelous job, but I think we can all agree we’d rather watch events unfold through the ball. Seonag, thank you for your hard work in fixing— What are you doing?”
“Whezzin put!”
“Oh, you have to slap it to make it work? Well, that is better than nothing I suppose. Gather ‘round, sisters, and let us see how far wrong poor Willa’s story has gone.”
* * *
Getting to Fangfoss Manor was simple. He wasn’t.
Although she’d had the best of intentions when it had come to this hotel, Vanessa had to admit the bed wasn’t as comfortable as she’d been hoping. Or perhaps her sleep had been interrupted by the knowledge he was sleeping right next door.
What did he look like when he slept? Did the muscles along his forehead—which always seemed to clench when he looked at her—relax? Did he snore?
Did he sleep…in the nude?
That thought in particular had
kept her awake long into the night, wondering how those strong, bare legs would look tangled in the sheets of the bed. Her bed?
Her cheeks had blazed at the thought, her breaths coming closer together, as she imagined him beside her. Touching her.
Lord in Heaven, ye dinnae even ken his real name!
That little fact hadn’t seemed to matter to her body. Or rather, her arousal.
Torn between guilt and excitement, it had seemed to take forever to fall asleep, and then she’d tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. She woke early, and the circles under her eyes meant she only had to apply a little of the cosmetics she and Bonnie had devised to change her appearance.
She was downstairs, haggling with the gentleman at the front desk, her carpetbag beside her, when Froggie came downstairs.
It was impossible to think of him as anything else at this point, despite him signing the guest registry as Monsieur Grenouille. But she thought of him as Froggie, mainly because of the way he winced whenever she called him that. This morning, his shirt was clean—although she hadn’t seen him dirty since that first day, now that she thought about it—and his beard bushy.
Actually, it seemed bushier than necessary. Had he brushed it out? Why? It already hid so much of his jawline she couldn’t recognize the shape of his face. Between that and the eyepatch—
It was covering his right eye.
Vanessa frowned. Hadn’t it covered his left eye yesterday? Hmm. She tried to remember but couldn’t. Remembering how irritated he’d been yesterday morning when she’d asked, she kept her question tucked behind her teeth.
“Good morning, milady,” he murmured when he reached her side.
His voice sent little shivers down her spine, and she tamped down on the urge to blush and stammer, remembering the direction of her thoughts last night.
He’s just a man. One ye’ve trusted to get ye this far, but there can be nothing between ye.
Her destiny was…
What?
To return to The Oliphant Inn and allow Mother to make an advantageous marriage for her? To a wealthy man? A man who wasn’t Froggie?
Hmm.
“The lads in the stables have already hitched up the curricle for ye, miss. The cook sent out packed meals for yer outing.”
Nodding vaguely in thanks, Vanessa stooped to pick up her bag, but wasn’t entirely surprised to learn Froggie had gotten there first. Her hand closed around his on the handle, and the sensation reminded her of how it had felt to twine her fingers through his yesterday afternoon.
He glanced up as he straightened and sent her an easy smile behind that beard. “Thank ye for arranging transport, sister,” he teased.
Swallowing, she tucked her hand through his offered arm and allowed him to lead her to the yard, where a man was preparing their curricle. Was it her imagination, or did Froggie’s hands linger on her waist as he lifted her in?
She settled down and reached for the reins, just as he swung first her bag, then himself, into the small conveyance. It rocked on its two big wheels, and she was glad it would be easy to handle. She’d never before driven a vehicle and had been nervous about the thought of a larger carriage, but to her surprise, he took the reins from her hands. When she startled and tightened her grip on them, it resulted in a small tug of war.
“Did ye want to drive?” he drawled.
“I— What? I assumed…”
“That I dinnae ken how to?”
Well, why would someone like him know how to handle a curricle any better than she did?
Perhaps he saw the question in her face because his easy-going grin faded. “Perhaps I’ve worked as a groom, or spent time as a horse thief,” he said lightly, as he turned forward once more. When he flicked the reins, the horse sprang into motion, and he settled his elbows on his bare knees.
She resisted the urge to look at those knees.
“I— I doubt ye’re a horse thief.”
A green flash under his lashes told her he’d glanced her way, and one corner of his lips curled slightly. “I suppose I should be flattered.”
“Aye.” It was a gorgeous day—warm and sunny, and just the perfect amount of a gentle breeze blowing—and she tilted her head back with a smile, not caring what Mother would say about freckles or sun damage. “At least, I dinnae think ye a horse thief.”
It was said so drily, she wasn’t surprised by his snort of laughter, which made her grin as well.
Or perhaps she was grinning because the morning was beautiful, she was on her way to find the golden sphere for her sister, and she was with…him.
Fangfoss Manor was less than an hour from York, and the roads were perfect. Or perhaps it was just because Vanessa was feeling so excited. Their conversation was easy, pointing out landmarks and nature, and sharing stories about other trips to York—she was surprised to learn he’d been this far south before.
But all too soon, they reached their destination.
“Nay, dinnae go up the main drive,” she cautioned him, pointed off into the distance. “We need to go there, over that hill, away from the house.”
He frowned, even as he followed her directions. “I dinnae understand. Are these people no’ yer relatives?”
The current earl would be her father’s cousin, but Vanessa wasn’t interested in seeing him again, not today. “We cannae, no’ if we’re to fetch the artifact and return home in time.”
“The artifact, eh?” He didn’t say anything further but followed her directions as she led them unerringly to the location where she’d remembered the Roman archaeological dig. But when they reached the spot, the feeling of accomplishment—who knew she had such a good sense of direction—didn’t help the hollow feeling in her stomach.
“Stop here,” she whispered, looking around the small clearing, which didn’t look anything like it had the last time she’d been there.
The pile of dirt behind which she’d found the sphaera would have been over there, with the dig stretching to the north. But now that she sat in the middle of it, she could tell the excavations had continued long after she’d left. There were still trenches dug into the ground, and some stretched to cover the area she’d been so certain would’ve remained untouched.
Had the golden ball already been dug up?
Beside her, he was wrapping the reins properly. “If I’m no’ mistaken, this looks like an archaeological excavation.”
Dully, she nodded. “It is. It was.”
“And we’ve come all this way…for what? For something which was found in the dig?”
“Nay.” On her lap, her fingers twisted together in worry. “To dig something up ourselves,” she whispered.
When his warm hand covered hers, she startled, but immediately relaxed and latched onto him gratefully. “What’s wrong, Vanessa?”
She swallowed. “When I was here as a girl, I saw it.”
“The thing ye want to dig out of the ground?”
Nodding, she glanced around the clearing. “Aye, but now I’m afraid…”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Of what?”
“It was over there.” She nodded to the south. “I remember those trees being behind me when I discovered it. But the excavation extends that far now.”
Briefly, he squeezed her hand, then cleared his throat and began to swing himself out of the curricle. “Well, let us begin our search. I’ll see to the horse while ye find us some digging implements or…”
He was still speaking as he reached up and wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her out of the vehicle. And when her feet touched the ground, he didn’t release her. Instead, they stood, chests almost touching, with the curricle at her back. She tilted her head back to stare into his green eye and was surprised to see a sort of longing there.
“Froggie?” she whispered, not at all teasingly.
“Ye’re verra…”
When he trailed off, she nodded in understanding. “Beautiful, aye.”
“Nay.” He winced. “I mean, aye
, of course ye’re beautiful, and ye ken it, but…”
When his voice dropped, and he leaned even closer, Vanessa felt her heart beating double time. His lips were inches from hers, and his scent tickled her nose in the most intriguing way.
“Aye?” she whispered, breathlessly.
When he swallowed, she watched his throat and realized she’d never before looked at a man’s throat the way she looked at his. Never before looked at a man the way she looked at him. Had Roland’s throat been quite so intriguing, buttoned up behind those proper neckties? And why was she comparing Roland to the man who currently held her?
Because Roland was the man ye were supposed to marry, but the more ye ken Froggie, the more ye question what ye want.
Aye.
His hand rose, his fingertips brushing her cheek, as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Ye, Vanessa, are no’ just beautiful. I ken ye think that is where yer worth lies, but ye have much more worth than that. Ye’re strong and capable, and surprisingly kind.”
Her gaze darted back to his eye. “Why is that surprising?”
He shrugged. “A woman as beautiful as ye, also being kind? No’ just kind, but caring and open-hearted, and looking for ways to help others…”
Her lips, which had been parted in anticipation, began to draw into a frown as she settled back on her heels. “I’m trying no’ to be offended by that, Froggie.”
Behind his bushy beard, his grin flashed once. “Good. Because it’s me admitting I was wrong about ye.” His gaze turned speculative as it roamed over her face. “I find, to my surprise, I want to kiss ye more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss a woman before.”
And just like that, Vanessa was straining toward him again. “I’d like…”
She wasn’t certain what she’d like, but knew it involved him.
So when he stepped backward, nodding firmly, she felt a loss she couldn’t even explain.
The Lass Who Kissed a Frog Page 10