Page 45 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Instead, Richard rose without a word.
He crossed the room in long, stiff strides, his bare back taut with tension. At the sideboard, he poured himself a drink, the glass clinking sharply against the decanter.
The warmth that had been in his eyes moments ago—heat enough to burn her alive—had vanished, leaving only hard, grim lines behind.
A knot twisted in her stomach.
“Go back to your quarters, Catriona,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Too low.
She blinked, the haze of bliss beginning to clear.
“What?” she breathed.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t look at her at all.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said after a moment, each word clipped and tight. “Which is why you must go. Now.”
Something inside her cracked.
“I dinnae understand,” she said, voice trembling. “Have I… have I done somethin’ wrong?”
At that, he flinched—as if the mere idea wounded him. But still, he kept his distance, one hand braced against the sideboard as though he needed the support.
“You—You don’t…” he sighed. “I should never have touched you.”
The words, low and broken, stung worse than any slap.
She stared at him, every inch of her aching with humiliation and fury.
“Ye touch me like that, kiss me—” her voice cracked, “and then send me away?”
“I am sorry. This was a mistake.” Still, he did not move, as if afraid to even look at her.
Fury and heartbreak battled within her. She would not beg. She would notplead.
She sat up, straightening her skirts. “A mistake, indeed,” she said, fighting to hide the hurt within her, “Goodnight, Yer Grace.”
He flinched—she saw it.
But he didn’t stop her as she stormed through the adjoining door and slammed it behind her, the sound echoing through the cold silence he had left behind.
Chapter Fifteen
“Is fheàrr caraid na bràthair a thèid astar.” A friend who goes the distance is better than a brother.
Dear Eliza,
Life at Wilthorne has settled into a quiet hum of domesticity that is somehow both comforting and subtly unsettling. It is hard to find my way. The grand house is unfamiliar but has slowly begun to feel lesslike a cageand more like… home? Or at least, the beginnings of one.
Nothing will ever compare to Craigleith Hall and the hills of Scotland.
Please write as soon as you can and tell me what news you have of your own pursuits.
Your Friend,Catriona
Catriona finished the last of the morning’s correspondence before giving it to her maid to bring to the post. She longed to hear news from Eliza and her mother.
