Page 24 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“I must talk to you, Miss MacTavish,” he said.
While his usually confident voice was more desperate, it was commanding all the same. And yet, Catriona instinctively tried to pull free from his grip.
“There’s naethin’ to discuss, Yer Grace. I offered yer niece assistance, and that is all. I have naethin’ more to say to ye than that.”
The duke stepped closer, his imposing frame looming over her as it cast a shadow around them. A part of her would let him drag her down to the depths of any abyss.
His dark eyes burned into hers with an unnerving intensity.
“There’severythingto discuss, Miss MacTavish. You interfered in a situation that was perfectly under control. My control.Youfollowedmyniece. I don’t need your… impulsive charity,” his voice quivered for an unexpected instant.
“Impulsive charity? Who says such things when someone tries to help them?” she snapped. “Forgive me for helpin’ a distressed child, Yer Grace! And I hardly ‘interfered’! Ye were flounderin’! Utterly flounderin’!”
She knew her words were sharper and more accusatory than she intended as well.
“Floundering? I assure you, Miss MacTavish, I was handling the situation perfectly well before your intervention,” he said, his tone growing a bit more playful as he pressed on. “In fact, Ithink you may have a distinct penchant for meddling. It’s a trait I find… extraordinarily irritating.”
“If ye want to be irritated, please ken that I can show ye irritatin’,” she threatened as her Scottish brogue flourished with the undeniable undercurrent of something more volatile than anger.
“Is that so?” Richard snarled as his movements became unpredictable and electric.
He put his arms on either side of her shoulders, moving her against the rough stone of a nearby wall.
The unexpected confinement took her breath away. She knew that his body was close, too close, the heat radiating from him a tangible presence in a striking contrast to the coolness of the wall behind her.
He lifted his gaze up to her eyes. His eyes were desperately searching hers for some sign that he could continue with whatever it was that he was going to do. The intensity in his storm-like eyes was enough to make her knees tremble, threatening to betray her composure.
“You have nae right to judge me, Yer Grace!” Catriona barked at him, her voice a potent mixture of fierce defiance and the frantic energy that surged between them.
She either wanted to fight him or kiss him—and she decided that either would be a good idea.
“I willnae stand idly by and watch someone suffer, even if it inconveniences yer… perfectly-handled situations!”
“And I will not tolerate your presumptions, Miss MacTavish,” Richard countered as his voice vibrated dangerously close to her ear. He was so close now, she swore he had brushed his lips against her ears. “You seem to believe you can solve every problem with your noble intentions and your Scottish stubbornness.”
“I cannae hear one more person in this godforsaken country insult me people,” she warned. “I am a proud Scot with more integrity, spirit, and passion than any British lass ye’ll ever meet,” she said.
His dark eyes narrowed, his voice rough. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that. But you’re not as untouchable as you think.” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You should be careful, Miss MacTavish. You think you’re in control here. You’re not.”
He brushed his chin along her jaw, his breath barely grazing her skin. The movement was calculated, deliberate, and it made her pulse spike in a way she couldn’t ignore.
A moan escaped her lips without her permission as she felt him anchor his body closer to hers.
Before she could register the implications of her actions, his lips crashed onto hers. Their kiss was sudden, fierce, and all-consuming.
His tongue slid into her mouth with lust, claiming her in such a way that left no room for protest. Her defiance melted away like Scottish mist in the morning sun.
She felt an unknown, primal response to his affection that shook her to her very core. She wanted him to ravage her, not caring what pieces were left behind.
Her hands, which had been braced against his chest in a futile attempt to create distance when they first reached the wall, were now clutched at his shoulders.
Her fingers dug into the rough fabric of his coat as she tugged him closer, deepening their kiss. The world began to dissolve around them, leaving only the rhythm of their kiss and the growing heat of their bodies pressed together.
She savored the intoxicating, slightly rough taste of his lips, noting a faint salty taste she could not get enough of.
She felt his hand move down to her hips, gathering her gown in a tight fist.
He growled hungrily as he drove his hips into her, leaving the impression of his hard manhood on her.
