Page 17 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Any confidence she felt dissipated as she realized what would come next: she’d found a dance partner, but now she would actually have to dance.
She had been practicing with lessons before her debut, but she was far from graceful—and now, the eyes of the entire ton were upon her. Worse still, her partner was the duke—a man who left her feeling unbalanced. His curt manners and imperious tone still echoed in her memory, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was irritation or something far more dangerous that made it difficult to hold on to her carefully composed, ladylike poise.
The duke seemed to sense her unease, his strong arms embracing her and easing her as they prepared for their first step.
“Just follow my lead,” he murmured into her ear as his nose brushed her neck so lightly she swore she imagined it.
She savored the low and reassuring tone of his voice. She inhaled his unique scent, catching notes of tobacco, scotch and evergreen—as intoxicating as the champagne.
Catriona shook her head away from his touch. She eyed him suspiciously. His good looks had numbed her good sense, and she needed that tonight more than ever.
“And what makes ye think I need your lead? I can handle meself, if ye recall,” she quipped at him with a devilish smile.
She noted that a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. She liked the way his eyes looked when they were fixed on her.
“I’ve got you,” he paused, “Don’t fight me, and you’ll be fine.”
Hesitantly, she gave in to the sweeping movement of the dance as the music took over.
He held her gracefully in his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man so commanding. As they began to move about the room, turning this way and that way, he subtly guided her. Sheliked the way his hand felt, firm but light on the small of her back.
“A turn here,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “Now, a step back there.”
“Although I appreciated your intervention, I hardly think I needed defending, Your Grace,” Catriona said coolly.
“No,” the duke agreed, his gaze steady. “But some men need reminding that not every woman can be trifled with.”
“I have been able to manage until now,” she replied, a bitter smile flickering.
“I’ve noticed.” His voice held no softness. “It suits you. Though I imagine it wears thin.”
She tilted her head. “Is that pity, or condescension?”
“Neither. Just an observation,” he said. “You don’t exactly hide the fight in you.”
“Nae much point,” she murmured. “Men like ye tend to bring it out.”
They moved in tense rhythm, the air charged between them.
“Tell me,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do ye always attempt to unsettle women under the guise of flattery?”
“Are you going to shoot me if I say yes?” His mouth twitched—almost, but not quite, a smile.
“I’ll only shoot ye if ye deserve it,” she fired back, her eyes gleaming.
The air between them thickened, and the duke’s gaze sharpened on her.
The heat between them shifted. His gaze sharpened, settling on her like a weight, and Catriona’s pulse kicked up in response. The intensity in his eyes, the way he watched her—it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
For a breathless second, she had the distinct feeling hesawher. Not just the words she wielded or the armor she wore, but something deeper. Something she hadn’t meant to show.
Her breath caught. She looked away, as if the movement could shield her from him.
“So,” she quickly spoke, clearing her throat. “How’s the girl? Is she… well?”
His expression shifted at once. Closed. Guarded.
“Her name is Lydia,” he said, tone clipped. “She is still quiet, but she is better. Better every day, but she has had a hard life for her young age.”
