Chapter 2 #2
Excellent. Perhaps, eventually, he might make her uncomfortable enough she’d go away. Go away and spread stories about how the Beast of the Oliphants really was as beastly as claimed, and also a complete arse, who insisted on scandalizing poor helpless women in his study.
Except…she wasn’t helpless, was she? She was armed with a biting wit, and a touch which could bring him to his knees if he allowed it.
And she wasn’t exactly scandalized.
In fact, her eyes were sparkling merrily as she turned to him, the lamp lifted between them.
“Well, this is some of the best-preserved needlework from the medieval period I have ever seen. The details are remarkable enough to indicate the woman who made this was a real artist.” Her lips curled up further on one side, making her seem even more approachable.
“But I think it is safe to say I will not be able to include much, if any, of Nessa Oliphant’s work in my book!
Perhaps eventually a different sort of book could be published… ”
She chuckled, and before he could agree that was necessary, she continued, saying, “I would love the chance to see the family trees you spoke of. Would that be possible? If I can find a way to include a rendition of one of her pieces—perhaps the tamer of the embraces—I would like to know how she was related to the family.”
He was already shaking his head, already stepping back, away from her. “Impossible. The research takes up entire books and is too large and delicate to be moved.”
“You said they were in the library. I am sure I will only need an hour or two, and I will wear protective gloves—”
“Nay.” He bit out the denial, the request making his stomach roil once more. “Nay, nae one goes in the library except me.”
“But—”
“Nay.”
When she flinched, he realized he’d yelled and silently cursed himself. But at least she’d gotten the message and pressed her lips tightly together.
But remembering the way she’d convinced him to change his mind last time, he stepped back again, even more out of her reach. He would not allow his resolve to falter just because she touched him.
No matter how good it had felt.
A knock on the door saved him from having to explain, and as usual, Keith didn’t bother to wait to be beckoned. The younger man stuck his head around the door—he’d put his shirt and jacket back on after their sparring session, thank God—and grinned unrepentantly.
“It’s snowing,” he said cheerfully.
Unconsciously, Lyon’s gaze flicked to the gray window, then back, before he scowled. “I ken.”
“Snowing too hard for Lysander to make it back for the lady.” His grin grew as he nodded to Bonnie. “Sorry, miss, but ye’re stuck here for the duration.”
The duration?
Both he and Bonnie moved toward the window at the same time, meeting in front of the cold glass.
She leaned forward as though she’d be able to see the ground from this height, but Lyon placed his palm against the glass.
He could tell, just from how hard it was coming down, that there’d be no travel for the rest of the day.
Or night.
“Fook.”
Raising a brow, she shot him a wry look. “It is not as bad as all that, Lyon.”
“Aye, it is,” he growled. “Ye’re stuck here.”
With me.
She just clucked and waved her free hand dismissively.
“Please do not care for my reputation. My sisters are happily married, and my mother has made it clear—by my choice to pursue independence rather than a life as a biddable wife—she wants nothing more to do with me. My reputation is well and truly ruined.”
Lyon wanted to object, but for some reason, his mind got stuck on the idea of this woman as a biddable wife. As any kind of wife.
A wife, who might sit across the table from a husband. Who might smile and tease and listen to a man’s ideas and plans and contraptions. Who might sigh and scream and moan in bed.
Who might love him.
Why would Bonnie do any of those things? Rose didnae, no’ at the end.
“Perhaps it isnae yer reputation I’m worried about,” he muttered, turning away with a scowl.
She laughed, but just as quickly, slapped her hand over her mouth. When he turned to scowl at her, he saw her cheeks pinking again.
“I am sorry,” she mumbled from behind her fingers. Then she lowered her hand, took a deep breath, and met his eyes, hers still twinkling. “I am sorry, Lyon. I should not have laughed. Your reputation is fierce, surely you know that, and for a moment, I thought…”
When she trailed off, he crossed his arms and lowered his brows. “Ye thought what?”
She wasn’t intimidated. Nay, of course not.
Instead, she shrugged. “I thought you meant allowing me to stay the night would tarnish your reputation by showing people you are not really the beast everyone thinks you are.”
Damn her and her perception. Damn him. He swallowed past the anger and confusion which threatened to choke him. “Aye, we cannae have that.”
From the door, Keith’s teasing voice called out, “So two for dinner, aye?”
Without dropping Bonnie’s gaze, Lyon growled out, “Aye.”
She gave an impertinent little curtsey. “I do hope you forgive me if I do not dress for the meal, milord. I brought no other clothing.”
And now she was stuck with him.
Had Lyon been a better man, he might’ve made a joke about his state of undress when she came in. Instead, he turned away and stalked for his desk, pretending interest in his sketches until he heard the door close behind him.
The paper in his hand crumpled in his fist.
Damn him! Damn the weather and damn Lysander!
He was trapped in this old castle, haunted by ghosts of his past, and now she was trapped here with him.
And he still wasn’t sure if he was a beast or not.
Dinner wasn’t a complete disaster.
In fact, if Lyon were being truthful with himself, it was almost…nice.
Bonnie had joked about not changing for the meal, but in truth, Lyon’s dinners were always informal. More often than not, Keith brought him a tray to his study when he’d forgotten the time, or the two men ate together in the room off the kitchens his grandfather had renovated.
But Oliphant Castle did have a formal dining room, and apparently, Keith had seen fit to use it that evening. It had taken Lyon three tries to figure out where the man had laid out the meal, and by the time he made it to the dining room, he was scowling.
Not that this was any different than usual.
“Here ye are!”
“Good evening, milord,” Keith intoned seriously, his hands clasped behind his back as he did a credible impression of an old family retainer. “Pray be seated.”
Lyon glared at the table. Bonnie was already seated—apparently, she hadn’t had any issue finding the place—at one end of the long table. And the second place setting was directly across from her.
“There?” Lyon growled at the other man.
“Yes, milord. So you can better converse with the lady.” Keith blinked comically, innocently. “Unless ye wanted me to place ye at the arse-end of the table, where the two of ye would have to yell at one another, which ye could use as an excuse no’ to talk to the poor woman?”
Since that was exactly what Lyon had meant, he just muttered, “Dinnae call me milord,” and stalked to his place setting.
As Keith poured the soup, Bonnie smiled across the table at him. Damn, in the candlelight, her big blue eyes sparkled enticingly, and her smile made her face light up.
“Did you get distracted by work, Lyon?”
“Nay, I got lost,” he barked, scooping up his spoon and plopping his other elbow on the table. Let her think he had horrible manners. “Why in the hell are we having dinner here, Keith?”
“Usually we eat downstairs near the kitchens, milady,” Keith intoned in an aside to Bonnie. He cleared his throat and placed the tureen down on the sideboard, before facing Lyon once more. “I thought ye’d be better able to impress the lady here in the dining room, Lyon, than downstairs.”
“I dinnae want to impress her,” he mumbled, before lowering his head and slurping up his soup, in an effort to hide the lie. When he realized it was a lie, he just slurped louder, hoping she’d think he was the uncultured beast everyone assumed.
Bonnie of course, ate delicately. But he was pleased to see, enthusiastically. “This is delicious! I have always loved hot squash soup in the winter.”
“It’s a miracle it’s still warm, after the trek from the kitchens,” he mumbled.
Keith ignored him. “I’ll be certain to pass yer compliments on to Mrs. Oliphant. The new cook, no’ the housekeeper.”
“Oh, you have a housekeeper?” From under lowered brows, Lyon watched Bonnie peer around Keith toward the door. “I have not seen anyone beside you.”
The younger man shrugged. “She doesnae live here. Just me and Lyon. Mrs. Oliphant comes in each morning—she left the soup and the roast for tonight warming for us—and the other Mrs. Oliphant brings her girls up as needed. Oh, and Mrs. Oliphant, who comes to get the washing twice a week.”
Bonnie merely hummed at the litany of names, as if she was used to the surplus of Mrs. Oliphants, and recognized each one. Perhaps she did.
“Well, the soup is delightful, and judging from the haste with which Lyon is inhaling it, he agrees.”
Lyon froze. Slowly, he lowered his spoon and lifted his head to see her smiling at him from under her lashes.
She was…teasing him? Him?
When was the last time someone had teased him? He couldn’t honestly recall.
He glanced at Keith in confusion, and the fact the younger man was smirking didn’t help one bit.