Marrying the Marquis (21 page)

Blaze felt a sinking sensation in her belly. Nothing but the whole sorry tale would satisfy her husband, and then she would see either pity or disgust in his eyes.

Ross cupped her chin and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Trust me.”

“Nanny Smudge lived with my mother before I was born,” Blaze began. “My father had sent her to care for my mother during her first pregnancy, and Nanny Smudge stayed with us until she died.”

“So Nanny Smudge helped yer mother care for her daughters,” Ross said.

Blaze gave him a rueful smile. “Gabrielle helped Nanny Smudge care for us.”

“Tell me aboot yer mother.”

She had no escape. Her husband needed to know the truth.

Blaze looked at him through eyes blurring with tears. “I killed my mother.”

Ross stared at her, his expression registering disbelief. “A woman who holds funerals for furs would never harm anyone.”

“I wish I could reverse time and correct my mistakes,” Blaze said.

“Livin’ with regrets means yer human,” Ross said.

“My mother suffered from the drinking sickness,” Blaze told him, “but now I know she drank to dull her pain. One day I grabbed the glass out of her hand, smashed it on the floor, and wished her dead.”

And Ross knew what she was going to tell him. His heart wrenched at the guilt she’d carried for years.

“Later, I returned to apologize,” she said, “but my wish had come true. My words had driven my mother to cut her wrists with the shards of glass.”

“Her death wasna yer fault,” Ross said, holding her close. “Yer mother wanted to escape her pain and wouldna want ye to feel guilty.”

“My wishing her dead killed her,” Blaze said.

“If yer guilty of killin’ yer mother,” Ross said, “then I’m guilty, too.”

“What do you mean?’

“I rode early every mornin’,” Ross told her, “and the groom always had my horse saddled and waitin’. One mornin’ I slept late, and my mother got to the stables first. She took my horse instead of her own.

“When the horse came home without her, we went searchin’ and found her near the stone wall she always jumped. She’d fallen off my horse goin’ over the wall and broken her neck.”

“You did not wish her dead,” Blaze said. “Perhaps she would have fallen if she rode her own horse.”

“That doesna make me feel less guilty. I’ve always thought—” He shrugged, sorry he’d mentioned this on his wedding day. “What I always thought doesna change the outcome.”

Blaze recognized remembered pain in his black eyes. “What did you think?”

“I thought her death was no accident,” Ross answered. “I found a wire nearby and couldna shake the feelin’ someone had strung it across her usual route. All of Newmarket knew my mother was a daredevil on horses and loved jumpin’ fences and walls.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“The authorities called it an accident,” Ross said, “and hunches dinna matter in a court of law. If there is a murderer, God will reveal him in His own good time.”

“The bone sucker’s mother did it,” Blaze said.

Ross smiled at her. “How do ye figure that, wife?”

“Celeste Chadwick Simmons Stanley MacArthur buries a spouse when she finds a wealthier candidate,” Blaze answered. “What would prevent her from eliminating a rival?”

“I canna believe that.”

“I called her a murderess in the withdrawing room,” Blaze said, “and she threatened me. Why is she so sensitive about that word?”

“Let’s set that aside for today,” Ross said, no longer amused. “We’ll keep an eye on her when we return from the Highlands?”

“I’ve missed our evenings at the Rowley Lodge.” Blaze reached up to trace his lips with a finger. “Will you kiss me now?”

“I thought ye’d never ask.”

Raven searched the ballroom for Alexander but couldn’t locate him. The card room, the billiard room, and her father’s office were deserted.

Returning to the ballroom, Raven spied three Kazanov princes standing together and approached them. “I apologize for interrupting,” she said, “but I misplaced my fiancé—Alexander Blake—and wondered if you’d seen him.”

“We have not seen Blake,” Prince Lykos said, “but I will walk with you to find him.”

Raven smiled. “That is unnecessary.”

Prince Lykos returned her smile. “I would much prefer walking with a beautiful woman to speaking with my brothers.”

Arm in arm, the two circled the perimeter of the dance floor. Leaving the ballroom, they walked downstairs.

“Have you seen the Marquis of Basildon?” Prince Lykos asked a passing footman.

“I did see him, Your Highness,” the footman answered. “I believe he was walking in the direction of the garden door. Shall I fetch him for you?”

“No, thank you. The lady and I will walk outside.”

Prince Lykos and Raven walked toward the rear of the mansion and down one flight. They exited the garden door and strolled through the formal gardens.

Both stopped short when they spied Alexander standing near the maze. He was kissing Amanda Stanley.

Raven backed away without saying a word. She and the prince returned to the mansion.

“If you will excuse me, Your Highness,” Raven said when they reached the foyer, “I will retire now.”

“You will not retire now,” Lykos said. “You will return with me to the ballroom.”

Raven acquiesced with a nod but wished she could escape to her chamber. The humiliation and betrayal of her fiancé kissing another woman seemed too much to endure.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” Lykos said, climbing the stairs beside her.

“I am not delusional, Your Highness.”

Lykos smiled at that. “The marquis may have a plausible explanation for what we saw.”

“I may be young, Your Highness, but I am no fool.”

“Call me Lykos,” he said, “and dance with me.”

Something in his voice made her step onto the dance floor without argument. Swirling in his arms, Raven saw that Alexander and Amanda had returned to the ballroom.

“Do not look in his direction,” Lykos ordered. “I will do for you what I did for your sister.”

“What is that?”

“Your stepmother enlisted my aid in matching MacArthur and Blaze,” Lykos told her. “Her Grace knows the challenge of competition whets a man’s desire. Need I say more?”

“I accept your offer of assistance,” Raven said. “I do hope the Marquis of Basildon enjoys groveling.”

Prince Lykos laughed, drawing curious glances from other dancing couples and several sideline onlookers. “When we waltz past Blake,” the prince said, “pretend you are enjoying yourself.”

“I
am
enjoying myself.” Raven gave the prince a flirtatious smile. When they swirled by her frowning fiancé, she wiggled her fingers at him.

“Look at that hill.”

Sitting beside her, Ross chuckled. “That’s a mountain, not a hill.”

“What’s the difference?” Blaze asked, dragging her gaze from the passing scenery to look at him.

“The difference is size,” Ross answered. “Like a ship and a boat.”

“Ships and boats float,” Blaze said, “while mountains and hills stand tall. I can see no difference.”

“Would you prefer sailing across the ocean in a ship or a boat?”

“I would prefer not sailing across the ocean at all.”

Blaze peered out the coach window. The Highlands of Scotland was a land of lonely majesty with white-capped peaks, green glens, and blue lochs.

“What do you think, Puddles?” The mastiff barked.

“What did he say?” Ross asked her.

Blaze looked at him, her expression deadpan. “Puddles said arf-arf.”

“I should have seen that comin’,” Ross said, smiling. “In my great-grandfather’s time, a coach couldna take us to Loch Awe because there were no roads.”

“How did they get home?” Blaze asked him.

“They rode their horses.”

“How did they know where they were going?”

“The clan members knew every nook and cranny and stone on their lands,” Ross answered. “Most passed their entire lives on clan lands and never left home except to fight wars.”

“I lived my entire life in London and never traveled farther than Newmarket.”

“Ye’ll soon see Ben Cruachan risin’ behind Kilchurn Castle,” Ross said.

Blaze glanced over her shoulder at him. “Ben who?”

“Yer incorrigible.” Ross leaned close and kissed her. “There’s Ben Cruachan and Kilchurn.”

Backed by a mountain, a castle in ruins stood on a finger of land extending into the loch. A roaring stream raced down the mountain cove behind the castle.

“Kilchurn House is there.” Ross pointed to the manor a short distance away. “My father visits in autumn after the St. Leger and leaves before the first snow falls. We keep a full household of servants, though.”

Their coach halted in front of the manor. Ross climbed out first and turned to help Blaze. Puddles leaped out after her.

Several footmen hurried out of the manor to unload their bags. A tall man standing outside the front door appeared to be in charge.

“Welcome home, my lord,” the man said. “Ye’ve had a long ride.”

“We sailed to Oban and borrowed the coaches from a friend,” Ross said. “We’ll be returnin’ to Newmarket the same way.” He caught Blaze’s hand in his. “Darlin’, this is Donal. Donal, I present my wife, Inverary’s daughter.”

“I’m pleased to meet ye.” Donal smiled at Ross. “Congratulations on catchin’ such a bonny wife. Did ye resort to kidnappin’?”

Ross laughed and Blaze smiled. Then they followed Donal inside where a pudgy, middle-aged woman waited for them.

“Blaze, this is Donal’s wife Ina,” Ross introduced them. “Ina, I present my wife, Inverary’s daughter.”

“I’m pleased to meet ye, Lady MacArthur,” the woman greeted her. “Whatever ye need, ye’ve only to ask and it’s yers.”

“Thank you, Ina.” Blaze glanced around.

The foyer was smaller than those in London and Newmarket, but only the incredibly wealthy could afford Italian marble. On the right a winding staircase climbed to the upper floor, where a dark-haired child and two young women stood on the landing.

“Papa!” The little girl dashed down the stairs.

Ross laughed and scooped her into his arms. The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

Blaze stared in surprise at father and daughter. Nobody had mentioned a child.

Anger replaced surprise. Her husband should have warned her about his daughter.

Ross set his daughter on the floor. Holding her hand, he urged her forward. “Wife, I present my daughter Kyra,” he introduced them. “Kyra, Lady Blaze is yer new stepmother.”

The girl looked at her through her father’s dark eyes. “What’s a stepmother?”

Blaze crouched down eye-level with the girl and gave her a reassuring smile. “A stepmother is like a fairy godmother,” she said, “and fairy godmothers always take care of their little girls.”

The warm words encouraged the girl to inch closer. “What do I call ye?”

“Ye’ll call her Lady—”

“She asked me the question,” Blaze interrupted her husband, a definite lack of warmth in her blue eyes. She smiled at Kyra and drew her closer. “What do you want to call me?”

“Well…” The girl’s black eyes were so familiar and the look in them heartbreakingly hopeful.

“You can tell me,” Blaze encouraged her.

“Well, I always wanted a Mama like other children,” Kyra said, her voice a shy whisper. A simple request, easily granted.

“Kyra,” Ross began.

“Be quiet,” Blaze ordered him, and then heard the muffled chuckles. She hugged the girl, saying, “You may call me Mama if I can tell people you’re my little girl.”

Kyra smiled and nodded and threw her arms around Blaze to give her a hug. “Who’s that?”

Blaze looked over her shoulder. Puddles sat at attention, his tail swishing back and forth. The mastiff stepped closer.

“Puddles is my magical dog,” Blaze told the girl, and watched her dark eyes widen at the word
magical
. “Kyra, I present Puddles. Puddles, this is my little girl, Kyra.”

When the mastiff raised its paw, Blaze said, “Puddles wants to shake your hand.”

Kyra giggled and shook the mastiff’s paw.

Blaze stared into her dog’s eyes.
Guard Kyra
.

Yes. Cookie?

Blaze stood and looked at Ina. “Do you have cookies?”

The woman smiled at the abrupt question. “We always keep cookies in the kitchen.”

“Do you have any cinnamon cookies?” Blaze heard her husband’s chuckle.

“Puddles loves cinnamon cookies,” Ross said, “but he’ll settle for anythin’.”

“I want to feed Puddles the cookies,” Kyra said.

Ina looked from Ross to Blaze. “Is it safe to bring the dog to the kitchen?”

“Puddles is the most gentle dog in the world,” Blaze answered, “and he adores kitchens. Don’t make any sudden moves toward Kyra because he’ll want to guard her.”

“Nanny Morag and Nanny Jean will supervise ye in the kitchen,” Ross told his daughter. “Dinna let Puddles slobber yer fingers when ye feed him.”

“Come, Puddles.” The mastiff trotted down the hallway beside Kyra and Ina.

“These are Kyra’s nannies, Morag and Jean,” Ross introduced the two young women.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Blaze said, and the two young women curtseyed. “I prefer no curtsies, please.”

“Travelin’ must have wearied ye,” Ross said, ushering her up the stairs. “Ye can rest a while before supper, and tomorrow I’ll show ye around. How does that sound?”

Blaze smiled and nodded and then turned to Donal. “If Puddles gets too bothersome, you can bring him to our chamber.”

Ross escorted Blaze up the stairs and down a hallway. He opened a door on the loch side of the mansion.

The bedchamber was large, its focal point an enormous, four-poster, curtained bed. A velvet bedspread, the blue of a Highland sky, matched the bed curtains. A Persian carpet in shades of blue with gold and cream covered the hardwood floors. Arched windows overlooked Loch Awe.

“Well, have ye nothin’ to say?”

Blaze rounded on him. “How dare you!”

“How dare you show me such disrespect,” Blaze said, trying without success to control her temper. “You should have told me about your daughter before we married.”

“I didna intend any disrespect,” Ross said, “but knowin’ aboot Kyra wasna goin’ to change anythin’.”

Her husband sounded so reasonable, which fueled her anger. Blaze recalled her stepmother’s teaching; hot anger should be served cold.

Turning her back, Blaze walked away and counted to twenty. Then she added another ten for good measure.

“You had no idea how I would react,” Blaze said, looking at him. “You risked your daughter’s feelings by surprising me.”

“I knew ye’d rise to the occasion.”

Did her husband believe a compliment would appease her? If so, he did not know her very well.

“You should have mentioned her existence.”

Ross shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I couldna find the right time.”

“People
make
time,” Blaze said. “They don’t find it. Besides, how could you leave your daughter here while you waltzed like a bachelor around Newmarket and London?”

“I
was
a bachelor.” Ross looked away, muttering, “Someone should have warned me I was marryin’ a nag.”

Blaze narrowed her gaze on him. “How do you think I feel discovering I married a blockhead?”

“Wait a minute, wife.”

“You wait a minute, husband,” Blaze said, poking her finger into his chest to emphasize every word. “Is Kyra a bastard?”

“No.”

That gave her pause. “Her mother is deceased?”

“Do I look like a bigamist?” Ross gestured to the chaise in front of the hearth. “Sit and we’ll discuss this.
Please
.”

Blaze crossed the chamber and sat on the chaise. Ross followed and dropped down beside her.

“Kyra lives here from April through September because I’m busy followin’ the thoroughbreds,” Ross told her. “Durin’ the season, my stepmother is in residence in Newmarket.”

Blaze looked him in the eye. “What has Celeste to do with this?”

“Celeste has been unkind to Kyra,” Ross answered. “Janet, Kyra’s mother, was a maid in my father’s employ. When she fell pregnant, I married her, and Celeste considers my daughter flawed by common blood.”

If she disliked the woman before, Blaze hated the witch at this moment. No one should be unkind to defenseless children and animals.

“No aristocratic blood runs through that woman’s veins,” Blaze remarked. “How did your wife die?”

“Janet sickened and died a few weeks after deliverin’ Kyra,” he answered.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“My daughter lost more than I did.”

“Where and when did Janet die?” Blaze asked.

“Why do ye want to know?” Ross returned the question.

“Idle curiosity, I suppose.”

“Janet died at Kilchurn House,” Ross told her. “Kyra’s birthday is September so Janet would have passed in October.”

Blaze was silent for a long moment. She could not understand the reason her parents had failed to mention his previous marriage and the child. Unless—

“Do my parents know you’re a widower with a child?” she asked him.

“I doubt it,” Ross answered, shrugging. “Few people knew I had married.”

Blaze arched a copper brow at him. “Why is that?” She could not keep the suspicion out of her voice.

“Janet did not want to step into Society,” Ross told her. “She felt out of place and preferred to remain in the Highlands. My stepmother didna help matters by demeanin’ her.”

“I will nap for an hour or two.” Blaze felt tired and wanted to sit alone to ponder what she’d learned.

“Give a shout if ye need anythin’.” Ross stood and left the bedchamber.

Blaze dragged a chair across the chamber to the window. She sat and, gazing at loch’s blue water, considered her circumstances.

She had never wanted to marry, and now she was married to a man who did not love her. Ross had married her for the same reason he’d married Janet, pregnancy.

There was nothing to be done for that. Moaning and sulking would not change the facts.

Ross should have warned her about his daughter, but he hadn’t bothered. There was nothing to be done for that, either.

Counting her blessings seemed a good idea. She enjoyed a loving, supportive family. She could forge a family with her baby and Kyra. The girl was heartbreakingly hungry for a mother’s love. She could understand that, having been heartbreakingly hungry for a father’s love during her childhood.

Though he had supported them in style, she and her sisters had yearned for their father’s attention. Too bad he’d waited until they had grown before publicly acknowledging them and moving them into his household.

Blaze suspected her stepmother had something to do with that. Her stepmother could be a pain in the arse, but the duchess had a big heart and no children of her own to lavish with love.

Pegasus had died, but Juno was breeding. The mare would deliver a champion. Not as special as Peg, perhaps, but a champion nevertheless.

The purses from Pegasus’s three wins combined with her profits from the Seven Doves Company would give her enough wealth to build her animal sanctuary. Dogs and cats could live anywhere, but horses required land. Loch Awe appeared to be a good place to house retired thoroughbreds.

She had more blessings than most. Her husband could keep his love. She did not need it.

Her only problem was Celeste MacArthur, a malicious witch with no heart. The woman and her circumstances niggled at her brain. Celeste had married three times, each union increasing her wealth, and buried two husbands. Ross’s mother had suffered a fatal accident, and his wife had sickened and died during October when the Duchess of Kilchurn was in residence.

Something smelled rotten in the MacArthur family. Was she the only one with a nose for evil? Blaze wished she could consult Raven.

Hours later, Blaze left the bedchamber and walked downstairs to the foyer. She found the dining room off the main corridor without any problem.

The dining room whispered wealth. Persian carpets covered the oak floors. Portraits and artwork decorated the red walls. The oak dining table seated twenty, a crystal and gold chandelier hanging over it.

Sitting at the head of the table, Ross stood when she walked into the room. He crossed the chamber and escorted her to the chair on his right.

Accompanied by Ina, two footmen carried covered serving platters into the room and set them on the sidetable. Donal served them glasses of wine.

“My wife doesna drink spirits,” Ross told his man.

Blaze noted the portrait in a position of honor over the hearth. The woman had ebony hair, dark eyes, full lips, and rose-kissed cheeks on an ivory complexion. The artist had captured the gleam of mischief in the dark eyes, and the woman’s inscrutable smile hinted that she was privy to an amusing secret.

“Is that your mother?” Blaze asked her husband.

Ross nodded. “Kyra MacArthur, my mother.”

“She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Where is her namesake?”

“Kyra is suppin’ in her chamber,” Ross answered. “I didna think ye’d want her suppin’ with us. Celeste never—”

“Did I say I didn’t want her?” Blaze asked him.

“No, but—”

“Do I look like Celeste?”

Ross grinned. “No.”

Blaze stood and looked down at him. “Do not move from that chair.”

Turning to leave, Blaze caught Donal and Ina exchanging smiling glances. She marched out of the dining room and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Then she began opening doors looking for the girl. Finally, she found the chamber at the end of the hallway.

Kyra sat at a small table eating a lonely supper of chicken slices and vegetable medley. Her nannies were sitting with her.

“Little girls eat supper with their mamas,” Blaze said, crouching beside Kyra. She stood and pointed at Nanny Morag. “You carry the plate.” She looked at Nanny Jean. “You carry everything else.”

Blaze held her hand out to her stepdaughter. “You come with me.”

Holding hands, Blaze and Kyra walked downstairs to the dining room. The nannies walked behind them. Lying outside the dining room door, the mastiff was whining for entrance.

When the footman opened the door, Blaze said, “Come, Puddles.”

“Come, Puddles,” Kyra echoed.

The small parade marched into the dining room. Ross smiled when they entered, but his wife ignored him.

Blaze escorted Kyra to the table and seated her on her father’s left. The nannies set the plate and cup on the table.

“Eat your supper now,” Blaze instructed them. “I’ll bring Kyra upstairs later.”

“Do ye want the dog in here?” Ina asked.

“Puddles goes where I go.”

“Puddles didna eat in Inverary’s dinin’ room,” Ross said.

“He ate in the dining room when no guests were present,” Blaze told him. “Besides, that room belonged to Her Grace, and this room belongs to me.”

Ross cocked a brow. “Celeste may argue that point.”

“Celeste can argue all she wants,” Blaze said, “but I will win the battle.”

Blaze looked at Kyra and frowned. The girl was chin level with the table top. “She needs something to sit on.”

Glancing at Donal and Ina, Blaze asked, “Do you have a Bible with both testaments?”

Ross burst into laughter which made Kyra giggle. He gestured to the footman who left the dining room.

“It’s not sacrilegious,” Blaze said. “God’s bounty will be wasted if she can’t reach the table.”

Ross grinned. “If ye say so, wife.”

“I do say so.” Blaze smiled, adding, “I wouldn’t invite the local vicar to supper while Kyra was sitting on the Bible.”

The footman returned to the dining room. “Shakespeare was thicker than the Bible.”

“Shakespeare will do.” Ross lifted his daughter while the footman set the Shakespeare volume on the chair. The he set his daughter down again and pushed the chair closer to the table.

“Does that feel better?” Blaze asked her.

Kyra nodded.

Donal set a platter on the table. “Ina made yer favorite.”

“Ah, jeez. I forgot to tell ye,” Ross said. “My wife doesna eat meat, fish, or poultry.”

“She’s got the gift, then?”

Blaze looked at the woman. Ina sounded as if she believed in communing with animals.

“D’ye believe in such thin’s?” Ross asked the older woman.

“Ye’ve lived too long in England,” Ina answered, and shifted her gaze to Blaze. “What can I serve ye?”

“I’ll take porridge tonight.”

“I’ll take porridge tonight, too,” Kyra said.

“You eat what’s on your plate,” Blaze ordered her stepdaughter, and then looked at her husband’s favorite meal. “What is that?”

“Haggis.”

“I’ve never heard of haggis.”

“Ye dice the heart, liver, and lungs of a sheep and mix with suet, onions, oatmeal, and seasonin’s.” Ross smiled at her stricken expression. “Then ye boil the mixture in the animal’s stomach.”

Blaze flushed in distress. One hand covered her mouth, the other flew to her throat. Her stomach churned with nausea.

“Do ye want me to eat porridge, too?” Ross asked her.

“Eat what you want but never suck bones in my presence or inform me of disgusting recipes,” Blaze answered. “If I ask, tell me I don’t want to know.”

Ross looked at his daughter. “Do ye think ye’d like a brother or sister?”

Kyra nodded and speared a piece of chicken.

“Come the new year, Mama Blaze will be givin’ us a baby,” Ross said.

“Are we gettin’ a brother or sister?”

“Which do ye want?”

“Both.”

Blaze was blushing. She did not relish people counting the months on their fingers from their wedding day to the baby’s birth day.

Changing the subject, Blaze told the little girl, “Puddles’s job is to eat anything that falls on the floor.”

Kyra tossed a piece of chicken and looked down. “Ah, jeez, Puddles ate the meat.”

Ross and Blaze looked at each other and laughed. “You need to guard your words around children,” she warned him.

“Mama, do ye know stories?”

“I know hundreds of stories,” Blaze answered. “I’ll tell you about the princess and the frog tonight.”

“Papa, do ye know stories?”

“Your papa doesn’t know stories because men know nothing,” Blaze answered for her husband, and heard muffled laughter near the sideboard.

“Papa, listen to Mama,” Kyra said, “and ye’ll know a story.”

“That’s good thinkin’,” Ross praised her. “Tell us the story, Mama.”

“You don’t want to wait until bedtime?” Blaze asked the girl.

“We want the story now,” Ross answered. “Kyra?”

The little girl nodded. “I want one now and one later.”

“Once upon a time in a faraway country,” Blaze began, “lived a queen and her three princesses. The queen was very sick and needed water from the Well of Good Health or she would die.

“The oldest princess left the castle and followed the path through the woods. Arriving at the Well of Good Health, the princess found the water guarded by a big, ugly frog. The princess ran back to the castle without the water.

“The second princess grabbed a bucket and followed the path through the woods to the special well. The ugly frog frightened her, too, and she returned home without the water.

“The youngest princess grabbed the bucket, walked through the woods to the well, and met the frog. The princess told the frog she needed his water to save her mother’s life. The frog agreed to give her the water if she would marry him.

“So the princess promised to marry the frog and filled the bucket with the healing water. She returned to the castle in time to save her mother’s life.”

Kyra started clapping. Ross smiled and clapped, too.

“Later that night, the princess went to bed. A voice awakened her, calling to open the castle’s door. The princess went downstairs and pulled the door open. There stood the frog who reminded her of her promise.

“Lifting the frog into her hand, the princess carried it upstairs to her bedchamber and set it on the rug. She would marry him in the morning, but the frog said he would be dead by then. Would she give him a kiss?

“The princess lifted the frog into her hand again and kissed him
on the lips
. A miracle happened then. The frog became a handsome prince. He married the princess, and they lived happily ever after.”