Page 16 of His Revelation
“Oh.” Her expression turned uncertain before firming. “Well, I suppose I do not care if you think me kind,” she said with a dismissive sigh as she turned back to the inn.
And he took that as the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “Why?” he barked, remembering to limp as he hurried toward her, intent on making her realize her mistake. “Because I’m dirty, poor and ugly? Ye think my opinion doesnae matter?”
“Your opinion does not matter tome, sir,” she said in exasperation, turning once more, “because you have trespassed on my privacy and teased me most cruelly. Be gone with you.”
He tamped down the spike of guilt which had accompanied her accusations and tried to make himself look humble. Unfortunately, he did that quite satisfactorily by running into the side of the well, bruising his left hip, and causing him to bite off a curse. And when he reached for the upright post to steady himself, he missed completely, and lurched forward quite awkwardly.
“Shite! Damned peripheral vision!” The eyepatch meant he was walking around half-blind.
“Are you well, sir?”
Was she pitying him? Nay, he wanted her disdain, didn’t he?
Lysander made a show of pushing himself upright once more—the bruised hip might actually help remind him to limp—and gave her an obsequious, if pained, bow.
“Apologies, my most beautiful lady, for offenses caused. I beg yer forgiveness.”
“I will be more apt to give it if you swear to leave and never return. And”—she added, as an afterthought—“I am not yer lady.”
“Why could ye no’ be? Because I am ugly, poor and dirty?”
She frowned at him as she raked her gaze over him, as if surprised by his words. “I am not…” She shook her head. “I cannot beyourlady, because I am myownlady.”
“A lady who kisses frogs.”
In exasperation, she threw up her hands. “Why are you here? Because I warn you, I have only to scream and four—no,eight—large footmen will come hurtling through that door to rescueme. They will give you a good thrashing and ensure you never trespass on a lady’s private time again, especially when she has precious little of it as it is.”
He knew good and well there were only two footmen in the inn’s employ, and both were likely busy at that moment attending to guests. But a pitiful beggar, such as he was trying to be, wouldn’t know that, would he?
So he bowed again, trying for a more flattering manner, when he held out his hands to her. “Forgiveness, milady, please. Ye’d have a poor man beaten just for requesting alms?”
“Alms? What is this, the Middle Ages?” She scoffed. “I have no money for you. Begone.”
No money? She was wearing silk, was she not?
The thought made him bolder, and he limped closer. “Food then, milady? For a starving man?”
To his surprise, she hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. When she sucked her lower lip in between her teeth to worry it, Lysander’s eyes went wide at the way his body reacted to such a sight. Of course, since one of his eyes was trapped behind a bloody annoying layer of black wool, that only caused him to wince, then blink to dispel the discomfort.
But his cock was ignoring all the goings-on in the upper part of his head apparently. And that included his brain. Because as soon as she’d started to worry that lip between those two perfect rows of pearly teeth, his lower regions decided theyverramuch wanted to taste it as well.
And he realized just what a bloody nuisance this thrice-damned kilt could be.
Because there wasn’t a single thing keeping his arousal from tenting the front of the plaid material.
Shite.
Her face was still in profile, and his hands were still in front of him. Before she turned back to look at him, he dropped them to cover the damning evidence of his arousal and tried to arrange his expression into mild curiosity instead of irritation at his body’s betrayal.
Luckily, she didn’t notice. However, she surprised him by finally nodding. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I will have one of Mrs. Oliphant—the cook’s—assistants see if there are any leavings to be spared from luncheon.”
His immediate response was to rebel.Leavings? Scraps? But then his brain caught up with his pride and slapped it around a bit.
Ye’re a beggar, remember? Table scraps would be a boon.
So he swallowed down his defense and bowed again. “Thank ye, milady.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected her to offer even that much.
