Page 11 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Nine

“ I s ann ainneamh a thig a’ chailleach mhaol gu fèill.” The bald old woman rarely comes to the fair.

“And then, Mrs. Henry told me her young cousin started carrying on in secret… with the vicar! It was after bible tutelage, at her mother’s suggestion.

Her chaperone frequently excused herself from what I heard, thinking she would be safe given the company!

” Lady Marchant explained, her voice a high-pitched trill to cut through the mass of people at the track, as they all anticipated the next race.

“I cannae imagine how the girl’s mother must feel at her compromise,” Lady Craigleith replied, shaking her head in horror. “And just before her debut.”

“I don’t know how they’ve managed to keep it from getting out, so you can’t say a word,” Lady Marchant whispered as she fanned herself. “They would know that it came from me, and I have a reputation as a steel trap. But can you imagine the scandal? A young lady and a married man!”

“Indeed. Quite surprising for someone of her breedin’ and social standin’,” Lady Craigleith agreed, considering the severity of the day’s gossip. “I shudder at the thought!”

“Indeed!” Lady Marchant agreed, her eyes twinkling as she was clearly considering the unseemly details. “Just yesterday, I?—”

“Good day, ladies,” the duke said in greeting, his voice cutting through the crowd in a deep rumble as he approached them.

Amused at having walked in on a most titillating conversation, as he rarely engaged in frivolous gossip, he could not prevent a knowing smirk from crossing his face.

“Might my niece and I join you? Our usual box appears to be… indisposed,” he offered, knowing well he could not divulge the true reason for his intrusion.

Lady Marchant’s fan fluttered even more wildly as she sought to compose herself, her bosom jiggling as if a seagull was trying to fly out of her corset.

“Yer Grace! By all means!” Lady Craigleith offered quickly on their behalf, equally flustered and patting the empty spaces beside them.

“We would be most honored, Yer Grace. Me daughter, Catriona, is here with us. She stepped away for just a moment! She would be most delighted to see ye,” she emphasized, no doubt recalling their dancing just a few days ago at Lord Hargrave’s ball.

In the daylight, Richard noted the resemblance between mother and daughter. While few could compare to Catriona’s unique presence, they shared the same expressive chestnut eyes, accentuated by long black lashes.

“And this must be Lady Lydia, no? My dear,” Lady Marchant called out, patting the space beside her. “Come sit beside me, there is much room, and the next race will be starting in just a few minutes. I would be delighted to be in your company.”

Lydia sat down quietly beside Lady Marchant and Richard sat down next to her. He looked around at the patrons absently as he sensed a presence behind him.

Or rather, he scented it.

The sweet notes of vanilla and lavender intoxicated him.

He did not need to turn around to know that she was there.

The memory of their brief encounter was fresh in his mind as his hands tightened into fists, his body betraying him with the intense desire that stirred deep within.

Every detail of her—the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath, his lips on hers—lingered in his thoughts, making his pulse quicken.

Pull yourself together, Richard. She’s just a woman.

Catriona offered him a silent curtsy as acknowledgment of his presence, the chaos of the crowd providing a plausible excuse for omitting the usual pleasantries.

She sat down next to Lydia, whose eyes had become as dark as night as she stared out at the track.

She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, but Catriona took them in her own.

“There now, lassie,” she whispered to her. “When the horses run, just hold on as tightly as ye need to. I promise everythin’ will be all right.”

Richard watched Lydia’s fingers tighten around Catriona’s, giving a small squeeze and offering her a weak smile.

“So, Your Grace,” Lady Marchant started. “It is a most acceptable day, is it not? How are you enjoying the day’s festivities?”

“Quite well, my lady,” he offered. “The horse race seemed to catch my niece’s interest.

“Oh?”

“She has a knack for riding.”

“Is that so?” Lady Craigleith remarked. “Me Catriona is an excellent rider. She’s been so inclined since she was a wee lass.”

Catriona and Lydia seemed to pay no mind to the polite conversation, lost in their own world.

Richard listened to Catriona call attention to the colors of the jockeys’ silks, the sleek lines of the waiting horses, and just about anything other than the impending sound of the starting gun.

“There is just so much to take in at a race,” Catriona explained. “It’s a feast for the senses. The horses, the people, the sounds, the smells. The startin’ sound is a wee blink of an eye when ye think of all there is! Pay nae mind to it, lassie. It’ll be over before ye ken it.”

Bang .

Lydia flinched at the starting gun, freezing against her seat. Richard’s hand twitched at his side, the instinct to reach for her nearly overpowering.

“Lydia, it’s?—”

The words died in his throat. For Lydia didn’t cry out. Didn’t cower.

She simply blinked, straightened, and kept her gaze ahead.

He let his hand fall still.

Catriona continued to hold the little girl’s hands in hers, which Richard noted was working, and well.

With each clap of a hoof as the race went on, Lydia became entranced by the movement, starting to give in to the spectacle in front of her.

“Och, just look at Marigold! She’s takin’ the lead,” Catriona said, rising to her feet in a sudden rush and cheering loudly.

Lydia clapped her hands in excitement, and relief washed over him.

His niece was enjoying herself at last. She deserved it.

“I ken that she’ll make it! Faster! Faster!” Catriona continued cheering.

A flush rose on her cheeks with excitement, and her lips parted in a radiant smile. She looked down at Lydia, who kept clapping softly with her as they rooted for the underdog.

Richard couldn’t stop his gaze from tracing her form, lingering first on her face, then dropping to the swell of her bosom, her hips, and slowly traveling back up again.

The way her excitement made her curves sway was enough to make his pulse quicken, a heat pooling low in his body that he struggled to control.

He was utterly captivated by her, every movement of hers pulling him deeper into her spell.

Mere moments ago, we were…

His cool act completely cracked as he recalled the warm sensation of Catriona’s soft lips on his. He dug his hands hard into his legs, trying to anchor himself in the present.

Still, he could not look away from her. Catriona’s excitement surged through him in synergy, and he willingly surrendered to its irresistible pull.

“Look, Lydia, look! Marigold is really pullin’ ahead!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing with triumph as it was apparent to all that the underdog would indeed take the win.

Men started throwing their hands up in defeat, recognizing that their bets would not pay off that afternoon.

Richard’s gaze followed Lydia as she leaned toward Catriona, her eyes wide with wonder, fully absorbed in whatever had captured her attention. The light in her face reminded him of brighter times, of laughter and moments of ease he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

He watched as the two women, so different in age, spoke in a language he could barely comprehend—a quiet exchange of glances, smiles, and gestures that seemed to form an unspoken bond between them. It was effortless, natural…

Like something that had always been meant to be.

He saw the attention Catriona directed towards Lydia, a kindness that she so desperately needed. The strange feeling inside him continued to smolder, uncomfortably close to unadulterated lust and approaching a sense of admiration. He quickly extinguished the feeling with a shake of his head.

This is nonsense. It’s the excitement of the race, and I have bigger things to think about.

Then the roar of the crowd erupted, a wave of sound washing over the audience as Marigold officially crossed the finish line.

“She won! She actually won!” Catriona exclaimed joyfully as she gave Lydia a small hug. “Never underestimate a fiery mare, lassie!”

Richard watched their embrace, the peculiar pang tightening his chest. It was time to make their leave.

“Thank you, ladies,” Richard said, clearing his throat as he offered a bow to the two older ladies. “I think we have had enough excitement for one afternoon.”

His gaze flickered to Catriona as he held her eyes for a moment longer than necessary before averting them.

“The pleasure was ours, my lord,” she said, returning his gaze with a determined look.

Her smile was still dazzling as she offered a small nod.

The race had finished, but Catriona’s subtle nod was a sign to Richard that their own was far from over.