“Boyd.”
His groan was low, unexpected, sending a jolt through her.
He pulled away abruptly, his forehead leaning against hers as his breathing grew harsh.
She was sitting in his lap, willing his mouth back, when he caught her by her forearms and set her on her feet.
“The challenge is over, lass. Now, away with ye.”
Beth wobbled, silently congratulating her legs for holding steady. Straightening with as much dignity as she could muster, she met his gaze.
His jaw clenched, his breath ragged.
“Did I... pass?”
Mr. Sandeman’s eyes darkened. “Aye, Beth, ye passed—if the test was to kill the prospective groom.”
Her brows furrowed. “Kill? I... I don’t understand. Should I try again, then?”
The insufferable man groaned. “Lass, if ye don’t want to know just how well ye passed, I suggest ye race back to yer room.”
Beth’s eyes widened at the intensity in his voice. A drawing-room groom would never look at his bride with such heat.
She lifted her fingers to her lips. The kiss they had shared—unbridled, electric—had little place in a drawing-room courtship. Well… Perhaps a drawing-room courtship was not so sublime after all.
Grinning, she took a hasty step back, giving him a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sandeman. A lady knows when to heed well-meaning advice.” Without another word, she turned, hurrying toward the exit, her heels clicking against the floor.
“The name’s Boyd. And, Beth, lock your damn door, aye?”
Chapter nine
"The secret to a lasting blend, whether in wine or marriage, is knowing when to let each element breathe and when to hold it close." The Rogue’s Guide to Refinement
Julia drifted to the marble bath, the chill of the stone tiles seeping through her thin robe, sending a shiver up her spine. She trailed her fingers through the steaming water, watching as lavender salts dissolved into pale, listless spirals. If only her worries were as easy to fade.
Perhaps a long soak would wash away the memory of the dinner—the way Griffin had needled Boyd over Miss Croft. Just look at her. Six years of marriage, and that same spark of jealousy still clung to her, as sharp as it had been in their first months together.
“This is heavenly. Hot water in the bathroom,” she raised her voice so her husband could hear, but if he did, he made no sign of joining her.
Griffin paced the bedroom, his tall frame casting shadows on the parquet. Now and then, he ran his hand over his dark hair and then at his shaved chin. His hands twitched like when he wanted to do something but couldn’t. “Boyd spent a fortune in this house to flaunt it to his guests. I bet the Highlander still bathes in the freezing river, like when he arrived in Portugal.”
“Perhaps he changed.” People could change, couldn’t they? The thought brought tears to her eyes, but she swallowed them quickly.
“Did you see how he treated Miss Croft? And the hunger in his gaze? The Scotsman has no shame. No shame at all.”
Julia gasped, her chest squeezing so hard it hurt to breathe. Was this how it ended? They had lived happily and desired each other for six years, but how many happy couples had succumbed for less?
Julia tightened the knot of her robe. “Why are we here, Griffin?”
“You know why. Boyd invited us—”
“Don’t lie to me. Please.” She had spent months preparing for Christmas back at home. All thrown to the wind because he decided to come here instead. “We are above that, don’t you think?” Tears clogged her throat.
“Love, is something the matter? Are the children all right?”
“They are in their rooms already. Asleep.” Blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing in her breast.
He came behind her, his heat making the hairs of her skin stand on end. She pulled in a sharp breath, hoping to store his scent in her lungs.
