Page 23 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“Och, darlin’,” she said soothingly as she considered her response. She wanted to comfort the child but not belittle what she felt. “It was just the startin’ gun. It’s loud, I ken, a terriblenoise, but it’s only to make the horses run very fast. It’s finished now, and ye dinnae need to worry. Ye’re perfectly safe here with yer uncle, I promise.”
She started to hum an old Scottish tune in a low tone, just as her father had when she was afraid. Slowly, the violent tremors subsided, and the sobs softened into sniffles.
Lydia seemed to be calming steadily as Miss MacTavish wiped her tears away, and Richard stood carefully up. His posture had become rigid, and he flexed his muscles to stretch. At this distance, he really took in the sight before him
How could this woman, this sharp-tongued Scot, soothe my niece?
He turned to Miss MacTavish briefly as a flicker of frenetic energy passed between them, even in this circumstance and in this place. He held her eyes in his intense gaze for a moment more before he addressed Lydia.
“Come now, Lydia. We ought to go back to the others.”
Lydia shook her head vehemently, her small hand now clinging tightly to Miss MacTavish’s skirt as she pulled on it.
Richard’s frustration, which had been momentarily subdued in the tenderness of the moment, flared anew. He detested disobedience.
“Lydia, I said come.”
His insistence only made Lydia shake her head more vigorously in protestation. Her grip tightened on the Scot’s skirt, tightening as if she were a life preserver.
There was no letting go. Lydia would not leave without Miss MacTavish.
Catriona had sensed the child’s fear, not of Richard but of disturbing the calming ritual they had just shared.
“Perhaps… she could sit with me for a while, Yer Grace? I’ll make sure she’s all right when they race again. It’s just a noise, naethin’ to be afraid of,” she glanced down, back to Lydia, “We can hold hands, if you’d like that, darlin’.”
Richard’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked with Catriona’s in a silent battle of wills. “Absolutely not.”
“And why nae? Simply because I suggested it?” she pressed, never one to back down from a fight and certainly not one with this man.
Catriona watched Lydia’s eyes meet the duke’s. She could see the fierce protectiveness he felt for her. She watched him continue to hesitate, ever the stubborn mule.
To her surprise, just as she thought a curt refusal was forming on his lips, his lips pursed into a thin line.
“Very well,” he conceded. “But we’ll greet Arlington first. He’s expecting us back. But then… then we will sit with you, Miss MacTavish.”
Lydia’s face radiated with a wide smile as she launched herself at Catriona, who was attempting to rise to her feet.
Her small arms wrapped around her waist in a tight, grateful hug that sent her reeling.
Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of a woman about Catriona’s age that she did not recognize. Her face was flushed with what appeared to be panic, her outfit and bonnet were thoroughly disheveled from some sort of exertion.
“Your Grace! Lydia! Oh, thank heavens!” she exclaimed as her voice trembled with relief. “I thought the worst, and when I couldn’t find you…”
“It’s all right, Miss Meecham,” Richard said sharply, his chiseled jaw a tight line. “She was quite safe with me, although in the future, please note that I pay you to care for my niece. I expect you to do your job.”
“Of course, Your Grace! A thousand apologies, truly,” she trailed off as she brought a handkerchief to her face.
“That’s enough of that,” he said as he forced a tight nod at her. He acknowledged that she must have been frightened out of her mind for those few minutes, and that was punishment enough. “Take Lydia and rejoin Lord Arlington. I will join you momentarily. I need to have a word with Miss MacTavish first.”
Lydia took Miss Meecham’s hand, and they started to walk away.
Before turning the corner to head back to the main area, she turned to Catriona one last time. She offered a small, shy wave before being led away.
Catriona returned the wave and turned to face the duke.
The moment they were alone, the vibrant energy of the racetrack receded into something more isolated and primal.
Neither said a word for a few moments when Catriona’s nerves got the best of her. She turned to leave, but before she could take a single step, the duke’s hand shot out instinctively. His fingers closed around her arm with a grip that was both firm and possessive.
