The Lass Who Kissed a Frog, Lee, Caroline [i have read the book a hundred times .txt] 📗

chin came up in challenge. “And ye played a dirty trick on me.”

He hesitated, surprised that she was calling him on his actions. “Well…aye, I suppose I did. But ye have to admit, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

To his surprise, her mulish expression faded to a grudging smile. “Aye, I suppose ye’re right. I didnae think anyone was watching, or I wouldnae have—have spoken to the frog.”

That moment of hesitation spoke volumes. “Nor kissed it, I suspect.”

Under his layer of dirt, his smile flashed. Perhaps it was the wrong response, because she flushed and turned just enough to present him with her shoulder.

“Ye are no’ supposed to be here, sir. This is my family’s private garden, and ye are trespassing.”

Her haughty tone was back, and it was almost a relief. He didn’t want to like her.

“Please, milady.” He tried his best to make his tone beseeching. “Dinnae send me away without hearing my plea.” He needed to make himself sound as pitiful as possible. “I’ve no’ eaten all day.”

With a scowl, she gestured to the well. “There’s a plump frog in there who’d roast up a treat.”

His lips twitched at her pique; amused, despite his intention not to like her. “Eat him? Are ye mad? After the gift ye bestowed on him? He is likely the luckiest frog in all of Christendom, and I cannae ruin that by eating him.” Besides, a man would have to be truly desperate to eat a frog.

Which ye are supposed to be, ye idiot.

She rolled her eyes as she turned back to him and planted her hands on her hips. “How is the poor thing lucky, sir? He just got thrown into a dark hole!”

Roland lowered his voice, then his chin. “Aye, but before that, ye kissed him. Men must throw themselves at yer feet, begging for a mere glance, or the simplest favor. And here ye go, offering an actual kiss to a reptile.”

This time, he could see the blush crawling up her neck to stain her cheeks, and he didn’t give her a chance to deny his words. “What, milady? Ye cannae deny ye are the most beautiful creature in all the Highlands. Surely ye ken that.”

Surely ye spend hours in front of yer mirror each day telling yerself that.

But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Amphibian.”

“What?”

“The frog is an amphibian, sir. No’ a reptile.”

Amphibian, reptile, who cared? How was Roland supposed to know the difference?

A little voice in the back of his mind whispered, Ye didnae expect her to ken the difference either, did ye?

But he could use that to make him seem even less desirable. With an obsequious bow, he said, “Forgive me, milady. I am no’ a man given to reading many books.” She would interpret that as he was uneducated.

But she snorted softly. “No’ many men are, I suspect.” Before he could defend the rest of his sex, she continued. “But surely ye dinnae sneak into my private garden and spy on my private conversations just to discuss taxonomy.”

“Private conversation, milady? Is that what ye call it when ye kiss a frog? Ye ken, that is how one gets warts.”

She blinked. “Is it? I had nae idea.”

Roland shrugged easily, settling on his heels, wishing the broken-down old boots he’d had his valet find for him—the poor man nearly fainted at the thought—didn’t pinch his toes quite so much. Soon, he’d be limping for real.

“I confess I dinnae ken, but that is what my auld—” He stopped himself before he said “nurse,” knowing the man as he appeared to be wouldn’t have been raised by nursemaids. “My auld mother told me that once.”

“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “And I imagine she had to tell ye such a thing to quell yer propensity for kissing frogs?”

For the second time since stepping into the garden, Roland was unable to hold back the laughter which burst from his lips. She had a sharp wit, this “angel” of his, even if she was using it to insult him.

The reminder she was insulting him caused him to sober. He had to remember why he was there and not take the time to appreciate her wit, as well as her beauty.

Why? She insulted ye as ye insulted her. Is that no’ fair?

This time, he allowed his scowl to show, even if it was his irritating internal monologue he was annoyed with. “Milady, that was no’ kind.”

“Och, well, I suppose I dinnae care if ye think me kind,” she said with a dismissive sigh as she turned back to the inn.

And he took that as the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “Why?” he barked, remembering to limp as he hurried toward her, intent on making her realize her mistake. “Because I’m dirty, poor and ugly? Ye think my opinion doesnae matter?”

“Yer opinion doesnae matter to me, sir,” she said in exasperation, turning once more, “because ye have trespassed on my privacy and teased me most cruelly. Be gone with ye.”

He tamped down the spike of guilt which had accompanied her accusations and tried to make himself look humble. Unfortunately, he did that quite satisfactorily by running into the side of the well, bruising his left hip, and causing him to bite off a curse. And when he reached for the upright post to steady himself, he missed completely, and lurched forward quite awkwardly.

“Shite! Damned peripheral vision!” The eyepatch meant he was walking around half-blind.

“Are ye alright, sir?”

Was she pitying him? Nay, he wanted her disdain, didn’t he?

Roland made a show of pushing himself upright once more—the bruised hip might actually help remind him to limp—and gave her an obsequious, if pained, bow.

“Apologies, my most beautiful lady, for offenses caused. I beg yer forgiveness.”

“I’ll be more apt to give it if ye swear to leave and never return. And”—she added, as an afterthought—“I am no’ yer lady.”

“Why could ye no’ be? Because I am ugly, poor and dirty?”

She frowned at him as she raked her gaze over him, as if surprised