Page 10 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

“It’s all right, Miss Meecham,” Richard said sharply, his chiseled jaw a tight line. “She was quite safe with me, although in the future, please note that I pay you to care for my niece. I expect you to do your job.”

“Of course, Your Grace! A thousand apologies, truly,” she trailed off as she brought a handkerchief to her face.

“That’s enough of that,” he said as he forced a tight nod at her.

He acknowledged that she must have been frightened out of her mind for those few minutes, and that was punishment enough.

“Take Lydia and rejoin Lord Arlington. I will join you momentarily. I need to have a word with Miss MacTavish first.”

Lydia took Miss Meecham’s hand, and they started to walk away.

Before turning the corner to head back to the main area, she turned to Catriona one last time. She offered a small, shy wave before being led away.

Catriona returned the wave and turned to face the duke.

The moment they were alone, the vibrant energy of the racetrack receded into something more isolated and primal.

Neither said a word for a few moments when Catriona’s nerves got the best of her. She turned to leave, but before she could take a single step, the duke’s hand shot out instinctively. His fingers closed around her arm with a grip that was both firm and possessive.

“I must talk to you, Miss MacTavish,” he said.

While his usually confident voice was more desperate, it was commanding all the same. And yet, Catriona instinctively tried to pull free from his grip.

“There’s naethin’ to discuss, Yer Grace. I offered yer niece assistance, and that is all. I have naethin’ more to say to ye than that.”

The duke stepped closer, his imposing frame looming over her as it cast a shadow around them. A part of her would let him drag her down to the depths of any abyss.

His dark eyes burned into hers with an unnerving intensity.

“There’s everything to discuss, Miss MacTavish. You interfered in a situation that was perfectly under control. My control. You followed my niece. I don’t need your… impulsive charity,” his voice quivered for an unexpected instant.

“Impulsive charity? Who says such things when someone tries to help them?” she snapped. “Forgive me for helpin’ a distressed child, Yer Grace! And I hardly ‘interfered’! Ye were flounderin’! Utterly flounderin’!”

She knew her words were sharper and more accusatory than she intended as well.

“Floundering? I assure you, Miss MacTavish, I was handling the situation perfectly well before your intervention,” he said, his tone growing a bit more playful as he pressed on. “In fact, I think you may have a distinct penchant for meddling. It’s a trait I find… extraordinarily irritating.”

“If ye want to be irritated, please ken that I can show ye irritatin’,” she threatened as her Scottish brogue flourished with the undeniable undercurrent of something more volatile than anger.

“Is that so?” Richard snarled as his movements became unpredictable and electric.

He put his arms on either side of her shoulders, moving her against the rough stone of a nearby wall.

The unexpected confinement took her breath away. She knew that his body was close, too close, the heat radiating from him a tangible presence in a striking contrast to the coolness of the wall behind her.

He lifted his gaze up to her eyes. His eyes were desperately searching hers for some sign that he could continue with whatever it was that he was going to do. The intensity in his storm-like eyes was enough to make her knees tremble, threatening to betray her composure.

“You have nae right to judge me, Yer Grace!” Catriona barked at him, her voice a potent mixture of fierce defiance and the frantic energy that surged between them.

She either wanted to fight him or kiss him—and she decided that either would be a good idea.

“I willnae stand idly by and watch someone suffer, even if it inconveniences yer… perfectly-handled situations!”

“And I will not tolerate your presumptions, Miss MacTavish,” Richard countered as his voice vibrated dangerously close to her ear.

He was so close now, she swore he had brushed his lips against her ears.

“You seem to believe you can solve every problem with your noble intentions and your Scottish stubbornness.”

“I cannae hear one more person in this godforsaken country insult me people,” she warned. “I am a proud Scot with more integrity, spirit, and passion than any British lass ye’ll ever meet,” she said.

His dark eyes narrowed, his voice rough. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that. But you’re not as untouchable as you think.” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You should be careful, Miss MacTavish. You think you’re in control here. You’re not.”

He brushed his chin along her jaw, his breath barely grazing her skin. The movement was calculated, deliberate, and it made her pulse spike in a way she couldn’t ignore.

A moan escaped her lips without her permission as she felt him anchor his body closer to hers.

Before she could register the implications of her actions, his lips crashed onto hers. Their kiss was sudden, fierce, and all-consuming.

His tongue slid into her mouth with lust, claiming her in such a way that left no room for protest. Her defiance melted away like Scottish mist in the morning sun.

She felt an unknown, primal response to his affection that shook her to her very core. She wanted him to ravage her, not caring what pieces were left behind.

Her hands, which had been braced against his chest in a futile attempt to create distance when they first reached the wall, were now clutched at his shoulders.

Her fingers dug into the rough fabric of his coat as she tugged him closer, deepening their kiss. The world began to dissolve around them, leaving only the rhythm of their kiss and the growing heat of their bodies pressed together.

She savored the intoxicating, slightly rough taste of his lips, noting a faint salty taste she could not get enough of.

She felt his hand move down to her hips, gathering her gown in a tight fist.

He growled hungrily as he drove his hips into her, leaving the impression of his hard manhood on her.

All she could think was how she needed him as a part of her, to claim her, to find herself lost in the sea of him.

She couldn’t see through the tempest of feelings that swept around her, as so many of them were new or mere fantasies before this moment?—

Suddenly, a faint rustle sounded nearby, and their spell was abruptly shattered by the intrusion.

The duke pulled away, and they both turned to see a stable boy passing by with a large bale of hay in his hands.

His eyes were wide with shock, and also embarrassment, as he cast them quickly to the ground and rounded the corner to his destination.

He attempted to stammer an apology, his face flushed crimson, when he changed course and practically fled back into the shadows. The poor lad had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Catriona, her breath coming in soft gasps, slowly pulled back from him as she fought to regain her senses in a losing battle.

They were lucky it was just a stable boy who did not know who they were.

Her eyes searched the duke’s face. He still held an unreadable intensity, as if he were looking to memorize her features.

Coming back to reality, he released his grip on her.

Without a word or backward glance, he turned and strode away from the scene, disappearing into the mess of racegoers.

Catriona was left breathless, shaken, and bewildered in the silence of the stables.

She stood there in what she could only imagine was shock. She felt her heart hammering against her ribs and down between her legs. She lifted a hand to her lips, which were still tingling with the imprint of his eager kiss.

What just happened?

She had never been kissed with such raw intensity. In fact, she had never been kissed at all.

And this kiss… it had such unrestrained passion. It was a kiss that had shaken her to her very core.

She looked around the shadowed stables, her eyes searching for a glimpse of his retreating figure, even though she knew that he was gone.