Page 32 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Suddenly, another voice piped up.
“My lord, how nice to see you both,” Sampson offered as he intercepted them.
“Good afternoon, Lord Mortridge,” Richard offered.
Sampson’s eyes trailed down to examine Lydia in a manner that made Richard feel uncomfortable.
“We were just leaving,” Richard replied with a nod, knowing now that it was time to make their exit, social connections or none.
Better an early exit than a spectacle made of his ward.
Lydia’s cerulean eyes looked up and locked onto Sampson, her face contorting with fear as if seeing a ghost appear before her.
Then, she quickly wrenched herself violently from Richard’s strong grasp, fleeing to the gardens with a choked cry.
Damn it!
Catriona was enjoying a leisurely stroll through the lush gardens, taking in the scents of gardenia and fresh air. She could feel her heartbeat relaxing as she considered going back to join the party.
As Catriona turned a corner around a set of hedges, she stiffened at the sound of racing feet.
She looked up to see Lydia running toward her, tears streaming down her face like heavy rain.
But before Lydia could reach her, the duke turned the corner. His features were drawn tight with a mix of concern and exasperation as he strode briskly across the lawn.
“Lydia! What has gotten into you?” he yelled as he hurried toward her, his broad, muscled arms outstretched.
Lydia ran to Catriona now and threw herself at her feet. She shook her head from side to side, clinging to Catriona’s skirt with surprising strength for her size.
Catriona knew that she did not want to go back to Richard, especially as the girl refused to meet her uncle’s gaze. Her grip tightened on her skirt, almost as if Catriona were her only anchor in a stormy sea.
“Yer Grace,” Catriona said softly, picking her head up from Lydia to meet his steely gaze. Her eyes pleaded with him, trying to convey the seriousness of whatever had triggered this response in Lydia. “Please. She’s clearly very frightened. Perhaps a gentler approach would be more prudent?”
Richard’s impatience broke through his cool surface as he let out a deep roar. “Gentler? Miss MacTavish, she ran off from me without a word! People are staring at us.” He gestured vaguely towards the curious gazes that were beginning to settle upon them from the garden patio. “She needs to learn that such behavior is unacceptable. She must compose herself, or I fear she will be unable to find a place in society.”
“And perhaps, she needs understandin’ more than a reprimand,” Catriona countered, her own irritation rising to meet him.
“Understanding? After cutting loose like a wild animal?” Richard’s tone was incredulous. “We were lucky not many witnessed her outburst at the races, so I could keep that quiet. She has been her usual quiet self but perfectly composed all afternoon… until now!”
“Until now,” Catriona repeated to him, her gaze softening as she looked down at the trembling child. “Clearly, somethin’ has upset her deeply. Can ye nae see that?!”
“All I can see is that you continue to find a way to insert yourself in business that is none of yours.”
“Cat…” Lydia whispered softly, more fragile than a butterfly fluttering from lips.
Catriona froze.
The duke froze.
The little girl’s gaze was still fixed on Catriona as she blinked up at her, tears still fresh in her eyes.
Lydia had justspoken.
And she’d said Catriona’s name. Or at least part of it.
Catriona watched the duke as his eyes widened. She could only imagine that the last year had been filled with profound, isolating silence for them in the great halls of Wilthorne.
Catriona looked down at Lydia, pure astonishment and tenderness pulling at her chest.
