Page 52 of His Revelation
Well, one thing was for certain, this would be Tiffany’s chance to offer the apology she should’ve offered all those weeks ago.
With a deep breath, she stood and smoothed her palms over her skirts. There was a part of her, the old part, which wished she’d had the chance now to change into a more flattering gown, or at least to create an elaborate hairstyle. But the new Tiffany acknowledged Lysander had already seen her at her worst, so looking her best wasn’t going to help at all.
Bonnie’s hand found hers, and Tiffany twined her fingers through her sister’s, grateful for the support. “Lead on then,” she whispered, and did her best to hold her head high as they descended to the family’s parlor.
But when she stepped into the room, her steps faltered. Only Bonnie’s hand in hers, like a lifeline, kept her from backing out when Lysander turned from where he was standing in front of the cold fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled at her, just once, and Tiffany felt her heart leap.
Hungrily, her gaze caressed him, noting how much more like himself he looked now that he’d shaved his beard. His hazel eyes looked more brown than green today, and his hair was combed immaculately. He wore a blue jacket over a subtly patterned waistcoat, and below that…
Tiffany’s lips tugged wryly at the sight of Lysander’s knees. He was wearing the Oliphant plaid, fashioned into a much more formal kilt than the one he’d worn on their journey.
“Miss Tiffany, Miss Bonnie,” he offered calmly, his expression serious once more, as he bowed correctly, despite the informal address.
“Milord,” murmured Bonnie in acknowledgement, before glancing at Tiffany, who was too overwhelmed to do more than nod.
Mother, of course, took command. “Welcome, welcome, Viscount Blah-blah-blah! How lovely to have you here!”
Stiffly, Lysander turned to her. “Blabloblal, Madam. My estate isBlabloblal. I am Lysander Albert McAdam Gregor Oliphant, Viscount Blabloblal.”
Oh. His name really was Albert and Adam?
The long-ago teasing made Tiffany’s heart a little lighter, although her stomach still churned in nervousness.
Mother tittered a laugh at what she must’ve considered an irrelevant detail and waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, my dear viscount! You know how difficult it is to recall titles and such, when I would much rather call youson.” Her gaze turned calculating. “I shall call for tea immediately, and we can have a nice, long visit?—”
“Nay.” Lysander didn’t even soften his rudeness with one of his charming grins. Instead, he held up his hand to Mother, palm-out. “I have nae need for tea, and what I am here to say, I will say only to yer daughter.”
Tiffany’s heart began to pound faster. He wanted to speak to her alone?
Because what he had to say was so bad…or good?
Her mother was flustered but recovered quickly. “Oh, Lord Blob-low-ball, your wit is so amusing! Insinuating I would allow something so unproper as myunweddaughter to be alone with you—no matter how upstanding and proper I am certain you?—”
“Then her sister may stay as a chaperone,” Lysander interrupted again. “But ye, madam, will remove yerself from this parlor.”
This was the viscount, used to command and control, and so different from the easy-going traveler on the train to York, even if hehadadmitted to being grumpy because she’d taken charge. But Tiffany hadn’t minded; she didn’t need to be in control all the time, although it had been freeing to share command.
Mother gasped in outrage, one hand pressed to her chest as she hesitated, obviously torn between taking offense and giving into Lysander’s demands because, well…viscount.
Eventually, the wholeleaving-Tiffany-alone-with-a-viscount-might-result-in-her-becoming-a-viscountessthing won over propriety, and Mother sniffed, “Well, I never,” even as she stepped toward the door.
“Aye, ye never,” Lysander said, dropping his hands to his side and taking two steps toward her. “Ye never think ofTiffany, much less Bonnie. Their accomplishments only serve to highlight whatyewant and furtheryergoals. Well, let me tell ye this much, Baroness Oliphant…” He lowered his chin, and his voice. “If I should ever become yer son-in-law, ye and yer influence will be staying far away from Tiffany. I’ll no’ have yepoisoning her anymore, and I’ll no’ have ye stay here to listen when I beg her apology.”
“Oh, bravo,” murmured Bonnie.
Tiffany’s knees went weak, and she wasn’t even certain how Mother reacted to that glorious, horrible,remarkableburst of passion from the man Tiffany was now certain she loved. In fact, if Bonnie hadn’t helped her to the settee, Tiffany was afraid she might’ve collapsed right there into a puddle of goo on the parlor floor.
Wait a moment.
If I should ever become yer son-in-law…
What was that supposed to mean?
Her gaze snapped up, suddenly unsure if she should’ve been flattered or angered by his defense of her. When she did, she realized her sister had stepped away from the settee and was wringing her hands as she looked between Tiffany and Lysander. And Lysander was looking a bit uncertain himself.
The door closed on her mother’s angry huff, and he blew out a breath. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, wincing. “I’m sorry for many things, but perhaps I shouldnae have been so harsh. She’s yer mother after all.”
