Page 6 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“You ever come near a child again,any child,” he snarled in a low, menacing promise, “and you’ll regret the day you wereborn. That’s a promise I do not intend to break. You can trust me on that, you scum.”
He shoved the thug away with both hands, sending him stumbling to find his footing. Like the coward he was, he scrambled to his feet and fled out of sight, disappearing into the shadows. The stranger’s head turned, his gaze hardening as he saw Catriona. He had been so preoccupied with the man that he likely hadn’t had the capacity to remember her.
He took a step forward toward her with his hands open. “Put the gun down,” he commanded, his voice sharp and even. “The game is over.”
“I’m nae sure what kind of sports ye fancy, sir—but I am nae laughin’. Why, I was just tryin’ to suffer through a game of Pall Mall, and now here I am.”
Catriona shook her head from side to side, her deep black curls falling from her chignon.
“Do ye ken this lass?” she asked nervously, her eyes narrowed as she examined him for any faults. “Ye have nae idea the state I found this wee flower in. She was scared right out of her skin! I willnae release her to just anyone.”
“Put the damn gun down,” he pleaded, although his voice was laced with a nervous edge.
Catriona did not back down, despite the palpable strength she felt emanate from the stranger as he stared through her. Instead, she kept the gun steady in her hand as she continued to point it at him. Her shoulders squared with resolve as she considered the welfare of the young girl, the weight of that duty heavy in her chest. She knelt down to meet the girl’s gaze, taking her cheek softly in her right hand, looking deep into her blue eyes, looking for a sign.
“I am nae convinced that ye ken this lass. She’s still shiverin’, even now,” Catriona observed, looking up now at the stranger.
Then, the girl silently tugged at Catriona’s skirts and nodded. A silent message passed between them. It felt as if the girl was trying to say, “It’s all right, I know him.”Catriona’s mind started to spin as she considered her next move.
Aye, she kens this man. But what kind of person could have let this wee flower get in this position in the first place? Aye, all I can see is red in me eyes. I cannae think straight.
As she continued to consider her next move, the girl quietly stepped away from her. She slowly walked toward the stranger, her head hung low, almost in apology. She took his hand, and he returned her grasp, her touch a silent declaration of trust. At the sight, Catriona lowered the pistol and carefully slipped it back into the hidden pocket of her dress beneath her shawl.
Who is this man?
Richard’s eyes swept over Lydia now that the pistol had been lowered, and no imminent threats seemed to be looming.
A silent inspection: no bruises, no cuts. Just the crushing knowledge that she had experienced something no little girl should, after she had already seen so much.
It had been such a short time since her parents had suffered their fate. The irony chilled him. The effects of this day would be a worry for another day, though, this could have been so much worse.
Relief washed over him. She was all right. And yet, this was quickly replaced by a wave of anger directed at the Scot.
“What the hell were you thinking, pointing a pistol so close to a child?” he demanded, his voice growling low. “You could have gotten her killed with that thing! A weapon is not a toy. Do you even know how to use it?”
“I was protectin’ her, which is somethin’ ye werenae doin’, m’ lord,” the Scot retorted as she held her chin up high. “And Idinnaemiss.”
Richard stepped closer, his eyes burning into hers. Their chestnut depths burned with fury, which only made him angrier.
What right did this Scot have to judge him?
“Do you make a habit of brandishing pistols in public?”
“Only when men deserve it,” she snapped.
“And what if he’d disarmed you, turned that gun on you?” Richard pressed, unwilling to let the brazenness of this act go.
What would have happened if she hadn’t been there to hold off the thug before I came?
He shivered again at the thought, looking at the creature in front of him. Only then did he start to really take her in. With the prospect of seeing his ward in such peril, he had barely registered the Scot in front of him.
She had ebony locks that flowed down her back in long curls, unfussy and natural, hanging around her full breasts. Her chestnut eyes registered honesty and calm, like wet earth after a needed rainstorm.
It had been so long since he allowed himself to stop and actually look at a woman, and this, this was alotof woman.
She was curvy in all the right places. He dared to let his eyes rove downward. She was so unlike the high-society women who would throw themselves at him, hoping to land themselves a duke.
In another situation, this beauty would be a most welcome diversion.
