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A good number of the spectators craned their necks to see what was going on at the sound of Adrian's amused laugh.

"Easy you say? Precious little has proved easy around you, my dear Derry, but I suppose that is what has made it so interesting—" he murmured.

"Milord!"

"I know, I know, the shot. Well, I should hate to think of disappointing my caddie, so I guess there is nothing to do for it but try." He paused for a moment. "You know, there is something I should like to tell you?—"

"Good Heavens, whatever it is, it can wait!" She went over to where she had laid the clubs and picked up the short iron.

"Here," she said in a fierce whisper, placing it in his hands. "Now will you kindly stop talking and make the plaguey shot so we can all go home? I have no desire to traipse another hole with your sticks on my shoulder."

Several gasps of surprise punctuated the buzz of excitement that ran through the crowd as they realized what Adrian intended to do.

The noise quickly died away as he stepped up to his ball and made a practice swing, taking care to lay the face open just as Derrien had advised.

The club came back for real, in a short, steep backswing, then he brought it through with just the right touch, soft, but still firm.

The ball hopped into the air, sailing over the other featherie with ease and coming to land within inches of where Derrien had indicated.

The slope and spin caused it to gather speed when it hit the short grass.

Off it rolled, turning left, then right, then at the last moment left again.

For an instant it hung on the lip of the hole before dropping in.

A loud cheer erupted from the small crowd and they surged forward a step or two before Adrian waved them back. With an impassive countenance, he turned to his opponent.

"You can still tie if you make your putt, Hertford." He gave a mournful shake of his head. "But I must say, I wouldn't want to be faced with such a devilishly tricky shot. I can't for the life of me decide whether it breaks left or right."

It was only when he turned to face Derry that he gave a quick wink and a grin.

The marquess could only gape in stunned disbelief. "Of all the bloody luck, you poxy son of a dog," he snarled under his breath. "That was an impossible..."

His words trailed off in a flurry of impotent curses. Hands shaking, he attempted to study his line, but effort proved to no avail. As soon as he struck the ball it was clear he had pulled it badly. It rolled well left of the hole.

"Goddamn it, I-I've been cheated!" Hertford whirled, the club clenched in his hand, and glared at Brewster. "Marquand's shot was not a fair one! I demand the match be forfeit?—"

"As Captain of the St. Andrews Society of Golfers, may I remind you that I am well acquainted with the rules of golf.

" The other man stood his ground, his expression as stony as Scottish granite.

"And there is nothing in them that prohibits such a play.

" A crack of a smile appeared. "Indeed, it was one of the bonniest bits of shotmaking I've seen in all my years on the links. "

"I swear, it was only foul play that allowed?—"

"Have a care how you go on, Hertford," interrupted Adrian softly. "Or do you wish to meet on different patch of grass tomorrow morning? I have a good deal more practice with executing that type of shot, so it would prove an even more interesting match of skills."

The marquess's mouth hung open for a moment, then shut with a near audible gnashing of teeth.

"Don't care for that sort of challenge?" Adrian's lips curled up. "I didn't think so, as it’s well known that you don't play any game unless the odds are thoroughly stacked in your favor. Today, however, was not your lucky day."

He held out his hand. "I believe you have in your possession a number of things that now rightly belong to me."

Defeated on all counts, Hertford wrenched out a fistful of crumpled vowels from his coat pocket and threw them to the ground.

In the same motion, he turned and with a vicious heave sent his putter flying in a high arc out toward the rocky strand.

A string of curses trailing after it, he stalked from the field amid a chorus of low whistles and jeers.

"My God, Adrian, you did it!" cried Rafael, pounding his friend on the back as well-wishers flooded onto the green. "Against all odds, you really did it!"

"You showed grit, Marquand. And heart. My congratulations," added Bowmont.

Philp sucked at his pipe and merely smiled.

"What a relief! It's hard to believe it is finally over and we may finally think of taking ourselves home," continued Rafael.

"Despite the rather quirky charms of Scotland, I am eager to return to London for a last few weeks of relaxation with Jack and my uncle before we leave for the Continent And you must be even more anxious to be gone from here, now that you have accomplished all you set out to do. "

He took a moment to consult his pocket watch. "Why, it's only noon. We could could be on our way this very afternoon."

Adrian's eyes were glued on a lone figure, fast disappearing along the edge of the first fairway. "Actually, there is one thing still unsettled, Rafe." His lips twitched into a wry expression. "Would that I knew the score on that account…"

He cleared his throat. "I shall see you back at the house shortly, and we will crack a bottle of champagne to celebrate. But right now, I'm afraid you must excuse me."

Rafael followed his gaze, looking confused.

“I will explain things more fully later,” whispered Adrian, as the crowd moved away from him and friend. “But Master Derry is actually Miss Edwards. I owe her my victory.” And hopefully my future happiness.

Rafael let out a grunt of surprise, but then his expression turned pensive. "An unusual young lady—and one who's roused your passions, I see." He smiled. "That's good. It must be a singular feeling..." His voice trailed off.

"It is," said Adrian. "When it strikes, it... well, it defies description."

Rafael made a wry face. "God only knows if I will live long enough to experience it—which makes me doubly happy to wish you the best." He gave Adrian a little shove. "Now go. Love is worth chasing."

He caught up to her along the rocky shore. The gusting wind had freed several golden curls from the confines of the tweed cap and they danced across her freckled cheek, obscuring her face.

"Just where do you think you are going?"

"As you no longer need a caddie, sir, I am free to return to my own concerns. Just as you are finally free to return to London. And Woolsey Hall."

"Yes, I'm free. Quite free."

She swallowed hard, seemingly confused by his odd words. "I didn't have a chance to offer my congratulations back there, sir. You showed great courage and determination on the course today, and I'm very happy for you. I know how much this victory means to you."

Her voice seemed to be ebbing away." I should like to see what you have in mind for the improvements you mentioned," she added in a near whisper. "Perhaps one day, you might have time to send me a sketch."

"A sketch? Is that all you would like?"

Not trusting her voice, Derrien looked out to sea.

"You know, I have been thinking..." He reached out and gently turned her chin toward him.

"It seems a great shame to break up such a successful partnership.

" There was a wetness on her cheeks that could have been flecks of salty spray, or perhaps tears.

"I could use a hand if I am to finish the designs for the duke on time. "

"But... that's utterly impossible!"

"Why?"

"You can't really mean that you would consider hiring a female to help on one of the most important commissions in all of England. It would cause an uproar if it were to be known."

"By now you should realize I pay little heed to the strictures of convention. What matters is that you have a rare talent and imagination. I should very much like you to consider... the position."

"But I've never seen the duke's estate in person, so I could hardly be of much help. Besides, you must return to London right away and I have the plans for Rossdhu House to think about it and must arrange a visit there. So, you see, it is quite out of the question."

"Ah, a logistical problem?"

She nodded.

Adrian paused. "Well, then it is a good thing we are in Scotland and have no need of reading the banns or even of a special license. If we marry tonight, we could pass by Loch Lomond on our honeymoon before journeying south."

Derrien blinked. "But you can't possibly think of marrying me!"

"Why ever not?" he asked. "Is the position of wife so very less appealing than that of caddie or assistant designer? "

Her gaze dropped to the toes of her scuffed boots and when she answered, her voice was barely audible. "You know quite well the reason."

"You think you don't fit into my world? Well, neither do I fit into the silly strictures of Polite Society."

He hesitated. "But perhaps what you meant was that the idea of a titled English lord for a husband is still repugnant to you. I had hoped you wouldn't hold that against me."

She dared raise her eyes. "You mean..."

"I mean that we make a smashing team, my dear Derry. What say you to continuing the partnership?"

She hesitated for a heartbeat and then threw her arms around him, trying not to cry. "You mean it? You are sure you don't prefer a lovely lady in silks rather than a brat in breeches."

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life. London may glitter with all manner of polished ladies, but I have found my true Diamond here in the rough of St. Andrews."

He hugged her close and his mouth came down to capture hers in a kiss that left no room for question as to how deeply his passion ran. His hands twined in the silky splendor of her curls, knocking the cap to the ground for the last time.

"In fact, you must be sure to wear breeches often in the privacy of our home," he murmured. "Though I shall insist that they be cut a good deal snugger than these." Then he kissed her again with a searing urgency.

To his elation, she responded with an equal ardor.

Fortune had indeed smiled on him the day his carriage had headed north. By taking the biggest gamble of his life, he had won something infinitely more precious than any tangible treasure.

"Does Woolsey Hall have a golf course nearby?" she asked after his lips had finally come away from hers.

Adrian's eyes danced with laughter. "Actually there is a splendid tract of pasture land along the river that I have been eyeing." He sketched a few lines in the sand with his boot. "If we move some earth, carve out a series of pot bunkers and plant a few trees to create..."

Her mouth came up to stifle any further words. "I should love to see a sketch of it, Adrian," she said between kisses. "But perhaps it could wait until later."