His Beauty (The Outrageous Oliphants #5)
Chapter 1
Bonnie Oliphant eyed the snow-filled clouds hanging ponderously low on the horizon. “Are you certain your brother will not mind this intrusion?”
“Lyon? No’ at all.” Sitting beside her on the curricle’s bench, the reins held loosely in his fingers, her brother-in-law Lysander, Viscount Blabloblal, lied with a straight face. “He’ll be pleased to see ye.”
She managed not to snort at the falsehood. “So he knows we are coming?”
Lysander shifted on the hard bench, his booted foot knocking into the precious case which contained her manuscript. “He’ll be pleased to see ye,” he repeated.
“Ah.” That answered her question. “So he does not know we are coming. You did not mention it to him?”
Not that she could blame him.
His brother, Lyon Oliphant, heir to Laird Oliphant, held a far more impressive title: The Beast of the Oliphants.
The sobriquet was based more on his habit of snarling curt orders at people rather than his appearance, but that wasn’t any better truthfully.
Bonnie had only seen the man a few times up close during last summer’s house party, and even she—who took no stock in appearances—had been shocked at how horribly the fire had ravaged his face and neck.
Of course, she’d been shocked by a few other things about him as well.
Beside her, Lysander cleared his throat. “He kens I’m coming for a visit, and I may have told him I was bringing a friend.”
“Ah,” she repeated.
Well, she supposed she should at least be flattered Lysander considered her a friend. After all, he and her sister Tiffany had been instrumental in fulfilling Bonnie’s dream. “I suppose I might even be considered family as well?”
The noise Lysander made was close to the snort she’d been tempted to make earlier. When she glanced at him, he cut her a knowing look before focusing on the road ahead. “I sincerely doubt Lyon considers ye family, Bonnibelle.”
“Bonnie,” she corrected absent-mindedly, wondering what was wrong with her that Lyon wouldn’t wish to claim her as family.
“Bonnie then.” He cleared his throat. “And how goes the publishing business, sister?”
She sighed, remembering a fortnight before, when she’d visited Blabloblal to learn her sister’s good news about the baby, and how she’d discussed her non-existent business with Lysander then.
“Just about the same as the last time we spoke. I am pleased Mr. Grimm finished off the last of his contracts before selling to me, of course, but that means I have no current clients, and I have not had luck finding more.”
“That is a shame,” he murmured sympathetically.
“I am beginning to suspect that my desire to publish books for and by women might be a silly goal, and I should focus on something simpler in order to pay the rent on the building. At least I own the presses outright, thanks to you and Tiffany, even if they are out-of-date.”
The weight of that debt—given as a gift, but still hanging over her shoulder—reminded Bonnie daily that she had to succeed in the publishing world. If she didn’t, her sister’s good deed would’ve been for nothing.
She was startled from her moping when he nudged her familiarly with his shoulder. When she looked over at him, he shot her a grin. “Ye’ll be fine, Bonnie. After all, ye’re a strong, independent woman, who isnae afraid of working hard and bucking social trends, aye?”
“If I was not,” she said drily, “I would be scandalized at the thought of sitting alone with you in an open carriage where anyone could see us getting up to mischief.”
“Not that there’ll be any hanking or panking. Are ye warm enough?”
Not really, what with those menacing storm clouds, but they were almost to the old Oliphant Castle, so she shrugged. “I will survive. Do not offer to warm me, alright?”
Lysander burst into laughter. “I wouldnae dream of it, my dear lady. Though I care for ye as a sister-in-law and a fellow scholar, I wouldnae risk my wife’s ire, even were we in imminent danger.
” He sent her a wink. “But considering the ancestral home of the Oliphants—and Lyon’s current lair—is looming just ahead, we will no’ reach such a dire situation.
Soon, we’ll both be warm enough, and ye’ll have access to the history and paintings ye need for yer book. ”
Her stomach gave a little flutter at the thought of being so close to her goal. Which, she had to remind herself, was the collection of paintings Lyon Oliphant guarded so jealously, not the man himself. “I do hope I am able to convince him to share them with me.”
Lysander winced as he guided the horses up the slope to the crumbling outer wall of the bailey.
“He is no’ inclined to show the oil paintings.
But I’ve seen them and can tell ye that Rose Oliphant was one of the best painters the Highlands have ever seen.
It’s only a shame she died before her work could reach the renown it deserves. ”
“Well, if I am able to convince your brother to share, I will reproduce them in a fine binding and share them with the world. I believe they would be a beautiful complement to my work on the history of the area.”
“Oh, most definitely.” There was no one manning the ancient portcullis—did that thing even still work?—as they drove into the courtyard. “I am excited to finally be able to read yer completed manuscript.”
Fondly, she patted Lysander’s arm. “I will have to dedicate it to you, in thanks for your help finding all the sources. The last of which I hope to find here.”
This was said in a distracted murmur as they passed a burned-out building tucked along one of the outer walls.
Her fingers curled in until her fist was resting uncomfortably on his forearm, and she snatched it away, her attention on the ruins.
It was rumored that Lyon Oliphant’s wife had died in a fire which had given him his scars.
Was the heap of burned rubble, now covered in a dusting of snow which did little to hide its menace, where it had happened?
She had twisted in her seat, her attention still on the remains of what must’ve been a stable, when Lysander halted the team in front of the stairs leading up to the keep. He hurried to help her down, and she tilted her head back to stare up at the imposing old edifice.
“I do hope your brother will agree to help me.”
Lysander was nodding as he helped her down, then hurried her up the stairs to the old landing. “I’m sure Lyon will be thrilled to welcome ye to Oliphant Castle.”
She was just as certain the reclusive man wouldn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask if she could take a peek at his collection.
At the door, Lysander pounded on a door knocker which looked as if it had been added only within the last generation or two, and Bonnie continued to study the structure.
She knew the castle had been built in the medieval period, so it was in remarkable condition, despite its initial dilapidated appearance.
The fact it was still standing, let alone inhabitable, told her it had been well-maintained.
But there likely is not hot running water.
She’d become accustomed to that luxury while staying at her brother-in-law’s home.
A cold wind swept the courtyard just as the door was finally pulled open, and she was met with a surprisingly young man wearing a friendly smile, dozens of freckles, cloths wrapped around his hands, and trousers.
And nothing else.
Bonnie averted her eyes.
“Hello, Keith. We’re here to see Lyon. Dinnae try to tell me he’s no’ home, because—”
The young man—pugilist? Butler?—chanted along with Lysander, “Where else would he be?”
Still smiling, Keith pulled the door open. “Well, come in then. He’s no’ expecting ye, but why would he? He’s in his study. Need me to show ye the way?”
“I remember,” Lysander intoned wryly. “Ye should put on some clothes before ye scare the respectable folk.”
Rather than being made uncomfortable, the young man’s grin turned cheeky, and he tipped an imaginary hat to Bonnie, who was determinedly not looking below the freckles sprinkled liberally across his cheeks. “Plus, I’ll freeze. Good luck, Sander. Ma’am.”
And then he turned and started for the rear of the house, whistling as he began to unwrap the pugilism cloths.
Bonnie was about to ask about him—what kind of servant addressed a guest by a nickname like that?—but as Lysander led her into the foyer, she realized she was, in fact, standing in a foyer.
And Keith had, indeed, headed off toward the back of the house…not “medieval ruin.”
Someone had renovated the interior of this building—at least this level—to a remarkable standard. It wasn’t standard architecture of course, but as they passed a cozy parlor, Bonnie could see it was completely usable.
Then Lysander led her up a set of stairs, through a door, up another set of stairs, and spread out to her right was what must have once been the medieval great hall.
Someone in the last hundred years had made an effort to restore it, clearly, but the empty grand hearths still dominated the room, and the stone floor was covered with faded rugs and no furniture.
This cavernous space obviously wasn’t being used, and Bonnie couldn’t blame Lysander’s brother. The only thing she could imagine it’d be good for these days would be as a ballroom, and even then, it would be a beast to heat and light.
If she lived here, she’d wall it off and ignore it, since it was huge and empty, and would suck up so much heat.
You do not live here. Kindly remember that before you begin to redecorate.
Right. Right.
She was here to make a good impression so Lyon Oliphant would share his resources with her.
Up the stairs, they entered a much cozier hallway with closed doors off to each side. Lysander led her unerringly to the far end where he knocked on the door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.
Bonnie followed him into what had to be a gentleman’s study, as evidenced by the modern furniture, the shelves of identical ledgers, and the large wooden desk. And just as soon as she could look at the rest of the room, she was certain she’d be very impressed.