Page 29 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Eliza turned to the duke, her expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief as she remained cordial. “Please forgive me sincerely, Your Grace… but I do believe you frightened those young men away.”
Catriona’s eyes flashed with irritation as she glared in his direction. “Indeed. Yer manners, as always, leave much to be desired, Yer Grace.”
“My manners?” Richard snapped, his voice low but fierce, the heat of his temper meeting hers head-on. “You’d do well to remember who you’re addressing, my lady,” he said, taking a step closer, his frame imposing in the space between them. “Or were you perhaps enjoying the attention of those simpering fools?” he added, the words dripping with contempt as he spoke.
“They were bein’ perfectly civil,” Catriona snapped back. “Unlike someone else I could mention.”
“Civil?” Richard’s voice grew slightly louder, the bite in his words unmistakable as he stepped closer, his eyes hardening. “Those fools were practically drooling over you, all thanks to that dress,” he growled, the words laced with a fierce edge.
“And what business is it of yers what I wear?” she asked, her cheeks flushing at the heat of their exchange. “Aye, and who I choose to converse with is hardly yer concern.”
“Perhaps not,” Richard muttered, his jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his beard. “But I don’t like seeing someone as vulnerable as you surrounded by fools.”
“Vulnerable?” Eliza interjected, her eyebrows raised at the very thought. “Catriona? I hardly think that description applies.”
“Your Grace, how delightful to find you in such pleasant company for once,” Lord Hargrave remarked as he walked over to join their conversation, and behind him trailed a somewhat reluctant Lord Arlington.
Richard noted that even as Hargrave addressed him, his eyes immediately found Lady Eliza.
Like a moth to a flame.
“Lady Eliza,” he said, as smooth as velvet. “It seems fate, or perhaps merely a shared appreciation for the dramatic arts, has brought us together.”
Eliza’s annoyance with the duke vanished, and she only had eyes for his friend. “A happy coincidence indeed, Lord Hargrave.”
“I trust your mother is well,” he said.
“Indeed she is. If you’d prefer her company, she is around here somewhere,” she jested.
“I assure you the present company is most enjoyable,” he replied in earnest.
“Well, come along, gentlemen,” Arlington chimed in, likely eager to sit down and relax. “We must secure our boxes before the curtain rises.”
“Ladies, it has been a pleasure,” Lord Hargrave announced as he offered Eliza a lingering smile before following the other two.
As the men moved towards the staircase leading to the private boxes, Arlington clapped Richard on the shoulder. “Your Grace, you must come to my little gathering next week. A garden party, you know. Nothing too formal. Excellent company, decent champagne. My wife would be delighted if you and little Lydia would join.”
Richard’s initial inclination, as always, was to politely decline. Another tedious social affair was the last thing he wanted. “I appreciate the invitation, but?—”
“Nonsense, nonsense!” Arlington waved a dismissive hand. “You simplymustcome. Your Lydia needs to get out and about.”
Richard hesitated. Arlington’s connections were valuable. He was a man who knew everyone that mattered, and Richard’s ambitions required such acquaintances.
“Very well,” Richard conceded, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “We shall endeavor to attend.”
Arlington beamed. “Excellent! Excellent! I shall look forward to it.”
He clapped Richard again on the shoulder playfully before disappearing into one of the private boxes. Richard followed as a sense of foreboding settled in his stomach. Tonight’s dramatic performance was said to be a tragedy. But Richard had a tragedy of his own to avenge.
Chapter Eleven
“Is giorra cabhag na cùrsa fada.” Haste is shorter than a long course.
“Catriona,” Lady Craigleith called softly as she entered her chambers with a soft knock.
The morning sun streamed through Catriona’s windows as she blinked open her eyes, painting the room in a soft, golden light that was a far cry from the darkness in her mother’s eyes. It was just last night they had a lovely diversion at the theater, reveling in the catharsis of drama.
Today, her mother’s face was a pale cry from the usual color that shone in her cheeks, her hands trembling as they clutched a crumpled letter.
