Page 77 of The Mistletoe Dare

“I would like that,” he agreed, his gaze falling to her mouth again. “I like you.”

She let out a breath of laughter and was about to let him kiss her again when a loud shout broke the moment.

“Yappy dug! Rochford! What the devil are ye doing out in this perishing weather? Come to the castle and get warm.”

Georgie sighed. “Damn you, Muir,” she muttered.

Rochford gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s only protecting you from the wicked ogre, come to steal you away from home. It’s what brothers do, isn’t it?”

She snorted at that. “Brothers are annoying from dawn till dusk. That’s what they do. Just wait until he’s courting,” she muttered crossly, but took Rochford’s arm and let him escort her back home.

“Are you certain she didn’t mean diamonds?” Joe asked for the fifth time. “Everyone loves diamonds.”

They sat in the private parlour of an inn by the fire, nursing a mug of ale each after an abortive shopping expedition. Rochford harrumphed and folded his arms.

“Well, give me a clue. We’ve visited every jeweller between Wick and Inverness, and we need time enough to travel back again. It’s her birthday at the weekend.”

“I am aware,” Rochford muttered, glowering. “She wants nothing expensive. Georgie knows I’m rich. That’s too easy. It’s a test, don’t you see? It must—”

“It must be romantic and personal,” Joe said, frowning over his mug of ale.

Rochford nodded.

“Well, then. I can’t help you there,” Joe said with a shrug.

“Why not?” Rochford protested, frowning at his valet. “I didn’t bring you all this way just to look decorative.”

Joe shrugged. “No, you get that for free, but what I mean is, it has to be something significant for both of you. Something that no one else knows about. A shared memory that will make you smile in twenty years when you think of it again.”

Rochford considered this and drained his tankard. He thought back over the time he’d spent with Georgie these past weeks, and before at Beverwyck.

“What?” Joe asked.

Rochford’s gaze drifted back to him, and he grinned.

“What?” Joe demanded again, sitting up straighter.

“I’ve got it,” Rochford said. He laughed, and hope to goodness he had guessed right, because he couldn’t help feeling the rest of his life was riding on it.

Rochford paced Morven’s study. If the bloody man didn’t arrive soon, he’d have worn through the carpet. He wiped his clammy palms on his coat and raked a hand through his hair and then muttered a curse because Joe had made him swear he wouldn’t mess it up. Joe wasn’t here, though, sweating his bollocks off, waiting for Georgie’s father to appear.

Finally, the door swung open, and Morven appeared with the customary scowl upon his face, Rochford had become used to seeing it over the past weeks.

“You’re early,” he barked, glowering at Rochford. “She’s not here yet. You were told to come for dinner—”

“I know. I came to speak with you first.”

Morven’s face darkened further. “Oh, damn you. Must we do this now?”

Rochford nodded, though his guts had twisted into a knot and the idea of putting it off a bit longer seemed less impossible than it had an hour ago.

Muttering, Morven went and sat behind his desk and waved an unenthusiastic hand at him. “On ye go then. Gie it laldy.”

Rochford stared, uncomprehending.

“Gie it yer best shot,” Morven said irritably. “Yer from Cumbria, man. Can ye nae remember yer blood was Scottish way back when?”

“I was not allowed to pick up the local dialect. My mother considered it ugly,” Rochford said, his lips quirking with amusement. “Ironic, really, as things turned out,” he added with a snort.