Boyd cracked an eye open. “Because of your serenade, I hardly slept last night. I’m tired.”
Beth’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she huffed, “Very well.” Yet she adjusted her posture with an air of importance, her chin lifting slightly.
Boyd bit back a grin. Who knew French correspondence could hold such intrigue?
Her lap was surprisingly soft beneath him, her skirts carrying a faint scent of lavender. Her fingers hovered briefly on his shoulder, light as a butterfly testing its perch.
She started reading again, her voice flowing like warm honey, a steady rhythm that hummed in his ear. From his angle, he admired the delicate curve of her chin and the way her lips shaped each syllable.
His pulse slowed, his body sinking further into the floor as the last traces of tension melted away. He shifted slightly, his head nestling deeper into her lap.
“In light of your discerning reputation, Monsieur Sandeman, I recommend that you personally sample the wines from the estates currently on the market. By familiarizing yourself with each vineyard’s unique profile, you will be best equipped to determine which properties align with the quality and character you wish to bring to your portfolio. I trust that your refined palate will guide you in selecting befitting your impeccable standards.”
She lowered the letter and glanced at him. “I expect that crate to be the bottles he mentioned?”
His fingers twitched against his chest, and he let out a low hum of appreciation, reluctant to move. Was it over already? The way she made paperwork seem captivating was almost unfair.
With a groan of reluctance, he sat up, fighting the ridiculous urge to pull her into his lap and silence her smugness with a kiss. Just one. For research purposes.
Beth cleared her throat and glanced at the door. “Well, then, I’ll leave you now. You must have a lot of drinking to do, and I’d hate to be in your way.”
His heart, stubborn as a mule, kicked against his ribs in protest. Of course, he had work to do. Important, pressing work. But before he could think twice, his hand shot out and caught hers.
Her wrist was delicate under his rough palm, and he nearly released her, worried she might shatter at his touch. But no—the room would turn back into a catacomb without her, and he wasn’t quite ready for the silence to swallow him whole.
“You came here for a challenge, did ye not?” he asked, raising one brow.
“To pass my second challenge, yes.” She shot him a wary look, clearly suspicious of the grin spreading across his face.
He caressed her wrist lightly and met her gaze. “You’ve proven you can read French words. Now let’s see how you fare drinkin’ their wine.”
Her eyes widened, and she let out a breathy laugh. “Are all your challenges this demanding?”
“Aye,” he said, cursing his mind for conjuring exactly how demanding he wanted to be. “And they only get worse.”
Beth watched as Boyd shoved crates aside, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his shirt as he worked. While his back was turned, she allowed herself a small, private gloat. She would be lying if she denied the pride she felt at having helped him translate the French letter—a satisfaction amplified by the memory of his head resting against her lap.
And now, an impromptu wine tasting. Never a dull moment while courting Mr. Sandeman. Still, this time, she wanted more than to pass his test. She wanted to understand the man beneath the wine tycoon’s polished exterior. What drove him to be so ambitious? Why was he always so guarded? And why this relentless need to project a refinement that, deep down, he didn’t seem to enjoy?
“Are you excited about the Christmas banquet?” she asked. “The housekeeper said you invited all the winemakers in the village.”
His body stiffened, and he avoided her gaze. “Are you ever excited to spend time with people you hardly know, who only get closer because they want something from you?”
Beth hugged herself, the question landing heavier than she expected. Wasn’t that what she was doing? “Then why invite them in the first place?”
“Did your family only have guests they cared about? Or are you implying that, because of my birth, I don’t—”
“I’m implying that a man who got where you are should enjoy more freedom than the rest of us.”
Boyd Sandeman had earned his place among the privileged but seemed heart-wrenchingly unable to settle in it. What would it be like to feel so... out of place?
Boyd’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he shrugged. “When my agent sent me this crate, I thought he was giving me a Christmas present.” He pried open a wooden box and extracted several bottles.
“What do you want for Christmas?”
“You should be looking at it. But alas, it seems I’ll spend Christmas empty-handed.” He gestured to the surrounding room. “I commissioned state-of-the-art wine-tasting facilities. The best money can buy, Lady Beth.”
Was it a gift if he had to buy it himself? Her heart ached for him. He had no family, did he? Christmas Eve was tomorrow. She should have brought him a gift. A wristwatch or a cane—something a gentleman might appreciate. But in her haste to leave Oporto, she’d forgotten.
