Page 16 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Richard took another step toward the Scottish lady, drawn by something he couldn’t quite name—poise, defiance, the flicker of emotion behind her eyes—but before he could speak, Michael reappeared, dragging a most reluctant Lord Arlington in his wake.
“Your Grace, allow me to present the esteemed Lord Arlington!” Michael declared with theatrical pride, as if introducing royalty in a grand hall.
“Y-Your Grace. I believe you’ve been expecting me,” Arlington said, offering an awkward smile. “While this is not the best place,I do have some news about the matter that concerns you. They didn’t have much except for a single clue. Well, maybe it’s really more of a glimmer of a clue—” he stammered, rifling his fingers absently through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts.
Richard barely heard him.
His gaze had drifted back to her. The proud set of her shoulders. That fierce, untouchable grace. But something had shifted—her posture had stiffened, her expression sharpened. And now he saw why.
Viscount Dormand.
Richard’s jaw clenched as his eyes fell on the gaunt, twitching lord with yellow-green irises that seemed to glow under the chandelier’s flickering light.
Dormand was a snake of a man—sharp-featured, perpetually smirking, with the sickly pallor of someone who lived in shadows and smoky corners. Richard had seen men like him before, half-rotted from too much laudanum and too little conscience.
And now he had his hand wrapped around the Scot’s wrist.
Whatever clue Arlington had could wait.
“Hang on, Arlington,” Richard said, already stepping away.
His focus had narrowed to a single point: Dormand. And the woman he should never have touched.
“Well, well,” the man drawled. “If it isn’t the little Scottish rose everyone has been talking about?”
Catriona’s blood ran cold at his words. Something about the hue of this lord’s eyes alarmed her. He looked like a serpent ready to strike, making the cold yellow-green emanating from around his enlarged pupils all the more chilling.
She had seen the same eyes in the lesser parts of London, the effect of opium or laudanum taking hold. Her temper, which was perpetually simmering beneath the surface, dissipated to a cool fear as he grabbed her wrist.
Before Catriona could utter a word, the Duke of Wilthorne appeared.
“Dormand,” the duke said, his gaze sweeping over the man he dwarfed by at least one head. “I trust you wouldn’t dream of offending a Scottish lady. The Scots are proud people, known for courage and loyalty. Qualities we ought to admire greatly.” He paused as he looked at Catriona now, “Surely, you wouldn’t wish to appear… lacking in such virtues,” he threatened the now frightened man.
Dormand paled as he sought to appease the mighty duke. His originally haughty demeanor dissolved as he offered placating apologies.
“O-Of course n-not, Your Grace. It was merely a… a jest in fun. I was making my acquaintance with Miss MacTavish.” He offered with a shrug. “Would you like the next dance?” he asked her.
“She certainly wouldnot,” Richard replied on her behalf, “For she is dancing with me. Isn’t that right, my lady?”
Catriona, momentarily stunned, was about to unleash a scathing retort about being able to fight her own battles when her mother and Lady Marchant returned.
Lady Marchant beamed at the duke as she gave a small bow. “Your Grace! How courteous of you to ask our Catriona for a dance! Though we must introduce you properly first, of course! I know we had to hurry away earlier, but all is well now,” she continued with a smile. “Allow me to formally introduce Miss Catriona MacTavish and her mother, the Dowager Viscountess Craigleith. My ladies, please allow me to formally introduce the esteemed Duke of Wilthorne.”
As the orchestra struck up a new tune, Catriona’s mother seized the opportunity. She nudged Catriona with surprising force as she pleaded, “Yer Grace, please forgive me forwardness. But I do believe me Catriona would be delighted to dance with ye. Is that nae right, me dear?”
The duke offered his hand to Catriona.
She hesitated at first, but with a single glance towards her mother, her mission came back to her.
Save Craigleith Hall. Save your home.
“Of course. It would be me pleasure to dance with ye, Yer Grace,” she said as courteously as she could.
And so, she reached out for the duke’s hand.
The moment her delicate fingers landed in his palm, it was as if the rest of the room stopped to take them in.
Ladies shot daggers with their eyes at her, which she took as a compliment. She kept her chin high as they strode to the center of the dance floor.
