The Lass Who Kissed a Frog by Lee, Caroline (bookreader txt) 📕

herself to her feet on wobbly knees, already shaking her head. “I am the one who owes ye an apology. I ken what ye heard me say right here in this room. I was speaking to Bonnie, out in the corridor, and although I didnae intend my words to be heard by anyone else, ye did, and I am so sorry.”

He’d looked as if he’d intended to interrupt, but at her words, he’d slowly closed his mouth. Now, he cocked his head. “Ye are sorry I overheard the things ye said about Lyon?”

“Nay, I am sorry I said them.” Her hands gripped one another in front of her, but she didn’t look away. If she didn’t say this now, she might never have the nerve again. “Yer brother has been through much and deserves my understanding, no’ my scorn. I insulted his appearance, which was beyond shallow of me, and I pointed out flaws which are likely a result of his loss.”

To her surprise, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. Once there—close enough to touch, if he gave her any indication he wanted that—he took a deep breath. She did her best not to drop her eyes to watch his chest expand, but it was difficult with him being such a well-built man.

“Thank ye for yer apology, love, but it’s been recently pointed out to me, the things which ye said, have been said before.”

“That doesnae make it alright to say them.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But my brother is scarred and, well, no’ brutal exactly, but he spends too much of his day wearing too little clothing, engaged in activities designed to make himself sweat and other men bleed. And he does prefer grunting to talking.”

Oh.

“Ye make him sound quite…”

“Barbaric?” Roland’s lips twitched. “He is the Beast of the Oliphants.”

Why was he ruining a perfectly good apology? She flushed and shook her head. “That doesnae excuse my words. I am sorry, Roland—I mean, milord.”

It wasn’t until he reached out to cover her hands in his that she realized she was gripping her fingers together tightly enough to cause pain.

“Vanessa,” he coaxed in a whisper, as he gently untangled her fingers from one another and lifted her hands in his. “Roland please.”

Unable to quell the shiver of need which shot up her arm at his touch, she numbly nodded. “Roland.”

He smiled again, and her knees went weak.

“Now,” he began in a no-nonsense tone, “it is my turn to apologize to ye. Are ye prepared?” Without giving her time to answer—not that she could’ve done anything more than nod mutely—he took a deep breath and launched into what was obviously a prepared speech.

“Vanessa Oliphant, I have done ye a grave injustice. Ye are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I also kenned ye kenned yer own appeal. I was entranced by ye at the ball—by yer beauty, and the way ye charmed me.”

When he paused, she murmured, “Thank ye,” which clearly startled him.

With a quick frown, he shook his head. “It was no’ a compliment. I understand how to be charming, ye recall, and I kenned the women around me were trying to charm me as well. Charm me into offering them marriage. I met ye, and…” He blew out a breath. “I wasnae thinking of marriage, no’ yet, but I was thinking, ‘Prince, here’s a beautiful woman whom ye wouldnae mind getting to ken better,’ and that’s why I called upon ye here at yer home.”

“Ye call yerself Prince?”

“What?”

Her lips twitched. “When ye talk to yerself, ye call yerself Prince?”

“Well, of course.” His brows dipped in. “It’s my name. Better than calling myself viscount— Why are we talking about this?” he blurted. “I had this apology memorized!”

“Mea culpa,” Vanessa intoned, inclining her head regally. “Please continue.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, momentarily tightening his hold on her hand. “Where was I?”

“I was entrancing ye at the ball, and ye called on me for tea.”

“Och, aye. Thank ye.” His lovely hazel eyes went out of focus for a moment, as if he were reading over internal notes. His muttering confirmed it. “Beautiful…own appeal…tea— Nay, we covered that.” He blinked. “Did I get to the bit about yer being haughty and self-centered?”

“Nay,” she said drily, “I’m certain I’d remember that.”

“Good.” He nodded once more, cleared his throat, and launched into his speech again. “I kenned ye thought highly of yer own beauty, and having met yer mother, I could understand why. She’s the reason ye were vain, I ken that now. But when I overheard ye say those things about my brother, an entirely new vision of ye coalesced in my head.” He paused to squeeze her hands and wince apologetically. “I was certain that understanding was correct. I was certain ye were vain and self-centered, thinking yer beauty put ye above others and allowed ye to say things like that.”

Unable to stay quiet, Vanessa pushed herself up on her toes—not quite close enough to kiss him, but close enough to cause him to blink in surprise. “Ye werenae wrong, Roland. I was vain and self-centered—”

“Nay. Ye kenned yer beauty, but ye were also caring and loving, Vanessa.” His expression softened as his gaze caressed her face. “The verra first time ye met me as Monsieur Grenouille, ye offered me charity. I’d been so certain going to ye poor and dirty and ill-mannered and disfigured would expose the prejudices and cruelty ye’d been hiding from me in an attempt to charm me.”

Now it was her turn to blink in confusion. “Ye thought I would…what?”

He winced again. “I thought ye’d kick me aside, stick yer nose in the air haughtily, and perhaps piss on me on yer way to better things.”

“It doesnae work that way.”

“What? Ye donae think women are capable of acting that way?”

Her lips had thinned. “Women can be cruel, aye, but we’re incapable of pissing on anything as we pass by. Have ye seen how many petticoats we must wear?”

“I cannae believe we’re