Page 18 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Catriona hesitated. Then, gently, “What happened to her?”
There was a pause, just long enough to make her wonder if he’d refuse to answer. Then?—
“Her father died earlier this year. She is his only child. She’s in my care now.”
His words were flat, but something in his face betrayed him—a tightness in his jaw, a flicker behind his eyes. There was more to it than duty. More than he was willing to say.
“I see,” she said, softer now. “I’m sorry.”
He gave a terse nod, but did not meet her gaze.
“It is a private family matter.”
“I didnae mean to sound indiscreet, Yer Grace. I was merely interested in the girl’s well-being.”
“As I said, that’s none of your concern. It is only mine.”
There was less bite in his voice now. Still distant, but not as cold.
“Right,” she said quietly.
She didn’t press him further. Something in his posture—not defensive, exactly, but braced—told her that would be the end of it. For now.
She let the moment stretch, then offered lightly, “Do ye know how to engage in polite conversation? I recently learned the merits of playing music to sheep.”
“Please don’t tell me,” he muttered. “Featherstone?”
She laughed. “Who else?”
The music wound around them, graceful and elegant, and she became aware of how close they stood. How tightly he held her—tighter than was proper, though no one else seemed to notice.
It should have unnerved her. Itdidunnerve her.
And yet, she didn’t pull away.
There was something about him—something unreadable and knotted beneath the surface—that made her want to prod further.
The way he’d looked at her when she mentioned Lydia. That flicker of guilt, or grief. Or care.
She hadn’t expected that from him. And now she couldn’t seem to forget it.
He looked down at her again, his expression unreadable. The muscle in his jaw shifted.
Whatever lay behind that face, it was buried deep. Locked tight.
But for the briefest moment, she wondered if she could unlock it again, if she could encounter the man beyond the stern, ducal walls.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous indeed.
Chapter Seven
“Tha a cheann làn de cheò.” His head is full of mist.
“So, Arlington,” Richard began as he casually knocked a ball through a hoop. “You’ve been involved with the authorities for quite some time, haven’t you?”
The following afternoon, Richard invited Lord Arlington to his townhouse for tea.
