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He’d been afraid. This big, strong, wonderful man had been afraid.

A roguish but infinitely tender grin arched his mouth at what must’ve been her stupefied expression.

He brushed his bent forefinger over her cheek. “What say ye, my yellow English rose? Will ye take this rough Scotsman as yer husband? We’ll have our rough moments, I’ve nae doubt, but if I love ye and ye love me…”

A scowl pulled his midnight brows together.

“Ye do love me, dinna ye, Rayne?”

“How can you doubt it? I fell in love with you that first day in your garden.” Standing on her tiptoes, Rayne pulled his mouth down to meet hers, but he resisted her urging.

“I dinna want a long engagement. Marry me by special license, and we’ll honeymoon in Scotland.”

“My, but you are in a hurry.”

“Aye, I dinna want to take a chance of losin’ ye ever again.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into the vee of his strapping legs. The evidence of his affection was quite apparent.

As his lips brushed hers, Rayne whispered, “How soon can you get a special license?”

Fletcher’s laugher filled the night air, certain to draw attention.

And for once, Rayne didn’t care a jot about her reputation.