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

around to point a long finger at Vanessa’s nose. “Yer reputation as the most desirable marriage prospect in a generation! And if word of yer folly were to somehow escape these walls, and it was discovered ye’re no’ quite as virginal as everyone thinks—”

Vanessa gasped. “But I am! We didnae do anything, I swear it!”

Nothing more than kissing. Nothing more than having her heart opened, then shattered.

Mother’s sneer told her she didn’t care for the protests. “It matters no’. If word gets out ye were alone with a man, even yer beauty couldnae save ye. And then where would I be? Left with merely Bonnie to try to marry off and better my lot in life!” She threw up her hands. “Daughters!” She wailed theatrically, as she whirled back toward the corridor to the rest of the inn. “My penance in life is daughters who cannae bring me the wealth I deserve!”

As she watched her mother stomp out of the room, muttering about beauty and men and bargains, Vanessa’s eyes clouded with tears.

Yesterday in York, Roland had said her worth was more than just her beauty. He’d said such wonderful things about her, and in that moment, Vanessa knew the truth: she’d gladly give up her beauty, if it meant she could have him.

Not as Roland, and not as Froggie, but as both. She’d thought she loved Roland, with his charm and wealth and grace and handsome face, but when he’d snubbed her, she’d realized those things alone weren’t worth loving him.

It had taken Froggie—with his coarse dress and easy-going attitude and fun-loving smile—to show her what she wanted in life. What she wanted to be, and who she wanted to be with.

Her head hurt, and her cheek throbbed in time with the ache in her heart and the heaviness of her eyes. Choking back a sob, she allowed herself to sink to the table beside her bag.

She’d failed in her reason for going to York, but she’d learned so much more. She’d learned about herself, and about him, and now she knew what she wanted.

Starting today, she’d no longer allow her mother to control her life. She would no longer rely on her beauty to make her way in the world. She’d take what Roland—nay, what Froggie had taught her, and she’d strive to make life better for those around her.

That’s what he’d said he liked about her after all: her caring nature. Well, from now on, Vanessa vowed she’d share more of that and less of her beauty.

She’d learned how, thanks to him.

Dropping her forehead to her hands, Vanessa allowed the tears to start anew.

He’d changed her life, and she couldn’t even thank him.

* * *

How could Lyon stand to live in a place like this?

Roland rested his head on the arm of the cushioned settee and scowled up at the exposed ceiling beams, darkened from centuries of smoky fires. Oliphant Castle was something out of the Dark Ages, and it was no wonder its lord had gotten a reputation as a barbarian.

Ye’re sounding like Vanessa now.

Aye, but Lyon was his brother, and he was allowed to call him a barbarian.

Because he is one.

Grunting in irritation at his own stupid rationalizations, Roland lifted his brandy.

“That stuff’ll kill ye,” growled his brother from behind him.

Lazily, Roland swung his gaze to rest on Lyon, who stood in the doorway.

Without a shirt.

Cocking a brow at his brother, Roland settled back against the settee. “Then why do ye keep it in yer study?”

Lyon grunted as he stalked across the room. “As a test.”

True to his reputation as the Beast of the Oliphants, Lyon’s words were as short as his temper. He stopped beside the nook which held the shelf and the brandy decanter, and Roland watched him stare at the liquor hard, before swiping up the crystal pitcher of cold water and pour himself a glass.

“I failed yer test then, brother,” Roland admitted, staring down at his third glass.

“Not a test for ye. For me.”

Ah.

“Where’ve ye been? I’ve been waiting.”

“Out.” Lyon rested his hip against his desk. “Why are ye here?”

Judging from the sheen of sweat across his brother’s shoulders, and the way his kilt hung low on his hips, Roland guessed he’d been sparring with his butler again. Lyon’s devotion to his exercise regimen was legendary.

And warranted, considering it had changed his life.

“I…” Sighing, Roland pushed himself upright. “I needed to speak with ye.”

“Speak then,” grunted Lyon, as he lowered himself to the floor and began to push himself up using only the muscles in his arms. “I’ll listen.”

Lyon wasn’t being rude, it was just who he was.

And Vanessa’s observations weren’t completely wrong, were they?

He found himself telling his older brother everything. Well, perhaps not everything; there was no need to explain how her scent caused his cock to harden, and how her lips were positively sinful, nor how he ached to possess her. But he explained the scheme he’d concocted with Phin’s help, and how he’d set it into motion.

And how it had been an utter success.

And an utter disaster.

“And now the lass willnae speak to ye?” Lyon growled, sitting on his arse on the worn rug atop the stone floor, with his arms resting on his knees.

“Would ye, if ye were in her position?”

“I try no’ to talk to ye now, as it is.”

Roland rolled his eyes at his brother’s attempt at humor. “And I so appreciate ye interrupting yer busy schedule of moping and beating the shite out of poor Owen.”

“What do ye want me to say, Roland?”

“I want…” Shrugging, Roland stared down at his almost-empty glass. “I guess I want advice.”

“On how to woo the lass?” Lyon rolled gracefully to his feet, the candlelight—I swear, it’s like he’s living four centuries in the past!—throwing the scars up the left side of his body in sharp shadows. “Ye want her back, I assume?”

Roland blew out a breath and met his brother’s eyes. “I do. I shouldnae have done what I did.”

Lyon shrugged. “Then tell her that.