With another growl, Lysander forced his fingers to unclench and forced his shoulders to relax.
She hadn’t done what he’d expected of her, but that didn’t mean he waswrong. Aye, she’d managed to surprise him, but he’d be prepared next time.
Tomorrow.
Aye, he wasn’t going to sleep here or even behind the inn’s stables tonight, not when there was a hot bath waiting for him back home. His private estate was several hours’ travel to the west, but he managed the affairs of Newfincy Castle, which he still considered his actual home. One day, perhaps when he eventually married, he’d take up year-round residence at Blabloblal. But for now, he’d go back to his room at Newfincy, have his valet call for a hot bath, dump in some scented oils, and consider his next move.
One thing he knew for certes: he’d be back tomorrow, dressed as the beggar, and he would find a way to make her realize the error of her ways.
He vowed it.
CHAPTER 5
The solution to Bonnie’s dilemma came to Tiffany in a dream, which was really quite strange.Strangein that shefigured it out thanks to a dream, not the dream itself.
Although the dream itselfwasfairly strange now she thought about it.
In it, Tiffany was looking down at her hands, which carried stacks of old-fashioned scrolls. When she looked up, the stranger from the garden was there, grinning mockingly. His face was caked with dirt, making her recoil. Before she could decide if she was recoiling from him or his filth—and which one made her a worse person—she’d glanced back down again, and this time, her hands were cradling a frog, who looked at her with the mostknowingexpression, before hopping up and trying to kiss her.
Thankfully, Tiffany’s brain decided that was a good time to wake her, and she opened her eyes in the pre-dawn glow, with only the mildest of shudders, and managed to clamp her lips down on the startled scream the whole frog-attack thing provoked.
She pulled a pillow over her face and tried to slow her heartbeat. Under the blankets, her fingers curled into fists, and she resisted the urge to brush her hands off, reminding herself they weren’t really covered in frog juices.
The dream had been just that: a nonsensical dream.
The frog she’d caught by the well hadn’t been slimy, hadn’t wanted to kiss her. The stranger had been dirty, yes, but polite. And the last time she’d seen old scrolls like that…
Actually….
Under the pillow, her eyes flashed open, and in a sudden frantic burst of energy, she pushed the thing off her and sat up.
The last time she’d seen old-fashioned scrolls and manuscripts like that had been when her Father, the Baron, was alive, and had taken her and Bonnie to visit his aunt Gertrude near York. Although Bonnie had always been the academic, it had been Tiffany who discovered that box of relics from their clan at that old antiquities store.
Wide-eyed now, she switched her gaze to the way the curtains were valiantly fighting against the dawn light.
Tiffany remembered finding the large wooden box in one of the back aisles; she would have ignored it, except for the ornately carved “Oliphant” along the top. She’d been young enough to have been fascinated to see her clan name with that many curlicues—really, how many squiggles did one “O” need?—so she’d dug inside.
Most of the relics had been uninteresting to her—old scrolls and tied-together books—but therehadbeen a set of daggers and an interesting longsword. She’d pulled it out and had been waving itabout, imagining the battles it must have seen, when her mother had appeared in the shop, berating her father for draggingher princessesto such dusty environs.
Mother had yanked the sword from Tiffany’s hands, plunked it on the counter, and dragged her out, lecturing her on howa beautiful young ladyshould act.
It wasn’t the last time Tiffany had visitedThe Curios Cabinetwith Papa, but it was the last time she’d gone poking about in interesting-looking bins.
Which was a shame, because yesterday’s conversation with Bonnie had reminded her how much she’d enjoyed those adventures. That had been before she realized her purpose in life was to be quiet, demure, and as beautiful as possible.
A face flashed before her: a beard under a thick layer of dirt, and one green eye laughing at her. Frowning, Tiffany pushed it away as she nudged her braid over her shoulder. She told herself she was only remembering the stranger because of the dream, not because his layers of grime reminded her of that antiquities shop. Or because his mocking made her feel uncomfortable in her skin.
It was better to focus on theotherthing her dream reminded her of: the treasures she’d found all those years ago. Those treasures…and Bonnie’s need for money.
“Bonnie?” she whispered, and a sort of snorting snuffle from the room’s other bed answered her.
She and her sister had always shared a room, but Tiffany had been quite young when she’d insisted on Mother finding another bed for Bonnie, after one of her sister’s flailing arms had given Tiffany a black eye.
Bonnie was not only the deepest sleeper she knew, but also the most athletic.
“Bonnie?” she called again, louder. Still no answer, not that it was a surprise.
With a sigh, Tiffany swung her legs over the edge of the bed and didn’t even bother looking for her slippers in her hurry to reach her sister. But the floor was cold, and Bonnie didn’t wake up with a gentle nudge, so Tiffany pulled back the covers and slid in beside her.
