Page 14 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
She scanned the room expectantly. There were so many factors to consider for success that evening, and so she continued to imbibe in champagne just to have her mind spin the other way.
She had learned to read the subtle cues he was giving her. She registered the fleeting glances he continued to sneak of herdécolletage and light brushes of his hand against her bare arm that revealed a man’s true intentions.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the entrance of the hall that drew her attention in an instant.
“I can’t believe he is here,” she heard a woman whisper.
“He never leaves Wilthorne Hall,” another responded in shock.
“It’s truly him,” a shrill voice called from the corner, clearly heightened by too much champagne.
Her head turned in a quick jolt as she stood on her tippy toes to get a better vantage of what was happening.
A quiet hush fell over the room. A tall, imposing figure entered the room, his mere presence commanding attention and respect.
She knew without seeing him that it washim—the man from Hyde Park, the girl’s guardian. She could feel it in her bones as much as she could feel her heartbeat. The Duke of Wilthorne.
Finally, a name. I’ve heard the whispers, rumors of a dangerous duke with a penchant for business and nae time for women, livin’ just outside of London in his lush estate. Aye, when those ember eyes soften. Aye, they are about as overwhelmin’ as the swell of the music that moves me.
“One can hardly believe a woman has not scooped him up,” she heard one man remark. “He’s got more money than Midas.”
He had wealth, power, and undeniable allure. In one sense, he was the very embodiment of Catriona’s hopes and dreams for a potential husband. And yet, this particular man could not be further from what she wanted. She thought of his coldness, both toward her and the girl, in Hyde Park that day.
Her father always said that one can feel conflicting ideas at the same time, and that they could both be true.
Catriona had never understood what he meant. Until now.
For she wanted both to edge closer to the man across the room, and fling herself as far away from him as possible—both at the same time.
As Richard made his way from the entrance through the thick crowd of ball gowns, baubles, and suits, his eyes swept over the room.
He took in the dazzling colors, the heavy scents of perfumed sweat, warm liquor, and fragrant flowers, and the hypnotic rhythm of live music. He continued scanning the crowd until he froze.
His eyes methers: the woman from Hyde Park. The infuriating, intoxicating Scot…
His lips pursed into a thin line as he felt the unfamiliar jolt of nervous energy. He almost mistook it for a flutter in his stomach as he held her gaze.
No, that was not it. He’d simply not had a proper supper. It must have been his hunger, which he would promptly resolve with a warm glass of brandy.
He made his way to the bar, where he met a young woman he did not know. He noticed her golden hair and dazzling smile as she curtseyed politely to him. Next to her was an older woman, who had an oddly familiar appearance.
“Your Grace,” the older woman said politely. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Umber, Lord Arlington’s aunt, from his father’s side. We’ve been staying with him for a few months now. He has told us much about you. Please allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Annabelle.”
He nodded to them both curtly as he grabbed his drink from the bar. He offered a polite smile to the girl, taking a healthy sip of his brandy.
Perhaps this evening won’t be fruitless after all. Arlington is here.
Frustration surged through Catriona like a heatwave in the middle of winter.
She watched the Duke of Wilthorne talk to a young woman. She did not think he was capable of social niceties given their first meeting and yet, here he was doing just that.
Determined not to be deterred by the interloper, Catriona took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She politely excused herself from the still chatty Mr. Featherstone as she made her way to the beverage table.
If nothing else, she needed to know how his niece was faring after the incident. She was nearly there when, as if by magic, Lord Hargrave appeared at her side with a champagne flute. His eyes twinkled with amusement, and perhaps mischief as he took her in.
“Miss Catriona MacTavish,” he said, his voice friendly and warm, with the pliability good dancing provides. “I have been searching all over for you. Your mother and Lady Marchant said you were here. I must say, you are a vision to behold.”
“Lord Hargrave, a pleasure to see ye once again,” Catriona offered a small curtsy as she accepted the champagne flute. “I fear me friend needs rescuing if ye would so kindly excuse me.”
