Chapter 11 #3
“I cannae believe we’re discussing pissing in the middle of my apology.”
That’s right, he had been apologizing, hadn’t he? “You certainly had a poor opinion of me, did you not?”
“I did,” he agreed quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“And I am sorry for giving you reason to have such a poor opinion of me. I can understand why you might have wanted to hurt me in return.”
“Never!” he gasped, pulling suddenly so she took a small step closer. “I swear to ye, Tiffany, I never wanted to hurt ye.”
“You wanted to humiliate me,” she reminded him, proud of the way she kept her voice steady.
To her surprise, he nodded in agreement.
“I did. I wanted ye to understand what yer prejudices had cost ye, but I never wanted to hurt ye beyond that. My plan was to reveal myself, and when ye begged my forgiveness for the horrible way ye’d treated me, to stick my nose in the air and saunter off, content in the knowledge of a job well done. ”
Before she could respond—not that she quite knew how to—he hurried on.
“But ye treated me kindly, even though I was a stranger to ye. No’ just that first day, but the next as well.
And then on our journey…” He lifted her hands, bringing them close enough to clasp against his chest, and the intensity in his gaze told her this hadn’t been part of his planned speech.
“I saw ye werenae haughty and self-centered, Tiffany. I saw ye cared deeply, even for those ye didnae ken, and were willing to undergo hardships for the sake of those ye loved.”
In her chest, she was certain her heart was stuttering. She’d been so certain she’d never get a chance to apologize to this man, much less tell him how she felt about him…and here he was, pouring out his feelings…to her?
“Lysander,” she whispered.
Holding both her hands in one of his, he touched her cheek gently with the other. Unlike when she’d sat in front of the mirror upstairs, she felt this touch…felt it clear to her soul.
“Tiffany, ye are a beautiful woman, aye, but yer heart is even more beautiful. I’m sorry I had to be the one to point that out to ye—and dinnae deny it.
Yer mother, the woman who is supposed to raise ye to believe in yer worth, focused entirely on yer beauty, did she no’?
But it is yer heart which makes up who ye truly are.
Yer heart makes ye loveable and loving.”
Her breath caught. Was he saying…?
“Lysander, what you did…” She hesitated, then decided she needed to say it all, here and now.
“I was hurt and embarrassed, not because of how I treated you, but because I had given you cause to make you think you needed to hurt me in return.” She shook her head.
“That was convoluted, I am sorry. I meant…” She took a deep breath and met his eyes.
“I know I deserved your trick, although I am glad you came to know my true self. But what hurt was knowing that the man I was coming to love had so thoroughly proven we could not be together.”
His eyes had widened. “Love?” he murmured.
“I thought I loved Viscount Blabloblal after only a few dances. But when you snubbed me, I realized what I felt had been infatuation, based on a charming smile and an impressive title.”
“I’m handsome too.”
“Yes, very,” she intoned solemnly. “But my Lunzie taught me love was based, not on appearances or wealth, but how a person could make me laugh, and whom I trusted. I realized I wanted more than just a handsome face. And even though I had known Lunzie for such a short time, I realized he was the sort of man I would like to spend my forever with.”
Lysander looked endearingly hesitant when he asked, “And now, Tiffany? Now that ye ken the viscount and the beggar are one and the same?”
“I think…” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think I would like the chance to love both of them. The charmer with the handsome smile, and the adventurer with the thrilling bare knees.”
“Ye think my knees are thrilling?”
She shrugged. “Most of your legs actually. And your neck.” Her gaze landed on the body part in question. “Until I met Lunzie, I had not realized a man’s neck could make me feel all warm inside. Oh, and your forearms. And lips.”
“Hell, lass! Is there any part of me ye havenae admired?” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“I did not care for your beard, milord.”
“Did ye happen to notice I shaved it off? And I’m wearing a kilt?”
“Oh yes, I noticed.” She made a show of dragging her gaze over him, although they were standing too close for it to be effective.
“And I find I do not mind you looking just a wee bit barbaric after all, milord.” Although to be truthful, he looked far more civilized than she’d guessed a man could look in a kilt. “It suits you.”
With a sound which might’ve been a growl, he pulled her flush against him. Beneath his kilt, she could feel the firm result of her admiration.
“Lass, ye tempt me to forget the rest of my purpose here.”
“I am sorry,” she murmured demurely, breathlessly, although she was anything but.
“Our little journey changed me as well, Tiffany. I realized I didnae want the beauties who thought only to charm me for my estate and title. I began to seriously consider a marriage built on mutual understanding and trust might be a better future.”
She pushed herself up on her toes. “And love?” she murmured; her lips close to his.
“Aye, and love. But no’ yet.”
With that, he tore away from her, leaving her swaying, as he stalked across the room to the mantel. As he reached to pull down a box she didn’t recognize, Tiffany’s knees finally gave up the fight, and she sank down into a nearby chair.
She’d been so close to closing her lips around his. She’d confessed her love to him, for the love of God! And he’d said…not yet?
But then he was in front of her once more, sinking to his knees and holding the wooden box in both hands. “Open it,” he commanded, and without really thinking about it, she did.
A familiar dusty old manuscript lay nestled in the velvet interior.
With shaking hands, she brushed her fingertips over velvet, almost afraid to touch the ancient vellum. “Is this what I think it is?”
“A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts. The day after we returned, I bought another ticket to York, marched myself into that dreadful auld antiquities store, and offered Brother Jimmy the price he wanted. It was still pennies compared to how badly my sister will want it.”
She was breathless as she closed the lid and took the box from his hands. “You did not have to do that, Lysander.”
“Aye, I did. I had to find a way to apologize to ye, and to show ye how much I care for ye. I love ye, Tiffany Oliphant. No’ because of yer beauty, but because of yer heart.”
“And I love you,” she whispered, leaning forward to cup his cheek. “But…there is no need to give me such a valuable gift. Just give it to Athena.”
“There ye go, thinking of others,” he scoffed. “The manuscript is fascinating, aye, but its worth is nothing compared to yer love and admiration, Tiffany. Please accept it. Ye must give it to Bonnie, who can sell it to Athena and buy her publishing house.”
Without turning away from where he knelt at her side, Tiffany placed the box beside her on the settee and cupped his other cheek. “You would do that for Bonnie?”
“I would do that for ye.” He placed his hands on her knees, pressing forward, his hazel eyes intent as they darted between hers.
“I love ye, and this was yer goal; to enable yer sister to buy her publishing house. Thus, it’s become my goal as well.
Please let me help ye, Tiffany. Because my knees are killing me. ”
He really was the most wonderful man, wasn’t he?
Tiffany pursed her lips, pretending to consider his plea, although inside her heart was racing in excitement. “And this has nothing to do with our bargain?”
“Bargain?” He rocked back and forth a little, likely to ease his knees, but his attention completely on her. “What do ye mean?”
She darted a glance at the wooden box beside her, her lips curling impishly. “You made me a bargain, remember? If you helped me reach my goal, I would grant you a kiss. Is that why you brought me the manuscript?”
He was grinning charmingly. “Did it work?”
Helping her sister had become her goal, and Lysander had made it happen. But at that moment, the dusty old manuscript wasn’t what interested her. All she knew was he loved her as she loved him, and he was oh-so-close to her.
So with a laugh, she pulled him toward her, until he was sprawled halfway across her as they fell back against the settee.
Lysander answered her with a groan, but he was smiling when his lips met hers, then his hardness settled between her thighs and a bolt of raw need surged through her.
Her own moan was loud and unrestrained as she arched against him, her legs spread wantonly.
And his lips…? His lips were as perfect as she remembered. No, more so!
Because this kiss involved caresses and moans, and the way his tongue teased hers had her grinding her pelvis against him, desperate for the pressure and the release he offered.
His hands skimmed everywhere, from the exposed skin of her throat—which made her shiver—to her breast behind what she was now realizing was an infuriatingly buttoned-up bodice.
This kiss proved what she wanted in her forever.
“Tiffany,” he growled against her skin, as his lips trailed along her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear, “I’ve wanted to do this since I first held ye in my arms.”
“Yes!” she gasped, arching her back and neck so he had better access. “Oh, Lysander, just like before, please!”
He chuckled, before swiping his tongue across her already-primed skin, causing her to shudder.
“Soon, love. Soon. We’re going to be together—”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat.
Breathing heavily, he stiffened and lifted his head.
When he did so, Tiffany had a clear view of her sister, standing in the doorway, holding a laden tea tray.
In the scurry to sit upright and straighten their clothing, Tiffany noted her sister was blushing and looking everywhere except at the embracing couple.
“I am sorry for interrupting,” Bonnie muttered, glancing over her shoulder, “but Mother has walked past the parlor door four times since I have been watching, and I had to sneak in. If I had known you were so…occupied, I would not have left— Well, I suppose you would not be so occupied at all, had I stayed.”
Breathlessly, Tiffany tried to set her coiffure and gown to rights, although she suspected it wasn’t much use. “ Well, I for one appreciate you leaving so we could be occupied.”
“Aye, verra occupied,” drawled Lysander, snagging her hands in his as he settled beside her, looking far too at ease for a man with what she knew was a raging erection. “And stop fussing. Ye look fine.”
Fine.
Slowly, Tiffany raised her gaze to his. Fine. Her whole life, she’d been more than fine—she’d been beautiful, gorgeous, stunning—but thanks to this man, she was realizing being fine was good enough. Because her worth wasn’t based on her appearance at all, was it?
She beamed at him.
From the way he was smiling at her, he understood her thoughts and approved of them.
“Congratulate us, Bonnie,” he called, without dropping his gaze from Tiffany’s.
“Yer sister has agreed to marry me.” He dropped his voice.
“Ye will, love, will ye no’? Marry me, but no’ the kind of marriage we thought we might have when we first met.
” One based on beauty and charm. “Nay, I want a marriage where we’re equals, and we understand our strengths, and aye, we’re going to have to host parties and events, but we’ll do so together, each supporting the other.
And we’ll use our influence to help those around us who need it. ”
She smiled up at him. “I would like that very much.”
“And ye get to marry a viscount.” He winked. “Albeit one who wears a kilt.”
Chuckling, she tugged on his arm, as her sister set up the tea tray.. “I find your terms acceptable, my Lunzie. Now kiss me.”
“Nay, lass,” he murmured as their lips brushed. “If I’m yer beggar, I’m begging ye to kiss me.”
So she did.