Chapter 7 #2
Perhaps he didn’t want to marry the most beautiful woman in the land, one who could plan parties and help build his influence. He didn’t want or need influence, much less other men’s jealousy.
Maybe he wanted a wife who would show her true opinions and real self. A wife who wouldn’t pretend to be who she thought he wanted her to be.
A wife who wasn’t trying to impress him.
Ye sound as though ye’re considering marrying Tiffany again.
The thought made him frown. He wasn’t considering marrying Tiffany again. He didn’t even like her. She’d shown herself to be vain and self-centered and—
Get yer head out of yer arse and think, ye wee dobber!
Lysander stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Tiffany he’d been traveling with today wasn’t vain and self-centered, was she?
He’d watched her offer to help that young mother, and she gave her lunch to the beggar woman, and she spoke so passionately about helping the poor when they’d stopped in Perth mid-morning.
She’d been concerned about his limp and had told him his missing eye didn’t dictate his worth.
And she’d been satisfied wearing ragged clothes and cosmetics to conceal her beauty. Nay, not just satisfied, but pleased almost, to be going on this adventure dressed like a normal woman.
Shite.
He’d been so certain he understood her, but the last few hours alone—not to mention the days before when she’d offered a stranger food and a place to rest—were changing his opinion of her.
Perhaps she wasn’t the bitch he’d thought she was.
Oh, come off it. She’s no’ a bitch, and ye ken it. She’s a sweet girl, who cares about others, and ye like her.
He didn’t want to like her. She’d said some nasty things about his brother.
She didnae ken ye were listening.
That didn’t make it any better.
True.
But he still wanted to kiss her.
Also true.
And that desire—which was quickly becoming a need—didn’t help his quandary.
“You are frowning again. Is it because you are not in charge? Do you want to be in charge?”
At her words—vaguely mocking—his head jerked up from where it had been resting against his chest. “I’m fine.” He scowled.
Her beautiful blue eyes—no amount of cosmetics or ugly caps could hide those—widened innocently. “Is it your leg?” she whispered, falsely sympathetic. “Your mystery ailment is bothering you?”
Reluctantly, one corner of his lips twitched. “It’s no’ my mystery ailment.”
“So you admit your ailment is a mystery?”
“Verra mysterious,” he deadpanned.
“Lunzie, we are stuck together for the next two days and do not think I fail to appreciate it.” She resettled herself in her seat so she wasn’t quite blocking him out anymore.
“God forbid I could travel alone, and I could not tell any Oliphants where I was going. I know you wear the Oliphant plaid—and you do it well, despite how barbaric you look—but for some reason, I trust you not to tell my mother where I have been.” With a sigh, she shifted her gaze out the window again.
“I trust you. I had not expected that, but you have done nothing to make me think I should doubt you. It seems…strange that I trusted you so quickly.”
She was right. And for his part, he hadn’t expected to realize she was different from what he’d assumed. At least not so quickly. It was almost as if…
“I dinnae believe in magic,” he snorted.
When she pursed her lips and looked at him strangely, he shrugged.
“So what were you thinking about, pouting silently over here?”
He wasn’t about to tell her the truth, that he’d been wrong about her. So instead, he tried a charming smile. “I was thinking about our bargain. I’m owed a kiss after all.”
To his delight, she blushed and dropped her gaze to her lap, which allowed him to study her to his heart’s content. She really was beautiful, even with the cosmetics.
“I trust you, Lunzie, but I cannot kiss you,” she whispered.
His rebuttal was immediate. “Yet. When I help ye complete yer mission, then ye’ll owe me a kiss.”
“Indeed.” In her lap, her fingers twined together, and he resisted the urge to reach over and cover her hands with one of his. “But a gentleman would not force me to—”
“I’m no’ a gentleman, and ye’re no’ a lady, remember?”
She was silent for a long moment before she nodded. “I am glad you are not a gentleman, Lunzie. If you were…”
When she trailed off, he realized he was holding his breath, and that caused him to scowl again. Why should it matter to him what she thought of him?
And why would the thought of being unable to kiss her make him so angry?
“Where are we going anyhow?” he blurted, trying to distract himself, as much as her.
She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, then straightened her shoulders and glanced at him again, before turning her attention out the window.
“The Curios Cabinet in York. It was an old, rundown antiquities shop near my great-aunt’s home.
When we visited, Bonnie and I used to like to chat with the proprietor—he was a jolly old man with bad eyesight.
Bonnie would scour the book selection for something new, and I would read to him. ”
“Ye’d read to the proprietor?” Lysander’s brows had raised.
“He said the words were all blurry for him, and I did not mind. I remember there being something important in the back room, and I am hoping it is still there.”
“Do ye ken what it is?”
“I do.” Blue eyes flashed once in his direction; a little dip visible between her brows.
“And do ye ken how mysterious that sounds that ye willnae tell me what it is we’re looking for?”
A smile seemed to tug almost reluctantly at the corners of her lips. “Probably.”
“Probably ye will tell me?”
“Probably I know how mysterious that sounds,” she clarified teasingly.
He rolled his eyes, which was damn uncomfortable under the stupid eyepatch.
Grumbling, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to resist the urge to scratch underneath the patch.
“Well, we still have hours to go before we reach York, so if ye’re no’ going to tell me what it is we’re looking for, how about telling me about yer great-aunt? ”
That conversation led to questions about her family and her life at The Oliphant Inn.
He was impressed she didn’t say anything outright negative about her mother, but he could hear the subtext in her stories.
Actually, the more she spoke about her mother, the more he realized the baroness was responsible for Tiffany’s inflated opinion of her worth because of her beauty.
But even though she knew she was beautiful and believed—thanks to her mother—that fact made her more important than others, she didn’t seem to believe people were less worthy because they were ugly or malformed. Her response to him and his eyepatch had proven that.
So can I stop wearing the damn thing?
Nay, because if he did, she’d realize his deception.
As it was, there were a few times during the afternoon, sitting close enough their shoulders occasionally touched—that he wondered if she’d guessed his identity.
There were times when she’d look at him strangely, or when she’d brush her fingers against his sleeve, or when she’d laugh enchantingly…
and he wondered if she knew who he was and was trying to charm him again.
But she said nothing to indicate she knew, and he had to assume this was just her normal personality. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
In fact, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her in general. The woman he’d gotten to know over the last few days was pleasant and sweet and cared about others. She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she thought, or to take control, or to stand up for herself or others.
She was a woman he’d enjoyed being with and talking to, and he didn’t feel as if he had to watch his words. Although he hadn’t told her any personal information, he’d made her laugh more than a few times by teasing her about kisses and frogs and warts.
And he liked her.
But every time he felt himself relax around her, the voice in the back of his mind would remind him of the things she’d said about Lyon, and he’d get that sour feeling in his stomach, which had nothing to do with the other ways his body was responding to her.
They reached York late in the afternoon, and she yawned, then apologized as he scooped up her carpetbag and offered his arm. She took it wearily and didn’t even comment on the fact he’d remembered to limp.
But when he turned them toward the hotels, she tightened her hold on his arm. “Could we—I mean, The Curios Cabinet is only a few blocks in that direction. Would you mind terribly if I popped in to see if the items I remember are still available?”
Lysander frowned. They were both tired from their day of travel, and it would make more sense to order a bath and prepare for dinner. But she was looking so hopeful, and he had to admit that he could admire her determination.
“I’m no’ letting ye go gallivanting around York by yerself,” he growled, and when she suddenly beamed at him, realized he’d fallen into her trap, and sighed. “Fine, we’ll go gallivanting around York together. But first we’re dropping the bags off at a hotel.”
“Yes, milord.” She inclined her head dutifully. “Your wish is my command, milord. Lead the way, milord.”
He snorted and turned them toward the Ritz, but she tugged at his arm and pointed to a much more modest hotel nearby. “This will be fine for just the two nights.”
Frowning, he allowed her to pull him in that direction. “Ye dinnae want to stay at the Ritz?”
“I cannot afford two rooms at the Ritz, Lunzie. I can afford two rooms here.”
“I told ye I’d protect ye. How can I do that from a separate room?”
In the light of the waning afternoon sun, her eyes widened in surprise. “You think to”—she glanced around, then lowered her voice and her chin as she leaned toward him—“to share a room with me?”
“It’s no’ like I’m asking to sleep on yer pillow and eat from yer plate, milady. If we book separate rooms, especially at an establishment like this, it’ll be sending a message that ye’re available.”
Her chin rose defiantly. “It will send the message I can take care of myself. Besides, if we stay together in one room, everyone will assume we are…you know…married or something.”
That sour taste rose up his throat again as they reached the front of the hotel. “Och, and we cannae have people thinking someone like ye would be married to the likes of me, eh?”
She shot him a sharp glance. “You said you would protect me, and that includes my reputation, Lunzie.”
“It’ll ruin yer reputation to be seen with a one-eyed—”
She threw up her hands in surrender. “And people think I am obsessed with my appearance!” Tiffany huffed as she rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the front desk and hissed at him under her breath, “I do not care what you look like, Lunzie. I am concerned about the fact you are my chaperone, and it would ruin my reputation were people back home to learn I slept with you—I mean, in the same room as you.”
She was right. Lysander 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 afternoon, 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 Lysander a sweet smile. He glowered.
“Brother?” he murmured under his breath.
“Aye, brother dear. Just give the nice man our names. I will let you take charge, but just this once.”
God help him, but her teasing made his lips twitch and threaten to give himself away.
It was time to admit it: He cared for Miss Tiffany Oliphant.