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

well, between gazing out the window and scowling menacingly at anyone who gave Vanessa a second glance, but as the train slowed to pull into Edinburgh, he was wide awake, which allowed him to see her startle awake; an experience he was glad not to have missed.

She jerked upright, uttering an adorable, “Oh!” and only then opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, and he watched as awareness came to her features. When she glanced at him, he knew he was smiling.

“What?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Do ye always wake up that way?”

“What way?”

“Ye were upright and functioning before ye ever opened yer eyes.”

She frowned. “How should I ken if that’s normal? I’m asleep when it happens.”

“True. I should ask yer sister.”

“Ye’ll do nae such thing!” When she gasped, he realized she wouldn’t want Monsieur Grenouille talking about anything to her sister, much less about her sleeping habits.

He kept a neutral expression as he teased her. “How else would I learn the answer to my question? Is there anyone else ye regularly sleep with?”

Her second, far-more-outraged gasp caused his smile to break free, and he had to turn away from her to hide it. As the train stopped, he stood and reached for her carpetbag.

“Come along, Vanessa. We should have a half-hour to stretch our legs and get some luncheon before we have to board the next train.”

It took a moment to realize she was staring at his bare legs, and when he cleared his throat, she blushed and glanced away.

Interesting.

After they refreshed themselves—he was reluctant to let her go far without being able to keep watch over her—he offered to escort her to a gentleman who was selling meat pies from a cart.

“Nae need,” she said breezily, settling onto a bench. “I packed enough for both of us.”

His brows lifting in surprise, Roland settled beside her, as she opened her bag and began to remove wrapped sandwiches. He’d noticed the bulk in her carpetbag but had assumed it was the extra clothing he was sure she’d been unwilling to travel without.

“These are good,” he mumbled around a bit of bread and meat.

“They are.” She was daintily nibbling on her own meal. “I can say that without thanking ye because I didnae make them. I ken my skills and working in the kitchen isnae one of them.”

That was an opening he couldn’t pass up. “And what are yer skills, milady?”

“I’m no’ a lady today, remember?” She sent him a teasing look, then settled back against the bench. “I suppose though… I suppose my skills are that I am a lady.”

He snorted.

“Aye, I suppose it sounds silly to someone such as ye,” she admitted.

“Someone such as me? Crippled, poor, ugly?”

Her eyeroll contained more than a touch of exasperation. “I’ve never seen a man so obsessed with his appearance as ye, Froggie. Ye’re no’ ugly, just…”

When she trailed off, he realized he was quite interested in hearing what she had to say about him. “Just what?”

She shrugged. “The beard isnae my favorite, but once ye washed the dirt off, there’s nothing wrong with ye.”

Gesturing to his eyepatch, he scowled, the way he’d seen Lyon do on more than one occasion. “Oh really?”

Rolling her eyes again, she lifted her sandwich. “An eyepatch doesnae diminish yer worth, Froggie. By the way, I’ve noticed yer limp is better. What caused it?”

Oh, damn. He’d forgotten all about the limp.

“It comes and goes,” he mumbled, pretending to focus on his lunch, still reeling from her words.

An eyepatch doesnae diminish yer worth.

If she truly believed that, why had she said those things about Lyon?

After a moment, she blew out a breath. “When I said ye wouldnae understand, I meant as a man. Ye likely have skills I can only dream about, Froggie, but me…”

When he tilted his head enough to look at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head.

“I was raised to be a lady. No’ just sitting around and embroidering, although I do have a lovely hand at that. Nay, I was raised to run a household, and choose menus, and plan parties and events to showcase my husband’s power and influence.”

“Ye’re no’ married,” he pointed out mulishly.

“Nay, I’m no’.” Her voice was small. “I want to be though.”

And, despite knowing he couldn’t let her know who he was, Roland wanted to push her. “To whom?”

Although she wasn’t looking at him, her lips curled softly as she stared down at her meal. “There was a man I verra much wanted to marry, but I made a fool of myself, and now…” She shook her head.

The sandwich felt as if it were stuck in his throat. “How did ye make a fool of yerself?” he managed.

Vanessa shrugged. “He heard me saying something cruel, and now believes I’m a terrible person.”

“Are ye?” His voice dropped. “Did ye mean those things ye said?”

When she met his gaze, he thought he’d given himself away. He thought she was moments away from jumping to her feet and ripping the tam from his head and declaring him an imposter.

But whatever magic had clouded her vision thus far continued, and she just looked at him; a deep sadness in her eyes. And she didn’t answer.

“Please excuse me,” she finally murmured, then stood, still holding the remains of her lunch.

He watched as she crossed the platform and wondered if he needed to go after her. But before he could rise, he saw her stoop to talk to one of the perpetual beggars huddled in the shadow of one of the buildings. It was an old woman, who watched her warily, until Vanessa handed her the second half of her sandwich. Then the woman’s expression lit up, and she grasped Vanessa’s hand, shaking it, and speaking in a fervent, low tone.

Roland wished he could hear what she was saying, but he suspected he knew.

His traveling companion was far from the spoiled, self-centered bitch he’d thought her when he’d concocted his scheme.

Aye, she was still surprising him, and he didn’t know