Chapter 4 #2
He knew good and well there were only two footmen in the inn’s employ, and both were likely busy at that moment attending to guests. But a pitiful beggar, such as he was trying to be, wouldn’t know that, would he?
So he bowed again, trying for a more flattering manner, when he held out his hands to her. “Forgiveness, milady, please. Ye’d have a poor man beaten just for requesting alms?”
“Alms? What is this, the Middle Ages?” She scoffed. “I have no money for you. Begone.”
No money? She was wearing silk, was she not?
The thought made him bolder, and he limped closer. “Food then, milady? For a starving man?”
To his surprise, she hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder.
When she sucked her lower lip in between her teeth to worry it, Lysander’s eyes went wide at the way his body reacted to such a sight.
Of course, since one of his eyes was trapped behind a bloody annoying layer of black wool, that only caused him to wince, then blink to dispel the discomfort.
But his cock was ignoring all the goings-on in the upper part of his head apparently. And that included his brain. Because as soon as she’d started to worry that lip between those two perfect rows of pearly teeth, his lower regions decided they verra much wanted to taste it as well.
And he realized just what a bloody nuisance this thrice-damned kilt could be.
Because there wasn’t a single thing keeping his arousal from tenting the front of the plaid material.
Shite.
Her face was still in profile, and his hands were still in front of him. Before she turned back to look at him, he dropped them to cover the damning evidence of his arousal and tried to arrange his expression into mild curiosity instead of irritation at his body’s betrayal.
Luckily, she didn’t notice. However, she surprised him by finally nodding. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I will have one of Mrs. Oliphant—the cook’s—assistants see if there are any leavings to be spared from luncheon.”
His immediate response was to rebel. Leavings? Scraps? But then his brain caught up with his pride and slapped it around a bit.
Ye’re a beggar, remember? Table scraps would be a boon.
So he swallowed down his defense and bowed again. “Thank ye, milady.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected her to offer even that much.
He hadn’t expected her to still be talking to him to be honest, as foul as he was.
Deciding to press his luck, he asked, “And after? A place to rest my weary head, milady?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised when she rolled her eyes. “You cannot be asking for more charity? Food is one thing, but you cannot stay here at the inn.”
“Och, of course.” He made a show of shuffling backward, tugging at his cap. “Ye couldnae be seen with the likes of me. Scarred and dirty.”
There was just a hint of a smile in her voice when she said, “You could do with a wash or three.” When he glanced up, she raised a brow teasingly and gestured to the well. “There is plenty of water, though you will have to share your bath with the frog.”
She was…teasing him? Someone who looked like—like a barbarian? Dirty and disfigured, and dressed in what appeared to be a shepherd’s castoffs? That was…unexpected. Why wasn’t she reacting the way she was supposed to?
“And after I wash?” he bit out gruffly.
She sighed, then shook her head. “Mother would never allow you to stay at the inn without pay. After you eat, you might as well move along, stranger.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t even expected an offer of food, but he decided to press her. “It will likely be a beautiful night, and that bench looks comfortable.”
Her perfect-blue eyes widened. “You cannot stay here. This is my family’s private garden. We cannot allow strange men to sleep here. If word got out…” She shook her head, then turned to climb the three stone steps to the door.
And he knew she was right, curse her. Whether he was a viscount or a beggar, a man found sleeping there would cause a scandal which very well might ruin her future.
And he couldn’t have that on his conscience, damn her.
He was about to acquiesce and shuffle his way out of the garden when she surprised him yet again. With her hand already on the door handle, she stopped and turned halfway so he could see the graceful curve of her jaw, and her achingly beautiful nose. When had he ever considered noses beautiful?
There were noses, and then there was Tiffany’s nose. Everything about her was beautiful, even the places which shouldn’t be. Hell, her little toe was likely beautiful. Her navel would be perfect of course. Her ears were graceful. The webbing between her fingers would be magnificent. Her arse was—
Nay, dinnae think of her arse.
His cock still had not recovered from the lip-sucking incident.
His thoughts had gone so far down that lewd path, he almost forgot to listen for why she’d stopped. And her words, when she spoke, shocked him yet again.
“You cannot stay here, but there is usually space behind the stables. On a warm night like tonight, especially after you have bathed, I see no reason ye could not pass the evening in relative comfort.” She opened the door. “I will mention it to the stablemaster.”
And then she was gone.
Lysander was left staring at the closed door.
She’d offered him a place to sleep. She’d offered him food. She’d teased him and accepted his teasing with only the barest of irritation. She’d smiled at him briefly.
And he looked worse than Lyon.
He knew he looked worse because he’d tried. With a growl, he yanked the eyepatch from his face after turning away from the inn in case someone was watching. He smelled of dirt and mud, and worse, and wore a kilt like the barbarian she’d accused his brother of being.
Can ye imagine sitting across the table from that at meals, Bonnie?
She’d said those words to her sister when she hadn’t known he could hear, and they still sent a spike of disgust through him. She’d taken one look at his brother and had judged him, assuming he didn’t feel and yearn for acceptance, the same as everyone else.
She’d judged Lyon as unworthy because he wasn’t as beautiful as she was.
Lysander stared down at the dirt under his fingernails as he clenched the faux eyepatch in his fist. He’d come to her, disfigured and barbaric as she’d accused Lyon of being, and dirty as well.
He’d presented himself as poor, homeless, and desperate, certain she’d turn up her nose and repudiate him.
And when she did, his plan was to throw off his disguise, and reveal exactly who he was and why he’d tricked her.
He’d imagined her falling to her knees and begging his forgiveness, vowing to never again judge a person by the way they looked.
It was a pretty daydream, and one he’d looked forward to seeing come true.
But instead, she’d offered him solace. Food, shelter, and…and humanity. She’d spoken with him, like an equal, not like a haughty lady who thought she was a better person because she was so beautiful. And had only shown irritation when any normal woman would have.
With another growl, Lysander forced his fingers to unclench and forced his shoulders to relax.
She hadn’t done what he’d expected of her, but that didn’t mean he was wrong. Aye, she’d managed to surprise him, but he’d be prepared next time.
Tomorrow.
Aye, he wasn’t going to sleep here or even behind the inn’s stables tonight, not when there was a hot bath waiting for him back home.
His private estate was several hours’ travel to the west, but he managed the affairs of Newfincy Castle, which he still considered his actual home.
One day, perhaps when he eventually married, he’d take up year-round residence at Blabloblal.
But for now, he’d go back to his room at Newfincy, have his valet call for a hot bath, dump in some scented oils, and consider his next move.
One thing he knew for certes: he’d be back tomorrow, dressed as the beggar, and he would find a way to make her realize the error of her ways.
He vowed it.