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

“Come along, no’ milady. Ye wanted to look like a simple couple on a journey south, aye? So cozy on up to yer husband.”

Husband.

The idea of being married to a man like him would’ve made her laugh only a month ago. She’d had her heart set on the most eligible bachelor around, but then had lost her opportunity. But here was a poor man, one with wit and intelligence, and rather fine legs—

Stop looking at his knees, ye ninny.

Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm, and when a bolt of lightning completely failed to strike her down, she stepped closer and linked her arm through his.

This time, she felt a bolt of lightning alright, but a different sort. This warmth spread throughout her chest and settled lower. The reminder that, while this man might not be the sort she’d marry, she was beginning to think of him—and his legs—as very desirable indeed.

And rather than being ashamed of that, the thought made her feel…free.

She might be the most beautiful woman the Oliphants had seen in a generation—and since it was the truth, there was no harm in admitting it, aye?—but who said she had to marry someone like Roland Prince?

Well, her mother. And years of belief on Vanessa’s part. But the last few days had been curiously freeing, and had shown her Viscount Blabloblal wasn’t the only man who could be her future husband. She still wanted a husband and bairns of course, and she was wise enough to know she shouldn’t settle for a man without money to support them…but perhaps she shouldn’t be as single-minded in her purpose as she had been the majority of her life.

When I return, I’ll have to think long and hard about finding a new dream to fix my sights on.

As the train pulled to a steaming, clanking stop, he glanced over at her. “Well, mistress? Are ye ready for yer adventure?”

Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “I really think I am. I can feel myself changing already.”

His gaze slid over her, more familiar than it ought to be as he studied her features, and when he finally nodded, she thought she saw a hint of approval in his single green eye.

“Come along then.”

When they stepped up onto the train, she noticed he didn’t appear to be limping. But before she could ask, someone bumped into her from behind, and she turned to see a young mother juggling three small children.

“Sorry, missus,” she gasped, trying to contain a squirming toddler. “I’m just trying to get to our seat.”

Smiling, Vanessa pulled Mister Frog out of the path. “Certainly. Can I—we—help ye at all?”

“Nay, but ye have my thanks. Ian! Stop licking that pole! Hold yer sister’s hand and kindly keep yer finger from exploring the contents of yer nose. Nay, Jenna. Ye cannae have a lolly. Come along, both of ye. The baby’s fretful.”

Chuckling, Vanessa watched them go, then turned back to find her companion studying her. Slowly, her smile faded. “What?”

But he shook his head and stepped into the aisle once more, as the train began to puff away from the station. “Nothing.”

“That’s no’ true.” She hurried to keep up with him. “Ye were looking at me strangely.”

“Let us simply say, Miss Oliphant, that ye surprised me.”

What? How?

She wanted to ask him, but Vanessa wondered if it would be vain to ask him to speak his thoughts of her. Instead, as he pulled her—still not limping—to a pair of seats beside one another, she hissed, “I’m no’ Miss Oliphant on this journey, remember?”

“Aye, but Mrs. Frog sounds worse.” He held her hand as she slid across to her seat, and she wondered, had she been wearing gloves, if they would’ve prevented the spark of heat between them.

“Well, ye expect me to call ye Frog, do ye no’?” She tilted her head to one side as she watched the countryside begin to slide by. “Monsieur Grenouille is, perhaps, a little better,” she murmured, stifling a yawn.

He hummed and stretched his legs out as far as they would go, which wasn’t very far, thanks to the seat before them. Lowering her lashes so he couldn’t see the direction of her gaze, she studied the defined muscles of his legs.

Perhaps kilts arenae quite so barbaric as I’d assumed.

“Ye could call me Albert,” he finally said, gruffly.

She stifled another yawn with the backs of her fingers. “If it really is yer name, Froggie.”

“One of them.”

When she lifted her gaze to tease him about his names, it was to find him frowning thoughtfully at her once more.

“What?” she demanded in exasperation.

“Yer disguise is quite good. Nae one on this train will guess ye are a celebrated beauty.”

She wasn’t certain if it was praise or not, but Vanessa found herself flushing. “Thank ye. My sister and I worked late into the night to perfect it.”

Her companion nodded curtly. “It worked well.”

“I only wish I werenae so tired. I’ll miss—”

When he reached over and grabbed her hand, which she’d raised to smother another yawn, Vanessa yelped. Which, since she was mid-yawn, caused her to sort of choke, then wheeze, and by the time she was able to regain control, she realized he was holding her hand.

It was clumsy. It was strange.

It was wonderful.

Dazedly, she stared down at her thigh where their joined hands rested. He held hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, while she was stiff and awkward.

But then, without looking at her, he started to trace small circles on her palm with his thumb. Slowly, she exhaled, feeling herself relax once more as he increased the pressure. It felt so good, not just because of the little warm tingles rushing up and down her arm, but because he seemed to know exactly which muscles to rub. When he moved to the thick pad of muscle at the base of her thumb, she actually whimpered, and he glanced at her in concern.

“Does that hurt?”

“Nay.” She sighed happily.