It was impossible to miss the note of hope in his voice, and her smile softened. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “Lyon, you never looked like a beast. But I will confess”—she darted a glance at his fine trousers and shined shoes—”I miss the kilt.”
His expression turned rueful as he shifted slightly, picking up one leg and shaking it a bit. “Aye, I do as well. Trousers are…restrictive.”
She burst into laughter, remembering the exciting chess game they’d played where he’d explained he liked the “freedom” of kilts. She didn’t have to guess what he meant now.
Still chuckling, she slid her arm through his. “If your business is complete?—”
“Nay, Bonnie. It was my father’s business, and it was just an excuse to get me to Inverness. I’m here forye.”
Oh.
Oh my.
Breathless, Bonnie had to swallow a few times to make her tongue—and her brain—start working again. “Walk with me?” she managed.
Immediately, he nodded, and they set out at a leisurely pace.
“It’s no’ quite as cold here,” Lyon murmured after a block or so. “Although still too cold to be pleasant.”
Bonnie, who’d relaxed now that she was pressed against his side, peeked up at him. “I suspect you would not be entirely comfortable anyplace away from Oliphant Castle, yes?”
“Ye’d be right,” he rumbled. “But…” It was difficult to tell, with him bundled up the way he was, but she thought he swallowed. “I had to.”
“For business?” She held her breath, realizing how much his answer mattered.
Hazel eyes cut her way. “For ye.” His tongue darted out over his lower lip as he turned once more to the street ahead of them. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
For ye. He’d left his castle forher!
“Yes.” Her heart was beating faster than normal. “I stop at my favorite café before work. Would you like to join me?”
“I would.” The fervent tone in his voice told her he wasn’t just talking about coffee and pastries, and it made her heart feel light.
The café was nearer to the publishing house than the boarding house, snuggled in a working-class neighborhood. No one here in Inverness knew that she was, technically, the daughter of a baron. All they knew for sure was her mother ran a prosperous inn, and Bonnie, the new owner of a publishing house, was a bit eccentric.
Becauseof courseit was eccentric to want to follow her own dream or make her own way in the world, right?
As she walked with Lyon—a bit faster than a stroll because, although the sun was out, the snow hadn’t melted yet and it was still quite chilly—she pointed out some of her favorite parts of the neighborhood and waved to people she recognized.
The man at her side would one day be laird, but he didn’t seem to mind the fact she didn’t live in the lap of luxury. In fact, although he kept his hat pulled low and his face turned toward her so his scars weren’t as visible to others, he nodded politely to the people they passed.
He listened to her as she talked about her time in Inverness, which she’d started to do just as a nervous way to fill the silence, but shortly, they fell into the easy camaraderie they’d shared at Oliphant Castle, where she’d felt comfortable talking to him about all sorts of things, and he’d seemed genuinely interested, just as he did now.
“I am excited to show you the publishing house, Lyon, if you are interested. It is an old building, in a row of old buildings, and I would love your suggestions on how to improve the quality.”
“I dinnae ken I’m the man?—”
She scoffed. “You are the smartest man I know. And you know all about machines and mechanics in a way I cannot comprehend. Listening to you talk that evening in your library, it was obvious you know more about printing presses than I do.”
“But ye’re the owner.”
“I am, and I understand how it works, but I have a foreman for the actual printing. I have been devoting myself to finding new clients.” She shrugged. “Truthfully, Ineednew clients, because I have not been able to afford to keep the presses running on only the few commissions we get. It is just me and my foreman right now, and a rickety old building full of dusty bales of paper and a few presses a century old.”
Lyons’s brows went up as they rounded the corner and saw the café ahead of them. “Acentury?”
“Aye, Grimm and Sons was once a respected house, but the man I bought it from was the younger of the two sons, and he was ready to retire and go live with his grandchildren. This isnota modern publishing house.”
The noise he made, as his breath huffed out from him and formed a cloud in front of his mouth, might’ve been a laugh, were he the kind of man to laugh.
