23. Chapter 23

Chapter twenty-three

"Even the fiercest of rogues learns that love doesn’t follow rules—it writes its own, often at his expense." The Rogue’s Guide to Refinement

B eth entered the morning room, her heart racing as she rehearsed her speech. Stay focused. She’d tell him he didn’t need to feel honor-bound, that she could handle the consequences of her choices herself.

He sat in the armchair. She took a steadying breath, her pulse quickening as she drank in his handsome profile—sunlight poured over him like molten gold, catching in the tousled waves of his dark hair and tracing the bold lines of his cheekbones.

Her rugged Scot didn’t stand when he saw her, merely lifted his eyes to her—those blue eyes that held a light of their own, drawing the room’s warmth toward him.

“You don’t have to do this,” she began, her voice firmer than she felt. “I know you vowed that if you ruined me, you would marry me. But I was the one who came to your room, and I won’t allow you to pay—”

Boyd lifted his hand, and the commanding gesture held her mid-sentence. Beth’s throat tightened, and she gripped her skirts, caught off-guard.

His lips curved—firm, sculpted, and maddeningly unreadable. “Before ye dismiss me outright, I’ve one more challenge for ye, Miss Croft.”

She blinked, her mind scrambling to keep up. “A challenge?” She tried to laugh it off. “I really don’t think—”

“Humor me, love. Consider it... a test of yer judgment.”

His lopsided grin sent a thrill through her. She braced herself, drawing her shoulders back.

“If you deem it necessary...”

Boyd’s eyes gleamed, and he crossed his legs, as if savoring her reply, his expression turning as serious as it was infuriating. “Right then. Tell me, Beth—what’s strong as a mountain, stubborn as a mule, and fierce as a wolf when it comes tae protectin’ what he holds dear?”

She blinked. What on earth is he—then it dawned on her. The answer was absurdly obvious. “A Highlander?”

“Aye,” he replied, his tone gentling, his eyes losing the mischievous spark as they held hers. “Why would such a Highlander travel halfway across the land, freezing his arse, braving a house full of well-meaning guests and one inquisitive little girl, and grace your doorstep on this fine Christmas day?”

Beth’s gaze flew to his, and she swallowed, willing her voice not to shake. “Why?”

Boyd reached out, catching her hand. His voice softened to a murmur. “Because he’s in love, Beth. Helplessly, hopelessly in love with a daft English lass who gave him back his heart and his hope.”

Her own heart pounded, a giddy ache flooding her chest. She struggled to keep her composure, but her chin quivered, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Boyd traced small circles over her knuckles, his gaze unguarded. “So what do ye say, lass?”

Laughter bubbled up through her tears, her chest tightening with an aching joy that was almost unbearable. “Really, Mr. Sandeman? Will you never learn that you should stand in the presence of a lady?”

The corners of his mouth softened into a tender grin, his eyes brimming with warmth. “Och, lass. I’ll do ye one better.”

Her Highlander sank to one knee, his hand never leaving hers, his expression open, as if this moment meant everything. Her breath caught as she looked down at him, her heart soaring.

“Will ye marry me?”

Beth dropped to her knees before him. She nodded, her lips trembling. “Yes, Boyd. Yes, a thousand times.”

Beth cupped his stubbled jaw, her thumb tracing the contours of his face. A life with him was now so close she could taste it.

Their eyes met, and in that shared gaze, she felt a pull stronger than anything she’d known, a draw as fierce and consuming as the wild Highland winds. She leaned in, her lips meeting his, soft at first, as if savoring each moment, each breath. But his hand slid to her waist, tugging her close, and her restraint dissolved, her kiss deepening with all the yearning she’d held back, all the dreams she’d barely dared to imagine.

As their mouths moved together, her fingers tangled in his hair, her body humming with the electricity of his touch, the heat of his skin. Every brush of his lips, every tender tug of his hand against her waist, promised a future brimming with adventures, with wine tastings and vineyard escapades. She wanted it all— the storms, the wild, uncharted moments, and the peace she felt here, with him.

“Does this mean the challenges are over?”

He smiled, pressing his forehead against hers, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Never, lass. You just wait for what I planned for the harvest.”

With that, he rose, pulling her to her feet. “Come along, then.”

“Where are we going?” She blinked, caught between laughter and disbelief.

“To get married, of course.”

“These things take time. Banns must be posted for at least three weeks, and this is hardly enough to arrange a proper breakfast. My mother dreams of a grand reception, and the poor dear—”

Before she could finish, Dora walked in, her eyebrows raised. “So, the Scotsman finally showed his face. And what will you be snatching today, Mr. Sandeman?”

Boyd’s grin turned downright wicked, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Beth’s spine. “Ah, Dora, ye’ve just inspired me.”

His arm snaked around Beth's waist, and the world tilted—one moment, her feet were on the carpet, the next, she was draped unceremoniously over his broad shoulder.

“Boyd Sandeman, have you lost your wits?” She thumped against his back, though not with any real conviction.

The bounce of his stride made her feel as if she were caught in some wild, ridiculously gorgeous dream.

“Careful, lass,” Boyd said, his voice thick with amusement as he secured her legs with one arm, his other hand resting possessively on her thigh. “Wouldn’t want ye tumbling down before I’ve stolen ye proper. I’m lifting my bride, as a proud Highlander should.”

“I told you, Lady Beth,” Dora said. “Those Highlanders don’t rest until they’ve carried their women off to their caves.”

“Dora!” Beth sputtered, her face flaming. “Don’t encourage him.”

His gaze landed on the cello. With a quick nod, he grabbed it by the neck with his free hand.

“And me, Mr. Sandeman? Am I invited?”

He shot Dora a wink. “Come along if you must, but don’t expect me to carry you off, too. My back will be achin’ enough on the morrow.”

Beth’s mother burst into the room. “What in heaven’s name are you doing, Mr. Sandeman?”

He barely paused, grinning. “Exactly what it looks like, Mrs. Croft. The uncouth Scot is stealing his bride.”

Her mother gasped, clutching her pearls. “But... what about the wedding? The banns?”

“You can send for us when all is ready. No expense should be spared. Plan it fit for a princess.”

Her mother’s eyes lit up with the sparkle of all the extravagance she’d ever dreamed of. She sank into a chair, a hand pressed to her heart, practically swooning. “Oh...oh, indeed, yes. Fit for a princess.”

With Beth laughing over his shoulder, cello in one hand, and a determined stride, Boyd marched off, a Highlander on a mission to make his bride—and her entire entourage—his own.

As their carriage rattled to a stop outside Boyd’s estate, Beth glimpsed the grand entrance and, just to the side, the fountain, its waters shimmering in the afternoon light. She could feel Boyd’s pulse quicken where his hand rested on hers. This was it—their future.

When the postilion boy opened the door, Beth moved to step out, but Boyd hopped out first, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Stay put, lass,” he commanded, his brogue thick with excitement.

He ducked back inside and gathered her up like she weighed nothing at all.

“Boyd!” she yelped, but her protest dissolved into a laugh.

His grin was wicked as he strode toward the estate, his bride cradled possessively in his arms.

“It’s tradition, lass,” he said, his voice a rumble in her ear. “A Highlander carries his wife over the threshold. A matter of pride.”

The house sparkled ahead, its golden windows glowing in the twilight. Boyd stiffened, his attention shifting. Beth followed his gaze to Reginald, the poor footman emerging from the stables in his ludicrously ornate livery, its bright buttons gleaming even in the dim light. He spotted them and, with a determined set to his jaw, began his march toward the front door.

“Oh, no.” Beth groaned.

Boyd adjusted her on his chest. His grip tightened, and he leaned forward like a Highlander storming the battlefield. His boots crunched against the gravel as he angled toward the door with all the stubbornness of a man who refused to lose.

Her ribs shook with suppressed laughter as she bounced in his arms. “Boyd, you can’t possibly—”

“Watch me,” he growled, his eyes locked on the prize.

The door loomed, but Reggie was closing in fast from the opposite direction.

“He’s just doing his job.”

“Not tonight, lass.”

Beth sighed, feigning defeat—then laced her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss, tracing his lips with her tongue. His steps faltered, and she felt the moment his determination crumbled.

“Lass,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with surprise and need.

She deepened the kiss, one hand threading through his hair as his arms tightened around her. The heat of him, the solid strength beneath her, made her forget her own ploy—until she heard the door creaking open.

Reggie stood there, proud and triumphant, his hand on the knob and a satisfied grin on his face.

“Welcome home, sir. Madam,” he said with a bow.

Boyd broke the kiss with a muttered curse, his lips still tantalizingly close to hers. His narrowed gaze flicked toward Reggie, who shifted aside to allow them entry.

Beth smiled innocently up at her husband. “Well, darling? Shall we?”

With a growl, Boyd carried her across the threshold. As they entered the grand house, Beth caught the way Reggie’s chest puffed with pride, and she couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Keep laughin’, lass,” Boyd whispered in her ear, his tone full of promise. “We’ll see who has the last word tonight.”

Her breath hitched, his words sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

And as the door closed behind them, Beth decided she wouldn’t mind losing that particular contest.

The End