A sharp knock at the door shattered the fragile moment, pulling them both abruptly back to reality. Beth gasped, her eyeswidening as the warmth between them dissipated, leaving her feeling cold and disoriented. Boyd’s gaze shifted, guarded once again, and he rose swiftly to his feet.
“What is it, Reggie?” His voice came out deeper than usual.
“It’s Reginald, sir. The furniture for your office has arrived.”
Beth’s pulse still thrummed, her body humming with the imprint of his touch. She reached for his hand, and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet.
The room tilted unexpectedly, and she stumbled.
Strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her. “Careful there, Lady Tipsy,” he murmured, a faint smile softening the tension in his features.
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Reggie Reginald, assume here. I’ll escort Miss Croft to the house.”
“It’s just Reginald, sir.”
The world seemed suspended in magic. Beth’s steps faltered as they reached the veranda overlooking the Douro River, its surface shimmering like a silver ribbon under the moon’s glow. The crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks, already flushed from the wine they had shared. Boyd’s arm around her waist steadied her, a warm anchor against the chill.
She peeked at him, admiring his handsome profile. In the moonlight, he seemed less the calculating wine tycoon and more the romantic Highlander of her dreams. Though obstinate and guarded about his past wounds, there was no denying he could stir a woman’s heart. Perhaps, in time, he would reveal those scars to her.
Boyd glanced down, catching her gaze with a half-smile. “You’re quiet. Lost in the Douro?”
She laughed softly, the sound carrying on the cool breeze. “I was remembering a scene from one of Mr. Scott’s stories—Waverley, speaking with Flora by a Highland brook.”
He arched a brow, the moonlight catching the depths of his eyes. “Adventure is only there for those who take it. Lady Beth would never allow herself to do something wild.”
The challenge in his voice stirred something restless in her. The world around her felt tilted, dreamlike, as though anything could happen in this place between the vineyards and the river. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a wobbly smile. “You’re wrong, sir. I can be quite adventurous when I... when I choose to be.”
His hand tightened on her waist, his voice dropping low. “Then dance with me, Lady Beth. This is not a Scottish brook but a Portuguese river, but I bet the moon is the same here as it is in the Highlands.”
Could she allow herself such freedom? “Public displays of intoxication are unbecoming for a lady. It would mark her as wild.”
Boyd’s grin was roguish. “Only the stars are watching. A winemaker’s wife should know how tae dance by moonlight—intoxicated or no.”
“I’m not intoxicated,” she said with a huff—then promptly tripped on her hem. She would have landed in an undignified heap if Boyd’s hand hadn’t steadied her.
“Then what are ye waitin’ for, lass? If ye aren’t tipsy, you can’t be displaying nothing, can ye?”
Before she could protest or overthink, he pulled her into a slow, deliberate dance. Their movements were guided only by the faint sounds of the night and the rhythm of their shared breath. The chill in the air seemed distant, a forgotten detail,as she allowed herself to be swept away by her charming Highlander.
The silk of her gown brushed against his legs as they turned. She closed her eyes, letting herself imagine she was a heroine in one of Scott’s tales, swept into the arms of a Highlander with a soul as rugged as the hills and a heart that beat only for her.
The night spun around them in a blur of silver light and whispered breaths. She lost count of how many waltzes they shared beneath the moon, the Douro and the stars their only witnesses.
All too soon, the door to her room appeared before them, stark against the dreamlike quality of the night. It was a reminder that reality had its limits.
Boyd pushed it open with a sure hand. “I’ll tell the guests you’re indisposed and won’t be coming to dinner. Take a bath and drink plenty of water to wash away the wine.”
Beth’s fingers tightened on the doorframe, reluctant to let the night end. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to steady herself.
“Thank you,” she murmured, hesitating. Her eyes searched his face. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Have ye forgotten your challenge tonight?”
Her eyes widened. “The challenge? But... I thought... surely you wouldn’t—”
“Ye thought I’d spare ye because ye’ve had a wee bit too much wine?” His smile was playful, but there was an edge to it that made her pulse jump.
