15. Chapter 15

Chapter fifteen

"A rogue who sets a trap for another must tread carefully, lest he find himself ensnared." The Rogue’s Guide to Refinement

B oyd stared at the fountain, his head on the verge of exploding. The faint taste of prim Miss Croft lingered on his lips. No amount of Highland whiskey could wash it away. Her face—flushed, hopeful—haunted him. Even if he fled to his native land, the memory would follow.

Footsteps shuffled behind him, dragging him from his thoughts. He turned his head sharply, his pulse quickening, but it wasn’t her. Of course, it wasn’t Beth. After last night, she’d sooner face an executioner than him.

Mrs. Abernathy approached cautiously, as if nearing a bear’s den. Boyd must indeed look the part. “Mr. Sandeman, several confirmations have arrived. I wondered what time you’d like to serve dinner.”

“What?”

“For the neighbors. The gentry. The Winemakers you invited for the Christmas feast.”

The reminder hit like a punch. The scent of baked apples and cinnamon wafted from her. No doubt the kitchen had been working since dawn for this mockery of a celebration.

Tension coiled in his stomach, winding like a constricting vine. The revenge. Images of Croft’s sneer flashed through his mind, sharp as broken glass. The wound of humiliation remained raw, throbbing with the call for retribution. Could he do it? To appease the ache he’d nursed all these years, would he expose Beth’s vulnerability before a room full of winemakers? Humiliate her? Bile rose, burning the back of his throat.

Beth’s eyes surfaced in his mind—bright, trusting, and filled with something that tightened his chest. She had looked at him as if he were more than an uncouth Scotsman, as if there were worth in him beyond anger and ambition.

He would sooner face a firing squad than hurt his lass.

“Cancel it.”

Mrs. Abernathy blinked, startled. “What should I tell them?”

A jagged, mirthless laugh clawed its way out of his throat. “Tell them there’s a blight here. Tell them I’m Beelzebub and will eat their daughters. Tell them I’ve grown horns.” His voice teetered on the edge of control. “Makes no difference to me.”

Boyd tracked the arc of the clay pigeon as it sliced through the air. He lifted his rifle, exhaled, and fired. The crack of the shot echoed across the field as the pigeon exploded in a cloud of dust. The recoil jarred his shoulder, a sharp stab in his already throbbing skull. He should’ve canceled the damn sport along with the dinner.

At Almoster’s signal, the trap boy released three pigeons. The duke raised his rifle with smooth precision, firing in quick succession. Each pigeon shattered midair, his aim unerring.

“Leave some for us, will you?” Boyd clenched his gloved fists.

Almoster’s gaze flicked to him, assessing. His fingers tapped lightly on the wood of his rifle. “I hear there’ll be guests for the Christmas dinner.”

“I invited the devil himself and his entourage,” Boyd replied, his voice flat, the storm within him barely masked.

He nodded at the boy by the trap, who scurried to prepare the clay. Boyd braced himself, his muscles coiling tight, the cool metal of the rifle pressing against his cheek as he lined up the shot, willing the image of Beth’s hurt eyes to dissolve. But it clung stubbornly to the edges of his thoughts. Those beautiful eyes.

“Why invite the neighbors?” Griffin asked, lowering his rifle with a frown. “People you don’t know. People you don’t even care about.”

“Back off,” Boyd snapped, his voice biting, his grip tightening as the throb behind his eyes deepened.

Almoster and Griffin exchanged a glance, heavy with unspoken words.

Griffin broke the silence, his tone cutting. “When Almoster told me about this... this despicable revenge—damn it, Boyd. I can’t believe you dragged my family here for this.”

Boyd crossed his arms. Of course, the cunning duke would figure it out.

Almoster’s brow arched, his diplomatic facade unbroken. “If you relent, there’s an alternative.”

“An alternative?” Boyd’s lips curled in mockery.

“The Duke of Beira’s daughter,” Almoster continued. “Eighteen. Aristocratic. Her father would welcome a match with someone of your stature.”

If Boyd had been drinking, he’d have choked. “They’d allow this uncouth Scot to sully their bloodlines?”

“She has a dowry and stands to inherit a vineyard in the Alentejo region.”

“Tell the family to save their veins.” The sarcasm tasted bitter even in his mouth.

“I can’t allow you to ruin Croft.” Almoster’s gaze narrowed. “I’m prepared to offer him a deal, and Maxwell will assume his business.”

The ache in Boyd’s chest twisted. How quaint for them. How precious. Beth would be saved and restored to the marriage market, yet he couldn’t summon anger—only a dark, consuming urge to kill any man who came near her.

Boyd lifted the rifle, aimed, and fired. The clay shattered, the sound cracking through the cold air, but satisfaction was fleeting. He lowered the gun, glaring at the men beside him. “Why are you two suddenly united? I thought you hated each other.”

Griffin’s jaw flexed as he cast a sidelong glance at Almoster. “He’s my brother-in-law. I don’t hate him.”

“For hell’s sake.” Boyd’s tone was reckless, biting. “You’ve come to blows more than once. He tried to steal your bride, then took your sister right from under your roof.”

Almoster lowered his rifle, his face unreadable. “That’s in the past. Maxwell’s a man of honor. I admire him. A man’s honor defines him.”

Honor. The word struck him like a blow. He had little of that—came in short supply while fighting street urchins for food scraps.

Boyd glanced away, shrinking under the weight of their stares. “I canceled the dinner. Croft deserves to rot in hell, but I can’t bring myself to hurt the lass.”

He dropped the gun and sank into a crouch, elbows braced on his knees. The ache in his head pulsed with every heartbeat. “I shouldn’t have ruined Christmas for your families. I had no right.”

What a farce. He’d taken something meant for joy and twisted it, mocking a tradition he barely understood. He pressed his forehead to his gloved hand, shame tightening in his chest. Let them leave. He deserved their scorn, their disdain.

He waited to hear their footsteps fading.

Instead, the men lowered themselves beside him, silent but steady. Griffin’s hand reached out, pressing a flask into Boyd’s grip. The weight of the offer was oddly comforting.

Boyd uncorked it, lifting it to his mouth. The warm, bitter liquid made him gag. He pulled back, coughing. “What’s this?”

“It’s coffee,” Griffin said, smirking.

Boyd stared at it in disgust. “Count on the stoic Englishman to carry that piss instead of liquor.” He shoved it back, reaching for his own flask and uncorking it with a shaky hand.

Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it early to start drinking?”

Boyd’s chuckle came low and empty. “Start? I never stopped.”

Griffin exhaled, his gaze steady. “That bad? I never thought Eros would bite your ass, old man. Took a long time coming, though.”

A tap on his shoulder made Boyd glance up. Almoster’s expression had softened, his voice quiet but firm. “The heart has ways the mind fails to understand.”

Boyd exhaled. “Beth Croft isn’t what I expected. She—” He swallowed, unable to finish. She’d ruined him.

“Women. Heaven has no bliss without them.” Almoster’s aristocratic tone carried a faint amusement.

Griffin shook his head. “The women were right then. You want her. That changes everything.”

“Changes what?” Boyd’s voice dropped, bitterness creeping in. “I’ve messed up the whole thing. This is nothing like the courtships you two had with your wives.”

Griffin snorted. “The courtships we had were far from perfect.” He gestured toward Almoster. “He seduced my sister while being accused of regicide.”

Almoster raised an eyebrow. “And you seduced Julia while engaged to Beth Croft.”

Griffin cleared his throat, looking slightly sheepish. “The point is, our starts were rough. But they ended all right.”

Neither of them seduced their women while planning to hurt them. Their lives were built on love and loyalty, while his was forged in hate. And now he had a silent, hollow house waiting for him.

Boyd stood. “I’m going to the hunting lodge. You two stay and enjoy Christmas with your families.”