Boyd inclined his head, determined to keep his composure. “Mr. Croft.”
Croft cleared his throat, a cough raking through his chest and sending a shiver through his shoulders. “When the girl returned this morning with red-rimmed eyes, I assumed the worst. But here you are.” His tone held that familiar edge of contempt, as if he were watching Boyd through a fogged lens, unable or unwilling to see the man he had become.
Boyd took a steadying breath. “I came to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Croft let out a mocking laugh. “Ha. I knew it.” He leaned back, his gaze narrowing as he surveyed Boyd with an air of satisfaction, as though Boyd were a pawn finally moving as expected. “You’re a businessman, just like myself, Mr. Sandeman. You don’t let family grievances get in the way of ambition. I choose my son-in-law well.” He gave a thin, self-satisfied smile. “I know you’d accept my proposal to unite Croft & Associates. with Sandeman’s.”
Boyd’s jaw tightened, his pulse thrumming in his ears. How many times had he rehearsed this moment—when Croft would acknowledge his worth so Boyd could voice his rejection? Still, the words would not come. Boyd didn’t want to humiliate the man in front of him. All he wanted was to end this so he could find Beth.
“I don’t want to marry Beth because of your company. If it were up to me, I’d sooner leave it to rot. You may rest assured that Beth and I will rebuild Croft & Associates. But it won’t be mine. I’ll make it clear in the marriage contract that the company belongs to her—and, one day, to our children.”
Croft’s face contorted, as if he were trying to choke down a live frog. Boyd could almost see the struggle in his mind—the incomprehension at a man turning down a chance to expand his power. They were not the same—not in the slightest. Croft would never understand what it meant to want something—or someone—for their own sake, untouched by ambition.
Boyd straightened, letting his gaze settle on Croft with a quiet finality. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll see my bride now.”
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
Beth 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 inlove 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.
