Page 14 of His Revelation
But on the other hand…
Thinking about the way she’d joked with Bonnie earlier, Tiffany’s lips curled upward.
“Would you be a better husband than a man, my little friend? You did not fight me too hard. You would not bother me if I decided to go into town to spend some money. You would not complain overmuch about the dinner menu I chose, as long as you had your bug cocktail.” Chuckling, she lifted the animal until it was level with her nose. “Perhaps Ishouldkiss you, just to see what would happen.”
No one was looking, and she was feeling nostalgic.
Tiffany puckered her lips softly, brought the frog closer—he only struggled once more—and brushed her lips across the top of his bumpy head.
Chuckling softly to herself, she held the frog out to peer at him. “See? That was not so bad, was it?”
She didn’t expect an answer, so when a voice came—deep and full of laughter—Tiffany jumped.
“Nay, milady. No’ at all.”
She screamed…and dropped the frog into the well.
CHAPTER 4
Lysander couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter at her response.
Granted, he’d known it had been a little cruel to tease her like that, but really, what was he supposed to have done? He’d pushed open the garden gate to find Tiffany speaking in low tones to a frog she held at eye level. Then, for some odd reason, she’d kissed the thing, and had asked if it had been that bad.
Well, ofcoursehe had to reply to that. And when she’d screamed and tossed the poor frog into the well she was standing beside, it was exactly the response he had been hoping for.
Unfortunately, his deep laughter had her whirling around; the shock on her beautiful face melting into irritation when she saw him.
“That was you? Who spoke?” she snapped, though he supposed it should’ve been obvious.
Lysander allowed the gate to close behind him and walked into the garden, adding an exaggerated limp for good measure. “Aye, milady.” He knew heshouldbe humbler in her presence, if hewas hoping to pull off this deception, but he was still grinning broadly at the way she’d thought the frog was speaking to her.
But his words hadn’t been wrong: the kisshadn’tbeen that bad, from the frog’s point of view, anyhow. Though it would’ve been even nicer had Lysander been the one under those lips?—
Nay. Remember yer purpose here.
Not to ruin her future, as Athena had warned, but to humiliate her and teach her a lesson.
Oh, like that’s any better.
His good humor dissipated as he sent an internal glower at his apparently guilty subconscious.
I’m doing this for her own good. She needs to learn her beauty doesnae make her a good person.
And his appearance today didn’t make him a bad person.
Although judging from the way she was scowling at him, she hadn’t learned that lesson yet.
For the occasion, he’d borrowed one of Lyon’s kilts, although he hadn’t told his older brother why he’d needed it. Once he’d donned it—and the oldest, roughest shirt in his collection—he’d actually gone out to the corral behind the stables, and while no one was looking, had rolled around in the dirt like a horse with an itch. As a result, the shirt was ripped in three places, his legs were filthy—who would’ve thought he’d be wandering around showing off his knees like some kind of barbarian?—and his affected limp was believable.
The tam he’d borrowed from the stablemaster hid his brown hair, and the mud he’d rubbed into it likely disguised him evenfurther. And of course, a week’s worth of beard hid his jawline so effectively, even his valet had insistedhecouldn’t recognize Lysander.
But thepièce de resistancewas the eyepatch he’d made after Athena’s suggestion. It covered his left eye and affected his depth perception terribly, but there was no way Tiffany would recognize him as the handsome and charming Viscount Blabloblal now.
As he hobbled closer, she ran her hands down the sides of her skirt in a nervous gesture he was sure she wouldn’t have made had she known who he really was. But from the equally nervous way she was eying him, she thought he was nothing more than a hurt beggar. And he’d do his best to make her continue to believe that, at least until he felt she’d learned her lesson.
“Forgive me, milady.” A man in his position—a poor farmer, or an actual beggar—might pull his cap off, but Lysander couldn’t for fear she might recognize him. “I didnae mean to startle ye.”
“Yes, but you did.” Her chin came up in challenge. “And you played a mean trick on me.”
