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

When he escorted her to their second train on their journey, he remembered to limp.

As they settled into their seats, she pulled her arm out of his hand and frowned at him. “Why are ye being so grumpy and—and—controlling?”

“Because I’m used to being in control, milady,” he growled, before realizing that was probably too much information.

But she didn’t question why a man who looked like him would be used to being in control. Instead, she just shook her head and muttered something—unflattering, most likely—as she turned to look at Scotland whizzing past.

This allowed Roland to stew, which likely wasn’t helpful.

He was used to being in control. When his mother’s father had died, he’d become Viscount Blabloblal at the young age of sixteen. His mother was already gone by then, but Father had hired the best tutors and men of business he could find until Roland was surrounded by good, honorable men who could teach him what he needed to know to run the Blabloblal estates. And they’d all looked to him.

Now, despite splitting his time between Blabloblal and Newfincy Castle, he was used to being respected and deferred to. And when he was with a lady, doubly so. He was charming; he knew it. Ladies flirted with him and were happy to allow him control.

But here and now, he wasn’t Viscount Blabloblal. And she wasn’t a lady. He was a simple man, and she was a woman on an adventure. She didn’t see any reason to let him be in charge, despite knowing she couldn’t have come on this journey alone, and it rankled.

Damnation, lad. Are ye pouting?

He absolutely was not pouting.

Ye’re definitely pouting. Buck up. It’s only a few days, and then ye can go back to swanning around in front of all the eligible maidens, letting them fall over themselves in their efforts to impress ye enough to offer for one of them.

Strangely, the thought didn’t improve his temper.

Those women—and Vanessa, the way she’d been at the ball—were trying to snare him by being who they thought he wanted. And until today, that’s what he thought he wanted. But since appearing to be someone other than a viscount, and since spending time with a lady who didn’t want to impress him, he was wondering if his tastes had changed.

Perhaps he didn’t want to marry the most beautiful woman in the land, one who could plan parties and help build his influence. He didn’t want or need influence, much less other men’s jealousy.

Maybe he wanted a wife who would show her true opinions and real self. A wife who wouldn’t pretend to be who she thought he wanted her to be.

A wife who wasn’t trying to impress him.

Ye sound as though ye’re considering marrying Vanessa again.

The thought made him frown. He wasn’t considering marrying Vanessa again. He didn’t even like her. She’d shown herself to be vain and self-centered and—

Get yer head out of yer arse and think, ye wee dobber!

Roland stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Vanessa he’d been traveling with today wasn’t vain and self-centered, was she? He’d watched her offer to help that young mother, and she gave her lunch to the beggar woman, and she spoke so passionately about helping the poor when they’d stopped in Perth mid-morning. She’d been concerned about his limp and had told him his missing eye didn’t dictate his worth.

And she’d been satisfied wearing ragged clothes and cosmetics to conceal her beauty. Nay, not just satisfied, but pleased almost, to be going on this adventure dressed like a normal woman.

Shite.

He’d been so certain he understood her, but the last few hours alone—not to mention the days before when she’d offered a stranger food and a place to rest—were changing his opinion of her.

Perhaps she wasn’t the bitch he’d thought she was.

Oh, come off it. She’s no’ a bitch, and ye ken it. She’s a sweet girl, who cares about others, and ye like her.

He didn’t want to like her. She’d said some nasty things about his brother.

She didnae ken ye were listening.

That didn’t make it any better.

True.

But he still wanted to kiss her.

Also true.

And that desire—which was quickly becoming a need—didn’t help his quandary.

“Ye’re frowning again. Is it because ye’re no’ in charge? Do ye want to be in charge?”

At her words—vaguely mocking—his head jerked up from where it had been resting against his chest. “I’m fine.” He scowled.

Her beautiful blue eyes—no amount of cosmetics or ugly caps could hide those—widened innocently. “Is it yer leg?” she whispered, falsely sympathetic. “Yer mystery ailment is bothering ye?”

Reluctantly, one corner of his lips twitched. “It’s no’ my mystery ailment.”

“So ye admit yer ailment is a mystery?”

“Verra mysterious,” he deadpanned.

“Froggie, we’re stuck together for the next two days and dinnae think I dinnae appreciate it.” She resettled herself in her seat so she wasn’t quite blocking him out anymore. “I couldnae travel alone, and I couldnae tell any Oliphants where I was going. I ken ye wear the Oliphant plaid—and ye do it well, despite how barbaric ye look—but for some reason, I trust ye no’ to tell my mother where I’ve been.” With a sigh, she shifted her gaze out the window again. “I trust ye. I hadnae expected that, but ye’ve done nothing to make me think I should doubt ye. It seems…strange that I trusted ye so quickly.”

She was right. And for his part, he hadn’t expected to realize she was different from what he’d assumed. At least not so quickly. It was almost as if…

“I dinnae believe in magic,” he snorted.

When she pursed her lips and looked at him strangely, he shrugged.

“So what were ye thinking about, pouting silently over here?”

He wasn’t about to tell her the truth, that he’d been wrong about her. So instead, he tried a charming smile. “I was thinking about our bargain. I’m owed a kiss after all.”

To his delight, she blushed and dropped her gaze to her lap, which allowed him to study her