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

people back home to learn I slept with ye—I mean, in the same room as ye.”

She was right. Roland knew she was right. He tried to keep himself from physically reacting to the thought of her sleeping with him, but it was difficult.

“Good evening, sir,” she said brightly, as they approached the young man behind the desk. “My brother and I need two rooms for tonight and tomorrow, next door to one another, so that he may protect my virtue.”

As the young man stammered and blushed and reached for his ledger, she sent Roland a sweet smile. He glowered.

“Brother?” he murmured under his breath.

“Aye, brother dear. Just give the nice man our names. I’ll let ye take charge, but just this once.”

God help him, but her teasing made his lips twitch and threaten to give himself away.

Much later, after ensuring she was secure in her room, he sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair in his own room and sipped at some brandy. He’d pulled aside one of the staff and made the request after Vanessa was out of the way, knowing she’d pester him about having the money to pay for such extravagance. Part of him felt guilty for allowing her to deplete her pin money on this adventure, when he could’ve hired a private train car and the two rooms she’d demanded at the Ritz, where they would have had hot running water, by God.

But the other part of him, the part which was growing uncomfortably hard under his kilt, admitted he liked the way she took charge, as if she knew best. As if she knew exactly what she wanted.

And part of that was the way she gave him commands, which he was learning he didn’t hate as much as he thought he would.

With a sigh, Roland dropped his hand to the tented front of his kilt and his head back against the chair. He still had no idea why they were in York, but he was realizing he was happy to be there with her, even if there were several inches of paneling between his eyes and whatever she was wearing to sleep.

Picturing her curled up in the bed next door, nice and cozy, made him groan in frustration. Would she sleep nude, or had she packed a sleeping gown? Did it matter? He could have it off her in—

Nay, lad. She’d guess who ye were then. Ye cannae make love to a virgin, especially with her calling ye Froggie.

A wry grin flashed quickly across his lips, and he admitted that was the truth. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Vanessa Oliphant, but he knew exactly how his body felt about her, and what he wanted.

For tonight though, his hand would have to do. Tomorrow, he’d get some answers.

About this adventure, and also about who she really was.

And maybe he’d even get that kiss.

Chapter 8

“If I drink another cup of tea, I’ll pop.”

“If I drink another cup, I’ll have to visit the water closet.”

“First of all, Grisel, we do not need to hear of your bodily functions at these meetings. Second of all, I’m certain none of us has missed how often you’ve visited that particular room already.”

“Well, can ye blame me? It’s such a new-fangled fancy room! At home, I just piss in a pot!”

“Ye have a pot? That’s unhygienic! I at least have a hole in the ground—”

“Sisters! Decorum, please!”

“Aye, Evangeline.”

“Thank you. Now, Willa, dear, I’m sorry to say, but I suspect you will need to drink another—”

“Hab zit! Rechurn does tat!”

“Evangeline, look! Seonag has fixed the crystal ball!”

“Thank God! I’m sick of tea.”

“Broca, you’ve done a marvelous job, but I think we can all agree we’d rather watch events unfold through the ball. Seonag, thank you for your hard work in fixing— What are you doing?”

“Whezzin put!”

“Oh, you have to slap it to make it work? Well, that is better than nothing I suppose. Gather ‘round, sisters, and let us see how far wrong poor Willa’s story has gone.”

* * *

Getting to Fangfoss Manor was simple. He wasn’t.

Although she’d had the best of intentions when it had come to this hotel, Vanessa had to admit the bed wasn’t as comfortable as she’d been hoping. Or perhaps her sleep had been interrupted by the knowledge he was sleeping right next door.

What did he look like when he slept? Did the muscles along his forehead—which always seemed to clench when he looked at her—relax? Did he snore?

Did he sleep…in the nude?

That thought in particular had kept her awake long into the night, wondering how those strong, bare legs would look tangled in the sheets of the bed. Her bed?

Her cheeks had blazed at the thought, her breaths coming closer together, as she imagined him beside her. Touching her.

Lord in Heaven, ye dinnae even ken his real name!

That little fact hadn’t seemed to matter to her body. Or rather, her arousal.

Torn between guilt and excitement, it had seemed to take forever to fall asleep, and then she’d tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. She woke early, and the circles under her eyes meant she only had to apply a little of the cosmetics she and Bonnie had devised to change her appearance.

She was downstairs, haggling with the gentleman at the front desk, her carpetbag beside her, when Froggie came downstairs.

It was impossible to think of him as anything else at this point, despite him signing the guest registry as Monsieur Grenouille. But she thought of him as Froggie, mainly because of the way he winced whenever she called him that. This morning, his shirt was clean—although she hadn’t seen him dirty since that first day, now that she thought about it—and his beard bushy.

Actually, it seemed bushier than necessary. Had he brushed it out? Why? It already hid so much of his jawline she couldn’t recognize the shape of his face. Between that and the eyepatch—

It was covering his right eye.

Vanessa frowned. Hadn’t it covered his left eye yesterday? Hmm. She tried