Page 27 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Mere moments ago, we were…
His cool act completely cracked as he recalled the warm sensation of Catriona’s soft lips on his. He dug his hands hard into his legs, trying to anchor himself in the present.
Still, he could not look away from her. Catriona’s excitement surged through him in synergy, and he willingly surrendered to its irresistible pull.
“Look, Lydia, look! Marigold is really pullin’ ahead!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing with triumph as it was apparent to all that the underdog would indeed take the win.
Men started throwing their hands up in defeat, recognizing that their bets would not pay off that afternoon.
Richard’s gaze followed Lydia as she leaned toward Catriona, her eyes wide with wonder, fully absorbed in whatever had captured her attention. The light in her face reminded him of brighter times, of laughter and moments of ease he hadn’t allowed himself in years.
He watched as the two women, so different in age, spoke in a language he could barely comprehend—a quiet exchange of glances, smiles, and gestures that seemed to form an unspoken bond between them. It was effortless, natural…
Like something that had always been meant to be.
He saw the attention Catriona directed towards Lydia, a kindness that she so desperately needed. The strange feelinginside him continued to smolder, uncomfortably close to unadulterated lust and approaching a sense of admiration. He quickly extinguished the feeling with a shake of his head.
This is nonsense. It’s the excitement of the race, and I have bigger things to think about.
Then the roar of the crowd erupted, a wave of sound washing over the audience as Marigold officially crossed the finish line.
“She won! She actually won!” Catriona exclaimed joyfully as she gave Lydia a small hug. “Never underestimate a fiery mare, lassie!”
Richard watched their embrace, the peculiar pang tightening his chest. It was time to make their leave.
“Thank you, ladies,” Richard said, clearing his throat as he offered a bow to the two older ladies. “I think we have had enough excitement for one afternoon.”
His gaze flickered to Catriona as he held her eyes for a moment longer than necessary before averting them.
“The pleasure was ours, my lord,” she said, returning his gaze with a determined look.
Her smile was still dazzling as she offered a small nod.
The race had finished, but Catriona’s subtle nod was a sign to Richard that their own was far from over.
Chapter Ten
“Chan eil a h-uile càil a ghlacas iasg.” Not everything that glitters catches fish.
“And then,” Eliza said, her eyes wide with amusement as she recalled the sight. “Mr. Featherstone tripped over his own feet trying to bow to my mother! I swear, I thought she might expire from holding in her laughter, the proper lady she endeavors to be. It’s too bad you had to leave the ball so quickly. It really was too funny to do justice with words!”
Catriona chuckled at the thought, adjusting the lace shawl around her shoulders as they approached the theater’s entrance. Their mothers had gone a few steps ahead, giving the ladies time to better enjoy each other’s company in private.
“Poor sap, just tryin’ to make a decent impression. But ye ken, I surprisingly enjoyed hearin’ of his sheep.”
The oversized chandeliers of the Olde Britland Theater cast a warm glow as they entered, walking up the grand staircase to the bustling lobby.
Catriona wore an emerald gown that Eliza had insisted on lending her. It had to be let out a bit in the bust and hips, but it managed to accommodate her more curvaceous frame. The dress perfectly contrasted with her alabaster skin, and ebony hair, which was pulled up elegantly as small curls fell to frame her face.
Meanwhile, Eliza wore a soft pink, fashionable gown she had recently acquired from Paris, perfectly complimenting her svelte, delicate frame.
Eliza hooked Catriona’s arm in hers, taking in the hustle and bustle of the lobby, as patrons waited to take their seats for the evening’s performance.
“Speaking of grand entrances… did you see the Duke of Wilthorne at the races?” Eliza asked. “Quite the stir he caused from what my mother told me. He’s not known to venture out to such events. I wonder if someone has finally caught his eye!”
Catriona’s brow furrowed as she considered her response carefully. A part of her so desperately needed to confide in her friend, and yet she could not bring herself to utter the words of what had transpired, even a redacted version.
“The duke? Aye. Yes, he was there.” Her tone was more dismissive than she wanted it to be, creating more questionsthan answers, she feared. “A rather cold fish, would ye nae agree? Stiff as a board, I say.”
