Chapter 2
“What in the hell was that all about?”
Lysander had just returned from escorting the ladies out, gratefully depositing them with the butler, when his sister jumped down his throat. “Pardon?”
Athena wasn’t buying his innocent act. “Ye were the one who insisted we invite the Oliphant ladies to tea, Lysander! By the saints, I have never met a more distasteful old lady,” she added with a shudder as she sank into one of the abandoned chairs.
“Did ye hear the way she lit into her daughter like that? When she was the one at fault?”
“Her daughter is equally to blame, I’m certain,” Lysander said stiffly, as he stalked across the room.
“How could ye say that? Miss Tiffany was quieter than usual, aye, but perfectly polite and—”
Lysander interrupted her with a snort when he reached the drinks cabinet. “Tiffany Oliphant is far from quiet and polite. She is as much a viper as her mother.”
“Then why would ye insist on inviting them to tea?” Athena groaned and rubbed her temples. “I have enjoyed Tiffany’s company when we have met at few house party events we happened to be attending, but I assume ye have a reason. Bonnie is a kind and—"
“Miss Bonnie is no’ interesting to me,” Lysander growled, as he poured enough whisky to cover the bottom of the glass.
“But Tiffany is?”
In order to avoid answering his sister, Lysander tossed back the liquor, holding it against his tongue for a moment to relish the flavor—and the burn—before swallowing.
“Lysander, ye do no’ have to answer, but I would no’ mind kenning why I had to spend my afternoon in such awkward straits. Ye ken I do no’ like to leave Newfincy—and Callan—if I can help avoid it.”
Staring down at the empty glass, Lysander knew his sister had done him a favor, and was owed an explanation. “There was a time I thought Tiffany was the woman for me, Athena. Circumstances have since changed, and I realize I was wrong.”
“So ye invited them today to…what? To be certain?”
“Something like that, aye.” He needed another drink. “She’s beautiful, but vain and self-centered. She thinks her beauty makes her better than everyone else.”
His sister was silent for a moment, then Lysander heard the sounds of her shifting position. “For what it is worth, I have no’ seen that side of her. Aye, she is beautiful, and can be flighty, but she has never seemed—all those things ye said.”
“Nay, she’s good at seeming,” Lysander bit out, reaching for the decanter again. “She seems to be delightful and sweet and flirtatious.” His knuckles tightened around the bottle’s neck. “And then ye hear her real opinions about things.”
“Was she the lass ye danced with at the Midsummer Masquerade?” his sister asked. “Ye ken I did no’ stay long, but I remember ye dancing with a vision in pink.”
This whisky burned even more. “Aye,” Lysander gasped out when he was able to.
And Athena tsked, suddenly beside him, reaching for the decanter. “I am no’ going to ask how ye formed this opinion of her, because what I saw at the ball was a charming man who was verra much intrigued by a beautiful lass. Give me that, there is nae need to get drunk this early in the day.”
“It’s almost evening.”
“Aye, and I will be leaving soon to dine with Da, so ye are just going to sit here by yerself and drink as the sun sets?” Athena scoffed as she settled the decanter back into place. “Pitiful.”
Scowling, Lysander turned away from his sister, wondering if he ought to be ashamed.
Wondering if he ought to be ashamed over the fact he wasn’t ashamed.
“Come along.” Athena gripped his shoulder once, briefly, before dropping her arm and turning toward the door. “Ye can escort me to the stables. Ye can ride with me back to Newfincy, and get drunk there, with us to watch over ye, instead of alone here in our hostess’s salon.”
“Why no’?” muttered Lysander under his breath. “Da has the better whisky.”
“Oh, excellent. I am pleased to ken ye think spending time with me is almost as good as drinking yerself into a stupor.”
Lysander snorted at his sister’s sarcasm, then sighed as he settled his hat atop his head, waited for Athena to settle her riding cloak, and then they both stepped out into the late afternoon sun. “Should I apologize then? For being so morose?”
“Aye, and for insisting I be present for that farce of a polite gathering.” Athena shot him a knowing look. “But Miss Tiffany is the one ye should be apologizing to for yer rudeness this afternoon.”
“She can rot before I’ll apologize for my natural reaction to her words. Ye didnae hear what she said about Lyon.”
“Ah.”
That was all Athena said, and really, it was enough.
Their older brother, who would one day be Laird Oliphant, had never been the friendliest of men. But Lysander remembered him as fiercely protective and loyal, with a biting sense of humor he only occasionally displayed.
There had been one Hogmanay celebration when seventeen-year-old Lyon had kept Lysander laughing so hard with his dry observations of the guests, that Lysander almost pissed himself. But few people saw that side of him.
Aye, he’d always been a hard man to get to know, and after the fire and his wife’s death, he refused to allow anyone in.
Lysander shook his head as Athena called for their horses to be saddled. Lyon truly had become the Beast of the Oliphants, as the Edinburgh gossips had taken to calling him. He rarely left the old Oliphant Castle, and when Lysander visited him, he saw only a hollow shell of anger and bitterness.
It was heart-breaking, but the man was his brother.
To hear him spoken of so poorly, and from a lady as beautiful as Tiffany Oliphant, had turned Lysander’s stomach.
Oh, she hadn’t known he could hear her words, which made it worse in so many ways. The insulting things she’d said about Lyon—“hideous,” “brutal,” “barbaric”—had been how she’d truly felt. She’d called Lyon a barbarian and worse.
Can you imagine having to sit across the table from—from that at meals? Or worse, listen to him talk— Do you think he can talk, or does he just grunt? And letting those hands touch you…
Lysander didn’t think he’d ever forget the way his stomach had felt when he’d heard her voice—the voice he’d been dreaming about since the ball—utter such insults.
And it was then that the desire for revenge had been born.
He’d been sitting in the family’s parlor at the inn and had turned to his new brother, Max, to tell him about the lesson he planned on teaching Tiffany.
But the ladies had interrupted them, and soon after they were served tea—by the serving lass Max had been accidentally courting, actually—and after Max excused himself, Lysander realized he couldn’t stomach such company any longer.
But now he was ready to set his plan into motion.
The brothers didn’t speak again until they reached the stables. It was Athena who broke the silence.
“So she is beautiful on the outside.”
“But corrupted and spiteful at her core,” Lysander bit out.
“And ye needed to see her today to remind yerself of that?”
Lysander nodded to the groom who brought out his horse, but spoke to his sister. “Nay. I needed to see her today to remind her of how much she wants me.”
Athena raised her brow. “Full of yerself, are ye?”
“I’m a viscount.” Lysander shrugged and patted his mount, then moved to check the saddle cinch.
“I suppose I should be grateful. There’s no’ many second sons who can claim a title such as that, but thanks to our mother’s father, I do.
And anyone with half a brain can tell Tiffany is grasping for a title. ”
“So ye think she is trying to impress ye so ye will ask her to marry ye?”
There’d been a moment, right before her mother had dragged her away from the ball, when Lysander had considered it.
He’d never wanted for female companionship, but there had been something about Tiffany which had reached into his gut and tugged; something visceral and primal which had wanted to claim her as his.
Those perfect blue eyes, that perfect smile…
He’d called her his angel and had meant it.
Whenever she touched him—and today had been no exception—or when he caught her scent, his cock reminded him she was exactly the sort of woman he wanted to call his for the rest of their lives.
He’d only danced with her a few times, but that had been enough. His feelings for her had been almost…magical.
Thank the saints he’d learned what kind of woman she really was before he’d yoked himself to her for all their days.
But how to explain that to Athena, who had accepted the groom’s help into the saddle, but sat astride in her typical fashion, eschewing propriety now that her reputation had been ruined.
“I think…she’s interested in money and influence, and she kens she’s beautiful enough to get them, but no’ important enough—or wealthy enough—to search for them elsewhere. I’m the most eligible bachelor around, no offense to our brothers.”
“They are no’ here to be offended,” Athena said dryly as she nudged her horse into motion. “But dinnae forget handsome. The two of ye make quite the pair.”
“Aye, and that is the problem. Lyon is an Earl’s heir, and his wife will one day—no’ for many years, God willing—have all the power and influence she can stand. But Tiffany dismissed him as unworthy of her because of his appearance.”
When he glanced over at his sister, Athena was frowning thoughtfully. “Then I suppose it is just as well ye will no’ have anything more to do with her.”
“I didnae say that.” If things went well, he’d have plenty to do with her, but she wouldn’t like it.
“It is well-kenned that the females of the family are far more intelligent than their brothers.” She raised a brow. “I do not like it when ye scheme.”
“Well, my scheming sister, I cannae say ye’d approve of this plan.”
“We will no’ ken until ye tell me.”
Was she genuinely curious?