Page 42 of His Revelation
In a blink, his expression went from animated—was he actuallyenjoyingthe haggling?—to displeased. “Ye dinnae have the money?”
She pulled her arm from his. “I thought I had enough for—well, this price is too high for me.”
Slowly, his brows drew in and his expression turned thunderous. “Did ye have enough money this morning when we left the hotel?”
Tiffany found herself backing toward the door,hatingthe way his opinion mattered to her. “I—I do not know what you?—”
“Would ye have had enough money had ye no’ given that charity to those urchins?” he all-but-growled.
Yes, but she wasn’t going to admit that now, was she? Despite the tears in her eyes, Tiffany forced her chin up. “It was a paltry amount, and I do not see how it could matter.”
“Answer the question, Tiffany!”
“No,” she whispered, as a single tear slid free of her eye and crawled down her cheek. “I will not. I know you think poorly of me, but?—”
She wasn’t sure how she would have finished that sentence, because in a blink, his expression went from angry to confused, and that was too much for her. With a quick bob of her head and a rushed, “Good day,” to the shopkeeper, she fumbled for the door and all but tripped outside.
The cheerful bell did nothing to improve her mood.
Tiffany stumbled away from the shop, aiming for the little square across the road. Good thing there was little traffic this morning, because she doubted she would have been aware of a hurtling beer cart or out-of-control sheep or whatever dangers frequented York streets.
Dimly, she heard her name being called, but she ignored it, intent on reaching what she saw as the safety of those bushes, where she could have a good cry without anyone seeing her.
She should have known it wouldn’t happen.
“Tiffany!” A strong hand grabbed hers, but when she whirled on him, Lunzie’s smile was gentle. “There ye are, lass.”
“Leave me alone,” she sniffed, mortified at him seeing her like this.
“Why?” His free hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping the tear track. “We should all have a friend to turn to when we need to cry.”
Surprisingly, his touch made her feel better. Tiffany tried to gain control of her stupid tears. “I—I do not normally cry.”
“Because yer life is so wonderful?”
“Because it makes me look like a wet cabbage.” Her mother’s opinion slipped out before she realized what she was saying. “At least, that is what I have been told.”
Lunzie had winced at her words, but now tipped his head to one side. “Well, ye were told wrong. Ye look no worse than any beautiful woman crying. When my sister cries, she does it with her whole body—snot, tears, flailing—but she’s nae less beautiful.”
He had a sister?
He had a sister he thought was beautiful?
That was remarkably sweet. “And…” Tiffany took a shaking breath. “When she cries, what do you do?”
“I offer her a hug.”
With that, Lunzie opened his arms, and it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to step forward and allow him to embrace her, there in the square. It didn’t feel wrong or wicked. It felt…like something a friend would do.
“Why are ye crying, lass?”
The hugdidhelp. Tiffany’s tears had dried, and her breathing was returning to normal. She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t really knowwhyshe’d been crying. Was it because ofhis low opinion of her? Was it because his opinion suddenly mattered very much?
When she didn’t answer, he prompted gently, “Is it because ye cannae afford the Oliphant manuscript?”
That was as good an excuse as any, so she nodded against his shoulder.
He exhaled. “But ye said the manuscript wasnae for ye?”
