It was scandalous.
It was thrilling.
“Lysander!” they both called—her in exasperation, him in warning—as the man in question waved cheekily.
“I’ll see myself out.Ta!”
And then he was gone and Bonnie was left alone in a man’s study, with said man wearing not nearly enough clothing.
Or—hear me out—just the right amount, yes?
Well, she couldn’t argue with that. Why was it such a hardship to keep her attention on his face, andnoton those glorious muscles of his shoulders, where it belonged?
It seemed to take a long moment before the man in question was able to look at her, and when he did, she was startled by the anger she saw in those hazel eyes.
Perhaps she reacted, because he closed his eyes and shook his head, just slightly, before sighing and sinking back down into his chair again.
“Forgive me, Miss Oliphant, but I suspect ye’d prefer if I hid back here for the moment.”
Not true!she wanted to shout. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, hefted her case, and stepped closer.
“Since my cowardly brother has already decamped, ye’ll have to tell me why ye’re here.”
His tone was harsh and abrupt, just like the rest of him, but she found she didn’t mind. Too often, in her experience, men spoke to her as if she were someone to be charmed, their words full of flowery praise. It made it difficult to understand the true meaning of a man’s words.
But with Lyon Oliphant, she didn’t have to guess. He didn’t like she was here, and it was refreshingly honest.
So, inclining her head slightly, she stepped up beside a small table and laid her case upon it, then clicked open the latches and lifted the lid to reveal all her work.
“Milord,” she began, but his growl interrupted her.
“I’m nae lord.”
Surprised, she met his eyes. “I know that.” His father was an earl, but besides being Laird Oliphant, the man held no other rank to bestow upon his heir. The Laird’s second wife had been a titled lady, and it was through her that Lysander, the second son, had inherited a viscountcy. But this man, hiding behind a desk so as not to disturb her with his glorious body, was nothing more than a mere “mister.”
No, there was nothingmereabout Lyon Oliphant.
She cleared her throat. “Would you rather me call you Mr. Oliphant?”
“It is better than the other things I am called,” he growled, and aye, this was most definitely a growl.
It took a moment for her to realize what he meant.
Beast.
That is what he was called—the Beast of the Oliphants. Her own sister, Tiffany, had once disparaged him quite thoroughly, not realizing Lysander could hear her. And to be fair, “Beast” seemed to fit him.
But surely there was more to this man than only a beast?Surely he deserved more than to be reminded of his brusque manners and scarred countenance?
She swallowed, then reached for the papers she needed, keeping her attention on them, as she casually said, “What if you call me Bonnie and I call you Lyon, and we leave it at that?” She straightened. “We are family, in a sense, are we not?”
He was studying her silently, not appearing to be anywhere near willing to reply to her offer. Finally, with lowered brows, he reached again for the pen he’d thrown down when they’d entered the room, as if dismissing her. “Why are ye here,Bonnie?”
Oh.
Oh.
The sound of her name on his lips—even if it was supposed to be sarcasm—sent a shiver down her spine in the most delightful way. She wanted to crawl across the wide desk and straddle him and explain exactlywhyshe was there, and what she’d been dreaming of since she first saw him glaring at her across the ballroom during the Midsummer Masquerade during that disastrous house party.
