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

It took him a moment to realize she was leaving him, and all Roland knew was he couldn’t allow that to happen. “Where are ye going?” he blurted.

She frowned at him. “To the vicar’s—”

“Nay. I mean, on yer journey.” He hurried to walk beside her, and when she glanced down at his feet—just the once—he exaggerated his limp. “Ye said ye would be gone for a few days, and ye’re off to ask the vicar’s sister to go with ye.”

To his surprise, she stopped and glanced around, as if checking to see if they might be overheard. She stepped closer to the stone front of the shop they stood before and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“I’m going to York.”

“England?” he blurted, and she rolled her eyes.

“Nay. York, Pennsylvania.”

He blinked, surprised. “Ye ken American geography?”

“Aye, I’ve read a book or two. And so have ye to ken it as well.”

Hell, he’d almost given himself away, hadn’t he? He tried for a disarming grin. “I’ve picked things up in my travels. And soon ye will be a traveler too. York is no simple jaunt.” And why in damnation was she going to York?

Her chin rose stubbornly. “After visiting Willa—although I’ll have to ensure she can keep this journey a secret, even from her brother—I’ll buy two tickets for tomorrow’s train. I ken we’ll have to change trains a few times, but I’ll no’ be gone for more than three days.”

“And yer sister cannae go with ye?”

Suddenly, she looked downright guilty, glancing around the square.

Of course. She is ashamed to be seen with someone like me.

But why would she look guilty about that?

“My mother…doesnae ken about my journey.”

Roland sucked in a breath. If her mother didn’t know, then her sister would have to stay to deflect suspicions. So Vanessa couldn’t bring anyone else in her household, lest Baroness Oliphant discover her missing. But she couldn’t travel alone.

“I’ll go,” he blurted, then winced when she turned incredulous eyes his way.

“Ye?”

He shrugged and tried to cover his gaffe. Tried to make it sound as if he weren’t desperate to sit beside her in a train for two whole days. “If ye are keeping it a secret from yer mother, then ye cannae risk anyone else in town kenning yer real purpose, aye? I am a stranger but”—his brain worked frantically to come up with arguments—“ye’ve helped me, and I’d like to help ye in return.”

Her snort of laughter was tinged with derision. “I cannae travel with ye. Ye are a stranger! I dinnae even ken yer name!”

Rather than being offended by the way she’d sneered that bit, Roland understood she spoke the truth. For all she knew, he was a dirty beggar. But suddenly, he was frantic to make her see him as trustworthy so he could go with her.

He told himself it was because, if he didn’t, he’d have to wait around three full days for her return, wearing this ridiculous beard.

“No’ kenning my name is easily remedied, milady.” He offered a slight bow. “I am”—he grasped the first word he could come up with—“Monsieur Grenouille.”

To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “Mister Frog? Aye, I should’ve expected that.”

Straightening, he tried to look hurt. “Ye would mock a man’s name, Miss Oliphant? A crippled, poor, ugly man who—”

“How do ye ken my name?” she snapped, her eyes wide, and he realized she hadn’t listened to the lesson he’d been trying to impart.

So he shrugged. “Everyone here is an Oliphant. Surely ye’ve noticed how many Mrs. Oliphants there are around? I assumed ye were also a Miss Oliphant.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded jerkily. “My name is Vanessa Oliphant.”

“Milady,” he offered again, knowing full well that, since her father was a baron, she wasn’t exactly a lady..

“I think, on this journey…” She turned and looked over the square, speaking almost to herself. “I think I should like to be just Vanessa. I’m going to borrow a different dress, and perhaps a cap, and I will just be…myself.”

It wasn’t until she glanced at him with a frown that he realized he’d snorted derisively out loud, and not just in his head, but he made a point of raking his one-eyed gaze over her. “It’ll be like trying to hide a candle under a bushel, milady.”

Instead of preening from his compliment, she rolled her eyes. “That, Mister Frog, is a good way to catch a bushel—and thus yer home—on fire. A bit of friendly advice: Dinnae set yer home on fire.”

“Och, thank ye,” he replied in seriousness. “But ye’ll need more than a different gown and a cap to hide who ye are.”

“Or maybe”—she turned to him with her chin raised—“that’s exactly what I need.”

“If ye plan on traveling to York incognito, ye’ll need a better disguise. And a traveling companion who can no’ only keep ye safe from the dangers of the road, but complements that disguise.”

Like me.

“In what way?”

“Maybe ye could rub some dirt on yer cheeks,” he offered, completely innocently, knowing full well how much cleaner he was today.

To his surprise, she glanced at his knees. “Ye seem to have some to spare. Since ye’ve bathed, I mean. Could ye no’ find any trousers? Or were gowns the only thing available at the tailor?”

He could see the teasing light in her eyes, so he drew himself up and thumped his chest. “Och, lass, this is the Oliphant plaid! A proud tradition—”

“From last century. Nay, longer! Are ye no’ aware we’re in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, sir? We have trains and flying balloons and the telegraph. Certainly ye could find some trousers?”

She was demeaning his appearance again, but it didn’t stoke the fires of Roland’s anger. For one thing, he’d thought the same thing, whenever Lyon had appeared dressed like an elderly shepherd in one of these kilts, and two…he liked the way she smiled at him.

“Aye,” he croaked. “I must look quite the barbarian.”

The teasing light in her eyes blinked out, and she looked away.