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

to his heart’s content. She really was beautiful, even with the cosmetics.

“I trust ye, Froggie, but I cannae kiss ye,” she whispered.

His rebuttal was immediate. “Yet. When I help ye complete yer mission, then ye’ll owe me a kiss.”

“Indeed.” In her lap, her fingers twined together, and he resisted the urge to reach over and cover her hands with one of his. “But a gentleman wouldnae force me to—”

“I’m no’ a gentleman, and ye’re no’ a lady, remember?”

She was silent for a long moment before she nodded. “I’m glad ye’re no’ a gentleman, Froggie. If ye were…”

When she trailed off, he realized he was holding his breath, and that caused him to scowl again. Why should it matter to him what she thought of him?

And why would the thought of being unable to kiss her make him so angry?

“Where are we going anyhow?” he blurted, trying to distract himself, as much as her.

She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, then straightened her shoulders and glanced at him again, before turning her attention out the window. “Fangfoss Manor. It’s an estate, which once belonged to my great-aunt, outside of York. There’s…something I need to find there.”

“Do ye ken what it is?”

“I do.” Blue eyes flashed once in his direction; a little dip visible between her brows.

“And do ye ken how mysterious that sounds that ye willnae tell me what it is we’re looking for?”

A smile seemed to tug almost reluctantly at the corners of her lips. “Aye. Probably.”

“Probably ye will tell me?”

“Probably I ken how mysterious that sounds,” she clarified teasingly.

He rolled his eyes, which was damn uncomfortable under the stupid eyepatch. Grumbling, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to resist the urge to scratch underneath the patch. “Well, we still have hours to go before we reach York, so if ye’re no’ going to tell me what it is we’re looking for, how about telling me about yer great-aunt?”

That conversation led to questions about her family and her life at The Oliphant Inn. He was impressed she didn’t say anything outright negative about her mother, but he could hear the subtext in her stories. Actually, the more she spoke about her mother, the more he realized the baroness was responsible for Vanessa’s inflated opinion of her worth because of her beauty.

But even though she knew she was beautiful and believed—thanks to her mother—that fact made her more important than others, she didn’t seem to believe people were less worthy because they were ugly or malformed. Her response to him and his eyepatch had proven that.

So can I stop wearing the damn thing?

Nay, because if he did, she’d realize his deception. As it was, there were a few times during the afternoon, sitting close enough their shoulders occasionally touched—that he wondered if she’d guessed his identity. There were times when she’d look at him strangely, or when she’d brush her fingers against his sleeve, or when she’d laugh enchantingly…and he wondered if she knew who he was and was trying to charm him again.

But she said nothing to indicate she knew, and he had to assume this was just her normal personality. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

In fact, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her in general. The woman he’d gotten to know over the last few days was pleasant and sweet and cared about others. She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she thought, or to take control, or to stand up for herself or others.

She was a woman he’d enjoyed being with and talking to, and he didn’t feel as if he had to watch his words. Although he hadn’t told her any personal information, he’d made her laugh more than a few times by teasing her about kisses and frogs and warts.

And he liked her.

But every time he felt himself relax around her, the voice in the back of his mind would remind him of the things she’d said about Lyon, and he’d get that sour feeling in his stomach, which had nothing to do with the other ways his body was responding to her.

They reached York late, and she was yawning as he scooped up her carpetbag and offered his arm. She took it wearily and didn’t even comment on the fact he’d remembered to limp.

But when they stepped from the station, and he turned them toward the Ritz, she tugged at his arm and pointed to a much more modest hotel nearby. “This will be fine for just the two nights.”

Frowning, he allowed her to pull him in that direction. “Ye dinnae want to stay at the Ritz?”

“I cannae afford two rooms at the Ritz, Froggie. I can afford two rooms here.”

“I told ye I’d protect ye. How can I do that from a separate room?”

In the light of the streetlamps, her eyes widened in surprise. “Ye think to”—she glanced around, then lowered her voice and her chin as she leaned toward him—“to share a room with me?”

“It’s no’ like I’m asking to sleep on yer pillow and eat from yer plate, milady. If we book separate rooms, especially at an establishment like this, it’ll be sending a message that ye’re available.”

Her chin rose defiantly. “It’ll send the message I can take care of myself. Besides, if we stay together in one room, everyone will assume we’re…ye ken…married or something.”

That sour taste rose up his throat again as they reached the front of the hotel. “Och, and we cannae have people thinking someone like ye would be married to the likes of me, eh?”

She shot him a sharp glance. “Ye said ye’d protect me, and that includes my reputation, Froggie.”

“It’ll ruin yer reputation to be seen with a one-eyed—”

“And people think I’m obsessed with my appearance!” Vanessa huffed as she rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the front desk. “I dinnae care what ye look like, Froggie. I’m concerned about the fact ye’re my chaperone, and it would ruin my reputation were