Page 51 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Aye, there is somethin’ about this man’s gaze. Impolite, and lingerin’ a moment too long for a married lady. Let alone a duchess.
“Lord Mortridge,” she replied with a curtsy, willing her tone to remain neutral.
The initial awkwardness was soon broken by the arrival of other guests. Catriona found herself drawn into conversation with Lord Abernathy, an older gentleman with a lively interest in all things Scottish.
“So, Your Grace,” he chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Please tell me if it is true that men still wear kilts? Even in the middle of a cold winter?”
Catriona laughed, the sound genuine and hearty. “Indeed, me lord. Though I assure ye, they are often made of sturdy wool!And we have the finest sheep in Scotland, although dinnae let Mister Featherstone hear you!”
“Don’t tell me he’s here! I cannot suffer through another conversation about the merits of playing music to animals,” he said as they laughed together.
She found herself relaxing in his easy-going manner and his genuine curiosity. It was a welcome change from the stifling politeness and sometimes cruelty she often encountered.
Much to his chagrin, the seating arrangements placed Lord Abernathy next to Catriona with Richard opposite them. Richard was unable to make polite conversation, instead hanging on every word exchanged so playfully between them.
“Aye, it was then I learned how to fish,” Catriona joked with him, taking a delicate sip of her champagne. “Me faither insisted I be able to fend for meself, if I were to be venturin’ out in the Highlands.”
“I daresay, my dear lady, I can quite easily envision you as a most formidable force of nature,” Lord Abernathy said, his voice dripping with exaggerated admiration as he flitted his gaze over Catriona.
“Indeed, I would never wish to find myself at odds with you! You are quite the siren of antiquity—stunning in both beautyand strength. You would surely have men trembling at your feet, should you but glance in their direction,” Abernathy finished, and gave a small, knowing smile, his fingers delicately adjusting the edge of his cravat as he awaited her reaction.
“Ye flatter me too much, me lord,” Catriona remarked as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Although, I gladly will take yer compliments.”
Richard’s hand tightened around his wineglass as Lord Abernathy’s words floated in the air, the syrupy tone grating against his nerves. He swallowed the wine, a bitter edge to the taste that had nothing to do with the drink itself.
His jaw tightened as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, unwilling to give Abernathy the satisfaction of seeing any reaction.
The dandy’s flowery compliments might have charmed the more delicate of society, but Richard was no such man. He could see the way the others in the room pretended to admire Abernathy’s smooth words, yet no one ever dared challenge the man.
Catriona’s gaze shifted from Lord Abernathy and locked onto Richard. Her lips curled into a subtle, flirtatious smile—one that felt like a spark, a challenge thrown carelessly in his direction. Richard felt it like a punch to the gut, the fire igniting in his chest, spreading fast.
His body tensed involuntarily, the raw edge of jealousy flaring within him. He could feel it in the way she looked at him—knowing, playful, as if she were well aware of the effect she had on him. The teasing glint in her eyes was enough to make his pulse quicken, his thoughts slipping into dangerous territory.
Two can play at this game.
Driven by impulse, Richard reached under the tablecloth and placed his hand firmly on Catriona’s thigh. He gave a tight squeeze and smirked in anticipation of her reaction.
Catriona’s eyes flickered downwards, a surprised frown creasing her brow as if trying to figure out what had happened.
She glanced up at Richard, a silent question in her gaze.
The expression he returned was purposefully unreadable, donning the mask of polite attention to the conversation happening around him while his true attention rested on his defiant wife.
All he cared about was the vision in front of him.
Slowly, subtly, and deliberately, Catriona shifted her leg away, removing herself from his touch and crossing her legs together.
Richard narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a long, tense moment.
Our game isn’t over.
He edged forward in his seat as far as he could, taking his hand again and placing it on her knee. He swirled his fingers in a pleasing rhythm as he inched toward her.
“Duchess, are you quite all right?” Lord Mortridge asked her as Catriona began to cough. “Is the soup to your liking? I am unsure what they serve in the Highlands.”
“The soup is delightful,” she whispered as she regained control, swatting away Richard’s hand beneath the table with a swipe of her napkin. “Just a tickle in me throat is all. Thank ye, me lord.”
“Some champagne could soothe your throat, my lady,” Lord Abernathy offered as he glanced at her glass.
