Page 31 of His Revelation
Tiffany shrugged. “He heard me saying something cruel, and now believes I am a terrible person.”
“Are ye?” His voice dropped. “Did ye mean those things ye said?”
When she met his gaze, he thought he’d given himself away. He thought she was moments away from jumping to her feet and ripping the tam from his head and declaring him an imposter.
But whatever magic had clouded her vision thus far continued, and she justlookedat him; a deep sadness in her eyes. And she didn’t answer.
“Please excuse me,” she finally murmured, then stood, still holding the remains of her lunch.
He watched as she crossed the platform and wondered if he needed to go after her. But before he could rise, he saw her stoop to talk to one of the perpetual beggars huddled in the shadow of one of the buildings. It was an old woman, who watched her warily, until Tiffany handed her the second half of her sandwich. Then the woman’s expression lit up, and she grasped Tiffany’s hand, shaking it, and speaking in a fervent, low tone.
Lysander wished he could hear what she was saying, but he suspected he knew.
His traveling companion was far from the spoiled, self-centered bitch he’d thought her when he’d concocted his scheme.
Aye, she was still surprising him, and he didn’t know how he felt about that fact.
When he escorted her to their second train on their journey, he remembered to limp.
As they settled into their seats, she pulled her arm out of his hand and frowned at him. “Why are ye being so grumpy and—and—controlling?”
“Because I’m used to being in control, milady,” he growled, before realizing that was probably too much information.
But she didn’t question why a man who looked like him would be used to being in control. Instead, she just shook her head and muttered something—unflattering, most likely—as she turned to look at Scotland whizzing past.
This allowed Lysander to stew, which likely wasn’t helpful.
Hewasused to being in control. When his mother’s father had died, he’d become Viscount Blabloblal at the young age of sixteen. His mother was already gone by then, but Father had hired the best tutors and men of business he could find until Lysander was surrounded by good, honorable men who could teach him what he needed to know to run the Blabloblal estates. And they’d all looked to him.
Now, despite splitting his time between Blabloblal and Newfincy Castle, he was used to being respected and deferred to. And when he was with a lady, doubly so. He was charming; he knew it. Ladies flirted with him and were happy to allow him control.
But here and now, he wasn’t Viscount Blabloblal. Andshewasn’t a lady. He was a simple man, and she was a woman on an adventure. She didn’t see any reason to let him be in charge, despite knowing she couldn’t have come on this journey alone, and it rankled.
Damnation, lad. Are ye pouting?
He absolutely wasnotpouting.
Ye’re definitely pouting. Buck up. It’s only a few days, and then ye can go back to swanning around in front of all the eligiblemaidens, letting them fall over themselves in their efforts to impress ye enough to offer for one of them.
Strangely, the thought didn’t improve his temper.
Those women—and Tiffany, the way she’d been at the ball—weretrying to snare him by being who they thought he wanted. And until today, that’s what he thoughthewanted. But since appearing to be someoneotherthan a viscount, and since spending time with a lady who didn’twantto impress him, he was wondering if his tastes had changed.
Perhaps he didn’t want to marry the most beautiful woman in the land, one who could plan parties and help build his influence. He didn’t want orneedinfluence, much less other men’s jealousy.
Maybe he wanted a wife who would show her true opinions and real self. A wife who wouldn’t pretend to be who she thought he wanted her to be.
A wife who wasn’t trying to impress him.
Ye sound as though ye’re considering marrying Tiffany again.
The thought made him frown. Hewasn’tconsidering marrying Tiffany again. He didn’t evenlikeher. She’d shown herself to be vain and self-centered and?—
Get yer head out of yer arse and think, ye wee dobber!
Lysander stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Tiffany he’d been traveling with todaywasn’tvain and self-centered, was she? He’d watched her offer to help that young mother, and she gave her lunch to the beggar woman, and she spoke so passionately about helping the poor when they’dstopped in Perth mid-morning. She’d been concerned about his limp and had told him his missing eye didn’t dictate his worth.
