Page 16 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Tears prickled at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of these vultures. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

Instead, she turned and fled to the balcony, desperate for a breath of air untainted by the poisoned atmosphere of the ballroom.

“Look at Miss MacTavish,” the whispers continued to snake through the ballroom.

Richard listened silently as the persistent knot of unease he felt on the subject tightened in his stomach.

Something is wrong.

“Pardon me, my lord. I am not one to be taken by idle gossip, but something seems to have gotten the attention of the guests here.”

Tillworth was no longer looking at him. His gaze was fixed on a woman across the room, his face paling with a look of genuine alarm.

Richard followed his gaze, seeing Lord Beaumont leave Catriona alone on the dance floor. His hands tightened into fists as he willed himself not to break the glass in his hand, his knuckles as white as snow.

While he did not like the sight of her with such a pipsqueak, he did not want to see her snubbed in such a public manner. In fact, he had to teach him some manners.

The contagion of whispers reached them like a rush of wind, taking his breath away.

Lady Clambly’s voice stood out to him, her shrill tone carrying across the hushed space.

“Did you hear?” she announced to her company, her eyes gleaming as she postured herself to deliver the news.

“My cousin just informed me that Miss MacTavish and her mother are practically penniless! They are about to lose their home and be cast out into the mud! Utterly ruined! They are lucky to have the kindness of Lady Marchant!”

Richard excused himself from Lord Tillworth, who was still taking in the lingering gossip, pushing his way through the mass of people. His gaze swept the crowd, sharp and searching—until it caught on Catriona slipping through the doors to the balcony.

He followed at once, finding her alone in the moonlight, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she fumbled with the fastenings of her dress.

Catriona spun around, her face pale but her brown eyes still blazing with the fierce defiance he had come to know her by.

“Leave me alone, Yer Grace. Please, I havenae the strength to argue with ye now,” she whispered as she wrung her arms in discomfort.

He strode towards her quickly, unable to contain his concern as his voice came out in a low growl.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded.

“Please, Yer Grace,” she said as she sniffled. “I truly cannae talk right now. Nae one hurt me.”

Richard ignored her pleas and stepped closer, his presence strong, powerful, and insistent. “I. Will. Not,” he said firmly, “Tell me who spread those vile lies about you. I will?—”

“They are nae lies,” Catriona whispered, her voice thick.

She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the coldness that sought to consume her.

Richard reached out to touch her arm gently, but quickly she flinched away.

“Nae,” she pleaded with him, her strong voice breaking. “Just… just go.”

He stood his ground, his eyes unwavering on her, until, finally, as her composure dwindled.

“I will not leave you alone until you tell me what is going on,” Richard demanded, his anger seething at her protestation.

Damn it, can’t she see I am here to help her?

“I dinnae need yer pity, or yer charity, Yer Grace.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gives charity?”

“It doesnae matter what ye look like…” she said as tears prickled at her eyes.

“I am here because I want to be. Now, look at me and tell me what is troubling you—so I can put it right, and see that it never touches you again.”

She turned and faced him, shaking her head in defeat. The dam holding everything within her had broken, and the truth threatened to spill out in a torrent flow of pain and desperation.

She told him about the letter her mother had received from her father’s heir—their home was under threat, the future uncertain. All of it, the burden, the pressure, had been hers to bear alone.

“Ye have nae idea how much I understand pain, as hard as this is, it’s just a reminder of all that I’ve been through,” she said as she composed herself, wiping her tears away.

“I was just eighteen when I lost me faither,” she whispered as they leaned against the railing of the balcony, looking out at the distant stars.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words weren’t soft. They weren’t meant to be. They were firm, certain—anchored in something real. “You’ve carried far too much. For too damn long.”

He reached for her without hesitation, laying a hand on her shoulder—broad, steady, a gesture of assurance more than comfort.

He didn’t offer false promises or tender platitudes. Just strength. Just presence.

And then, Catriona turned. No hesitation. No words. She stepped into him, into his arms, like she’d done it a thousand times before.

His body went still.

“I…” he began, but let his words evaporate into the night air—they were unnecessary.

He hadn’t expected this. Didn’t know what to do with the sudden heat of her against him, the way her fingers gripped his back.

Like she would fall apart if she let go.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her—slowly, deliberately. Not gentle. Protective. Possessive. Like he was drawing her in beneath his shield, daring the world to try her again.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

There was power in the silence, in the rawness of the moment. She leaned into his arms. And for the first time in a long while, he let someone lean.

And in his embrace, he felt her finally breathe.

Watching the proud, resilient woman with the fiery Scottish soul reduced to such vulnerability, ignited a fire…

but this time within him. He felt a fierce protectiveness pulse in his veins, a desperate need to shield her from the cruelty of the world, all those who stood in the way of the happiness she so deserved.

He found himself speaking before he even had time to think, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he knew what he had said.

“Do you need to be married? Then marry me.”

Catriona’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief as she blinked several times before opening her mouth.

“What did ye say?” she asked in a whisper, as if she still could not comprehend the impossible words.

He cleared his throat, his voice regaining its composure as he considered his proposition.

“Marry me, my lady. I am proposing marriage.” He met her incredulous gaze with a steady one of his own. “And as your husband, I will purchase your childhood home for you.”

Catriona was speechless at his last statement, unable to keep her footing steady.

The idea of Craigleith Hall remaining within her family was unfathomable, an unachievable dream. She stared at him, her mind struggling to process the sheer audacity of his offer.

What is the catch? What is in it for him?

“Why?” she finally managed to ask. “Why would ye do such a thin’? Ye dinnae even like me half the time,” she said as a small laugh could not help but escape her lips.

She watched the duke hesitate, almost as if the truth of what was going through his mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. But she knew how well one could feel contradictory things at the same time and have them all be as true as day.

“Lydia. She is… fond of you,” he settled on. “You are the only person she has spoken to in a year. It would be… beneficial for her to have you in our lives.”

Catriona processed his words, her mind racing. She knew it was her best bet, there were few as powerful, influential and wealthy as the Duke of Wilthorne. He was her only bet, really.

Aye, I do care for the wee lass. But… the duke? Marriage? I may as well marry the Loch Ness Monster.

It was then that a spark of defiance flickered in her eyes. As much as she needed this, as hard as these last few years had been, she had her integrity and that had to be worth something.

But… love. What of love?

“There is somethin’ else, Yer Grace,” she challenged him, as she watched him try to make sense of her statement. “Our… kiss. At the races,” she whispered.

“That was a mistake,” he said as his face hardened. “A moment of weakness. Our marriage will be in name only. Nothing more. I will not pressure you. I will not harm you.”

“What of heirs? Surely, there are expectations for a man of yer standing and station. Ye will require bairns, will ye nae?”

Richard’s gaze focused on the glowing beams of light as he looked out again at the stars. “If you do not wish to bear my children, I will not force myself upon you. I am not a monster, my lady. I will be a fair and good husband to you.”

Catriona stood there, the cool night air swirling around her as she considered the proposal.

It was a brilliant idea.

It was a terrible idea.

It was a brilliantly terrible idea.

For one, they could barely tolerate each other. Yet, he was offering her a lifeline when she desperately needed one, a chance to save everything she held dear.

I cannae afford to refuse.

“Very well, Yer Grace,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil that brewed deep within her.

He met her gaze with his steely blue eyes, weakening her knees and quickening her pulse.

“I accept yer proposal.”