Page 26 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“And this must be Lady Lydia, no? My dear,” Lady Marchant called out, patting the space beside her. “Come sit beside me, there is much room, and the next race will be starting in just a few minutes. I would be delighted to be in your company.”
Lydia sat down quietly beside Lady Marchant and Richard sat down next to her. He looked around at the patrons absently as he sensed a presence behind him.
Or rather, hescentedit.
The sweet notes of vanilla and lavender intoxicated him. He did not need to turn around to know that she was there. The memory of their brief encounter was fresh in his mind as his hands tightened into fists, his body betraying him with the intense desire that stirred deep within. Every detail of her—the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath, his lips on hers—lingered in his thoughts, making his pulse quicken.
Pull yourselftogether, Richard. She’s just a woman.
Catriona offered him a silent curtsy as acknowledgment of his presence, the chaos of the crowd providing a plausible excuse for omitting the usual pleasantries. She sat down next to Lydia, whose eyes had become as dark as night as she stared out at the track. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, but Catriona took them in her own.
“There now, lassie,” she whispered to her. “When the horses run, just hold on as tightly as ye need to. I promise everythin’ will be all right.”
Richard watched Lydia’s fingers tighten around Catriona’s, giving a small squeeze and offering her a weak smile.
“So, Your Grace,” Lady Marchant started. “It is a most acceptable day, is it not? How are you enjoying the day’s festivities?”
“Quite well, my lady,” he offered. “The horse race seemed to catch my niece’s interest.
“Oh?”
“She has a knack for riding.”
“Is that so?” Lady Craigleith remarked. “Me Catriona is an excellent rider. She’s been so inclined since she was a wee lass.”
Catriona and Lydia seemed to pay no mind to the polite conversation, lost in their own world.
Richard listened to Catriona call attention to the colors of the jockeys’ silks, the sleek lines of the waiting horses, and just about anything other than the impending sound of the starting gun.
“There is just so much to take in at a race,” Catriona explained. “It’s a feast for the senses. The horses, the people, the sounds, the smells. The startin’ sound is a wee blink of an eye when ye think of all there is! Pay nae mind to it, lassie. It’ll be over before ye ken it.”
Bang.
Lydia flinched at the starting gun, freezing against her seat. Richard’s hand twitched at his side, the instinct to reach for her nearly overpowering.
“Lydia, it’s?—”
The words died in his throat. For Lydia didn’t cry out. Didn’t cower.
She simply blinked, straightened, and kept her gaze ahead.
He let his hand fall still.
Catriona continued to hold the little girl’s hands in hers, which Richard noted was working, and well.
With each clap of a hoof as the race went on, Lydia became entranced by the movement, starting to give in to the spectacle in front of her.
“Och, just look at Marigold! She’s takin’ the lead,” Catriona said, rising to her feet in a sudden rush and cheering loudly.
Lydia clapped her hands in excitement, and relief washed over him.
His niece was enjoying herself at last. She deserved it.
“I ken that she’ll make it! Faster! Faster!” Catriona continued cheering.
A flush rose on her cheeks with excitement, and her lips parted in a radiant smile. She looked down at Lydia, who kept clapping softly with her as they rooted for the underdog.
Richard couldn’t stop his gaze from tracing her form, lingering first on her face, then dropping to the swell of her bosom, her hips, and slowly traveling back up again. The way her excitement made her curves sway was enough to make his pulse quicken, a heat pooling low in his body that he struggled to control. He was utterly captivated by her, every movement of hers pulling him deeper into her spell.
