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

“And ye get to marry a viscount.” He winked. “Albeit one who wears a kilt.”

Chuckling, she pulled on his hands until he bent toward her. “I find yer terms acceptable, my Froggie. Now kiss me.”

“Nay, lass,” he murmured as their lips brushed. “If I’m yer frog, then ye must kiss me.”

So she did.

Epilogue

The wedding took longer to plan than Roland would’ve liked, but he had to admit it was definitely the social event of the season. Baroness Oliphant was crowing to anyone who would listen that her daughter would be a viscountess, although Roland had made it clear she wouldn’t be living with them.

Vanessa, apparently, was thrilled by that. The weeks spent preparing to make her his wife were surprisingly nice, once her mother decided to take over the planning. She insisted the wedding be held at Oliphant Castle, where everyone could see her triumph…but Roland whisked his new wife away to Blabloblal before the well-wishers had even begun pouring the champagne.

After he finished lifting Vanessa into the carriage, he turned, and was surprised to see his brothers standing there. Lyon, for once, was wearing a suit, although he looked damned uncomfortable in it. Of course, he always looked damned uncomfortable these days.

Phineas pulled Roland in for a hug, pounded his shoulder, and said, “I’m glad ye didnae manage to fook this up too badly, big brother. I always knew yer harebrained scheme to punish her was a bad idea.”

Before Roland could do more than sputter in his defense, Lyon was there. His handshake was crushing, and his expression serious. “Good work, Roland.” It was all he said, but his approval meant the world.

Since Roland couldn’t seem to make his tongue work, he just pulled them both in for another quick hug—Lyon was stiff of course—before cheerfully saluting them, and the gathering crowd, and climbing into the carriage.

As soon as the door shut behind him, a pair of small hands grabbed his lapels and yanked him forward. He ended up sprawled across the seat, with Vanessa—his wife—atop him. Her lips were everywhere, and although he’d started off chuckling, soon he was groaning in surrender.

“Love, if we continue this, we’ll no’ make it to Blabloblal.” He was going to have to have her, right there in the carriage.

“That is alright,” she gasped, shifting, so she could throw one leg over his thighs. “The journey is long.”

Humming, he agreed. It would take them several hours to reach his—their—estate, and who knew what kind of intriguing activities they could get up to in the meantime.

During the last weeks, the two of them had snuck away often enough, each time with her wearing that delightful disguise she’d donned for their adventure to York. They’d spent plenty of time talking about their future, holding hands, and sharing thoughts…but they’d found enough privacy for other things as well.

And it wasn’t as if this would be Vanessa’s first arrival at Blabloblal. She’d visited often enough to meet the staff and prepare for her official reign as a viscountess. Her smiles, and the way she was genuinely interested in the running of the place, had made the staff love her, and although her mother had tagged along on a few of the visits, he knew Vanessa was up to the challenge of running an estate like his, completely unaided.

So aye, she’d been introduced to everyone she needed to worry about impressing, and surely they wouldn’t begrudge their new mistress arriving at her new home a bit rumpled on the morning of her wedding?

Smiling, Roland shifted positions, settling himself upright against the squabs, and pulled her leg even further across his. “The journey is long,” he murmured, loving how enthusiastically she climbed atop his lap. “And I can think of any number of ways to occupy ourselves.

“Good,” she gasped, as his hands closed around her breasts. “Because that creative thinking is one of the things I adore about ye.”

“What other things do ye adore, love?” His hands were already digging at the piles of petticoats bunched between their legs, and he appreciated the way she lurched forward on her knees, helping him.

They both sighed in unison as she settled herself down, her warm dampness flush against his alarmingly aroused cock.

“I love all sorts of things about ye,” she murmured, cupping his cheek. In the light from the windows—which he’d scandalously left open as they sped through the Highlands—he could see her wicked grin. “Including the way ye listened to my suggestion to wear a kilt to our wedding.”

She’d worn a delightfully low-cut gown, and he was prepared to take advantage of that. “Aye?” he asked, as he bent to brush a kiss atop one plump breast. “I thought it was because ye liked to look at my legs.”

“That, husband, and I appreciate the easy access.”

When she reached down and closed her fingers around the hardness tenting the front of his kilt, Roland began to chuckle.

All too soon, that laughter turned to groans of desire, and when his lips found her skin, she moaned right along with him.

And he knew he’d found his perfect forever.

* * *

“Damnation, she did it again!” moaned Grisel in frustration, pounding on the table with her palm. “Ye let the thing fade to black, just as we got it working again!”

Broca shrugged, crossing her arms, as she leaned back in her chair. “I expected it. Evangeline’s always been a prude.”

Evangeline gasped, even as she tossed a tea cozy atop the crystal ball. “I am not a prude! I just respect a couple’s privacy!”

“Spoilsport then,” Broca grumbled.

“Whist nae f’r twain begrunnins!”

Seonag’s interruption caused the three arguing godmothers to turn her way, and when they did, the old woman pulled her unlit pipe from her mouth, offered them an exaggerated wink, then a firm nod.

Evangeline cleared her throat. “Yes, well… Well said, sister. Twain begrunnins indeed.”

As if she had any idea what that meant.

“I’m just relieved it all worked out,” sighed Willa, who slumped with her head in her hands. “I