Chapter 7
The morning after Lyon gifted her such joy in the library—and the wonder of his touch, his lips—Lysander returned.
Part of Bonnie was relieved to see him since the dress she’d been wearing all this time would shortly be able to stand up on its own.
She’d been changing her chemise and drawers daily, with ones a blushing Keith had delivered to her, but there was only so much to be done with a bowl of water and a towel.
But the rest of her—and it was by far the larger portion—felt like screaming with frustration when Lysander stepped into the cozy little breakfast area with a rueful grin. “I let myself in since ye’re all down here. Are those kippers?” he asked as he seated himself.
Bonnie’s heart sunk into her stomach, and she pushed her plate away, her eyes darting up to meet Lyon’s. There was a look in those hazel depths very much like regret, and she prayed he wasn’t regretting what they’d shared yesterday.
Because that kiss…?
That kiss, which hadn’t been merely a kiss, had been the most magnificent of her life.
Alright, it had been her first kiss, so perhaps that wasn’t saying much, but Bonnie knew, no matter what the rest of her life held, she’d never experience another kiss so profound, so toe-curling, so wonderful, as the one he’d given her last night.
That is unless her next kiss was with him as well.
I want to kiss ye everywhere.
She very much wanted that as well.
And all yesterday, she’d subtly tried to convince him to kiss her again.
To take her in his arms and use his fingers and tongue on her again, to bring her to that peak of pleasure so much higher than anything she’d experienced herself. She wanted to experience that again and again and again.
But, being Bonnie, subtlety wasn’t her strong suit.
The flirting and preening which came so naturally to her sister Tiffany felt false and wrong when Bonnie did it.
When she touched her neck, the way Tiffany did, hoping to draw Lyon’s attention to her bare skin, or when she batted her eyelashes at him, he asked if she was feeling well.
She didn’t know a lot about flirtation, but she suspected coming right out and asking a man to bring you to orgasm again was considered improper.
Damn it.
All yesterday, Bonnie had asked herself if she cared what was considered proper, if doing the opposite would result in another kiss from Lyon. But ultimately, she took the coward’s way and tried subtlety.
Which hadn’t worked.
But she was rewarded with a beautiful day spent in his company, so that was nice. Instead of kissing—or more—the two had spent time in the library and his study, where he avoided her eyes as he sketched the two tamest pieces of needlework, and he really was remarkably good at reproduction.
He had knelt in front of the hearth and built the fire, and she hadn’t had to pretend she wasn’t admiring his arse. Then he’d settled into one of the plush chairs with a pair of books on mechanics, while she’d darted around the library, collecting stacks of books which intrigued her.
And when she plopped into the opposite chair, another dozen unrelated tomes balanced on her lap, he looked up and finally met her eyes. Miracle of miracles, he’d smiled.
She knew she’d hold the memory of that smile in her heart as long as she held the memory of that kiss.
But now Lysander was there to take her away.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying as he served himself, “I delayed as long as possible, but the roads are completely passable now.”
Bonnie caught Lyon’s eyes, but he winced and looked away.
Did he regret the time they’d spent together? Was he looking forward to her leaving so he could get back to his normal life?
Was the wince because he wanted her gone?
“We’ve let yer mother think ye’ve been with us all this time, Bonnie.
” Lysander was enthusiastically cutting up a sausage.
“Tiffany wanted to give ye every opportunity to study Lyon’s sources.
” The somber way he said it, with no hint of teasing, as his attention was locked on breakfast, made it more of an innuendo.
“But she kenned yer mother would throw a wobbler if she kenned ye’ve been staying in Auld Oliphant Castle without a chaperone. ”
Numbly, Bonnie nodded. Aye, her mother would likely do her best to convince the world Bonnie had been compromised beyond hope, merely to force poor Lyon to marry her.
Marry Lyon.
Her chest tightened at the thought. She imagined what it would be like to spend her evenings in that library, or to go with him to the loch to bathe. She imagined running her publishing business from his study and sharing more wonderful kisses.
Sharing his bed.
He would touch her then, touch her with those beautiful hands which had brought her such pleasure for so short a time. She’d come apart in his arms, each night, because—
Nay. She hadn’t come here to marry Lyon Oliphant, and there was nothing—nothing—in his actions during the last days which conveyed he wanted to marry her.
That kiss didn’t count. She’d been doing her best to tease him after all, and to push him into doing something so delightful. He’d likely only kissed her because she was there and practically offering herself to him. Oh, and because he’d lost the chess game.
“This food is delicious!” Lysander reached for another helping. “Yer cook has certainly improved.”
“Nay, we just got a new one,” offered Keith. “Mrs. Oliphant replaced Mrs. Oliphant.”
“Of course.” Lysander glanced at Lyon, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was now glaring at his untouched food. “So…um.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Bonnie. “Will ye be ready to go after breakfast?”
Would she? Would she ever be ready to go?
She willed Lyon to look up and meet her eyes. It must’ve worked because he did.
And when he did, she pressed her lips together and tried to silently ask him the question she needed an answer to.
Lyon could see the question in her eyes and knew the answer she wanted.
She wanted him to ask her to stay. The way she’d responded to his kiss yesterday morning told him that much. She’d made herself at home in his castle over the last few days.
Nay. She’d made it a home.
They’d worked together, side-by-side, on their various pursuits.
They’d played chess in his study. They’d read together in the library, sharing interesting facts they’d learned as they leafed through each book.
She’d laughed as he tried to help her cook; the scents of their endeavors wafting around them both.
And she’d stood in his arms, feeling oh-so-very-right.
Something had happened in the last few days, something unexpected. He’d loved Rose, aye, but the way he felt about Bonnie…?
Well, it certainly wasn’t love. It couldn’t be love. He couldn’t love another woman, because then she’d be at risk. And he liked Bonnie too much to risk her future.
But…something had happened in the last few days. The connection they had, the closeness, seemed almost…fairy tale. Lyon dropped his gaze to the sausages, scowling. Perhaps there was something in the food.
He was silent for too long apparently, as Keith cleared his throat. “Lyon?”
It took a moment to gather the courage to face the disapproval he knew he’d see in the younger man’s face, but when Lyon eventually lifted his gaze, it was to see Keith exchanging a wince with Sander.
The two men might also be brothers, but they had little in common. Hell, for that matter, Keith—with his cheerful attitude and constant wit—had little in common with Lyon. But he was still his best friend.
Right now though, he could tell neither Keith nor Sander approved of Lyon’s hesitation.
Well, to hell with them! They didn’t have to live with the crippling guilt—the crippling pain—which had come after he’d failed to save Rose! He didn’t ever want to be in that situation again!
So he met Bonnie’s eyes and tamped down the guilt which rose when he saw the unspoken plea in her gaze.
“I’ll get yer manuscript together, and the sketches I made for ye.”
Her expression fell into disappointment. Lyon didn’t bother muffling his curse as he pushed away from the table and stood. Once upright, he glanced at his brothers, both of whom were looking at him as if he were an idiot, and he nodded stiffly.
Then, ignoring the way tears were gathering in Bonnie’s eyes, he turned and fled the room like a coward.
His dreams were haunted by Rose’s screams. He was already cursed. Sending Bonnie away wasn’t going to curse him any worse.
This was the right decision.
It had to be.
“I’m sorry, milady. He can be an idiot.” Keith smiled softly at her as he handed her the case with her manuscript. “He cares for ye, I ken it.”
Her lips twisted wryly as she tucked the case under one arm. “That is hard to believe, my friend, what with him sending me away like this.”
“He’ll regret it.”
Her smile turned sad. “That will not help, because the deed will be done.” Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on Keith’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hug. It was awkward, and quick, but she felt him exhale as if a decision had been made.
When they both straightened, she gave him a firm nod. “Please take care of him, Keith.”
“I promise, Bonnie.” His voice was rough, and he shoved his hands behind his back as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “And ye take care of yerself too, alright?”
“I promise. Give my regards to Mrs. Oliphant, whose soup I will remember fondly.”
His smile seemed genuine now. “I will.” Then he cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder, before stepping back.
Instinctively, Bonnie followed his gaze up the front steps of the keep. Lyon stood there, looking magnificent in his kilt and boots and jacket. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and Bonnie wasn’t at all sure how she’d be able to walk away from him.
Stifling a sigh, she turned away, stepping toward the light carriage Lysander had driven over from his estate.
He was seated on the bench, looking awkward as hell as he glanced between her and his oldest brother.
When she lifted the wooden case to him—the case which held her precious work and the sketches Lyon had made for her—he suddenly seemed to remember his duty and leaned sideways to take it from her.
There. That was out of the way and out of her hands, and only one thing remained…
When she turned back to the front steps, Keith was gone, but Lyon had suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a mere arm’s length from her. Had he rushed down because he’d thought she was leaving without a word to him?
Why was he wearing that worried expression?
This was his decision, was it not?
She took a deep breath and stepped toward him. He actually stepped back, but then seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped himself. His scowl deepened as he moved forward again.
And she tried not to be hurt, but really? He was scowling at her, as if this were somehow her fault?
Surely she’d made it clear she’d enjoyed their time together.
Well, she didn’t want him to remember her as a weeping weakling, even if that’s what she felt like right now, so she lifted her chin and tried a small smile.
It didn’t work, but at least she was trying, and that was important.
“Goodbye, Lyon,” she said softly.
And somehow, impossibly, his scowl deepened. Good heavens, he was angry, wasn’t he?
She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. Thanks to the weather, she wore her winter coat and gloves, but he was wearing only his informal jacket. Still, that was three layers of material between her skin and his.
So why could she feel his heat so clearly, so perfectly?
His opposite hand rose, reaching for her cheek, but froze, inches away. She found herself already leaning toward his hand, his touch, craving the feel of his skin against hers, one last time.
But nay. He didn’t want that.
His nostrils flared as she watched the inner battle warring behind his eyes. Then he dropped his hand and stepped back, away from her touch.
“Goodbye, Bonnie.” His voice was harsh, gruff, and so much like the Lyon she’d met when she first arrived—before he’d shared so much with her, before he’d kissed her—that her eyes filled with tears.
Trying to hide them, she turned and reached blindly for the carriage, and managed to hoist herself inside without any help. She focused on struggling to pull the blanket over her lap, and only vaguely heard Lysander cluck the team into motion.
And then she was leaving the courtyard, and Oliphant Castle, behind her. She curled her fingers around the edges of the seat to ground herself and to hold herself steady.
To keep herself from turning around and seeing the man she loved letting her go.