Page 27 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ C oinnichidh na daoine far nach coinnich na cnuic” The people meet each other but the hills do not.

“There’s somethin’ wrong with him,” Catriona pressed one evening after Lydia had been excused from dinner. “I am sorry to press on the subject, but I feel it. There’s a darkness in him, he chills me to the bone.”

“Sampson is an old acquaintance, Catriona,” Richard replied dismissively as he set down his napkin in frustration. This was the third time Catriona had broached the subject, and he had grown tired of her inquisition. “He’s become a necessary partner in business. That’s all.”

Ever since Sampson’s unexpected visit, Richard felt the subtle rift between them grow. It was almost as if her trust in him was wavering, but for what reason he could not discern. Sampson, while unpleasant, was relatively harmless.

Why does she continue with this? Richard wondered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

He resented how her eyes lingered on him whenever he excused himself for business. He did not care for it at all. If there was one thing Richard knew, it was how to make a deal. If there was something that was integral to his character, it was protecting his family.

“Cat,” he said with finality, rising from his seat and walking toward her at the opposite end of the long, exquisite oak table.

“Your imagination is running away with you. Sampson can be gruff, perhaps even unpleasant. He’s not someone I’d call a friend.

But sometimes business requires a certain level of directness.

You must trust me in this. It is my duty to conduct good business, for the benefit of Wilthorne. ”

“Aye, it is more than gruffness in him,” she said as she rose from her seat, turned on her heel, and began to walk out of the room. “It’s in his eyes, the way he looks at people. He makes me skin crawl. He’s a viper!”

“My fierce Highland lass,” he said as he caught up to her, grabbing her wrist and turning her to face him.

He willed himself to be patient. “You are forcing yourself to see shadows where there are none. This is not some Scottish folk tale. Sampson is harmless enough. I assure you that I will not let any hurt befall you.”

Catriona’s gaze intensified, her brow furrowing into a tight line as she sized him up.

She will not let this go, he realized as he prepared himself to receive her fury.

“I’m nae so worried about meself, if that’s what ye think. I can handle me own. If ye are so sure he’s as harmless as a fly, then why does Lydia look like she’s seen a ghost every time he walks into the room?”

“Lydia is afraid of most men, and with good reason, given all she has endured,” Richard barked. “She is just coming into her own again, there will be setbacks. He can be overwhelming for someone of her delicate sensibilities. That is all.”

Richard watched Catriona hesitate to respond, taking in his words. After a moment, though, she nodded at him and placed her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. He felt the heat sizzle between them at the embrace, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“I ken it sounds foolish, but I ken I am right about this,” she said, pleading with him one last time.

“I cannot talk about this another moment, Catriona. That is my final word on the subject. You would do well to heed me,” he growled.

Her persistence ran like a bolt of lightning up his spine, fury seizing in his blood as he let her go and went to his room alone.

A week passed since that final conversation about Lord Mortridge, the coolness lingering as they continued to go about their days.

In contrast, the village fair they were attending that day was a riot of color and sound, the calls of game vendors and melodies of a fiddler perched atop a makeshift stage swirling through the air.

Catriona watched as Lydia’s eyes, wide with wonder, darted to a stall overflowing with sugared plums.

“May I have a sweet, Uncle?” Lydia called from a few paces ahead, where she walked with some of the maids in attendance. “Please?”

“You may have anything you like,” Richard said as he waved to the maids in approval. “You may take Lydia wherever she likes, but do not venture too far. And keep a close eye on her.”

Upon their leaving, Catriona looped her arm around him and enticed him to take part in some of the games. She was determined to have fun that day. They meandered for a few minutes when they found themselves at a dart booth.

“Look at ye,” Catriona teased, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched Richard struggle to hit the target. “For one of the most powerful dukes in London, ye are remarkably bad at hittin’ the bullseye.”

“In my defense, these darts are clearly enchanted against my aim. Perhaps it’s your Scottish sorcery,” he teased, his cerulean eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled in the sunlight.

“I suppose I like enchantin’ ye,” she flirted, giving him a wink.

Catriona watched with eager eyes as his gaze roved over her body. She watched him subtly adjust his pants as he looked her up and down, then up and down again.

In earnest response, she playfully tugged her corset a bit to emphasize her generous cleavage. She batted her eyelashes at him as he missed the dartboard completely. He threw his arms up in mock surrender, shrugging off the loss as he gave her a smirk.

“Perhaps a different challenge would suit my particular talents?” he asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Aye, and what sort of feat did ye have in mind? I’m sure ye could join in the next game of Pall Mall! I bet if we hurry, we?—”

Richard’s hand snaked out of his pocket, catching hers as he gave a playful tug.

Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her away from the booth and off the main path, leading her down a narrow alleyway between two brightly decorated stalls. The sounds of the fair faded behind them, replaced by the muffled clatter of pots and pans from a nearby cook tent.

“This sort of skill,” he murmured as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Is my specialty, wife. I think you would do well with a reminder.”

Their lips met tentatively at first, given the space that had grown between them those last few days. It was as if they were discovering each other all over again in that way.

She was still so angry with him, and yet the rush of pent-up lust was too much to take. All she could register was the sensation of his warm lips on hers, the scent of sweet treats mingling with his masculine cologne.

His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She leaned deeper into his kiss, surrendering to the irresistible pull.

He pulled her lower body tight against him, giving her the opportunity to take in the heat of his hard passion as she gasped.

Try as I might, I cannae get used to this, she thought to herself.

He traced his fingers along her jawline to her clavicle. He graced his lips on her neck as he trailed his fingers deliberately lower, underneath the tight corset she was wearing. He reverently palmed her breasts, pressing himself harder against her.

“Do you have any idea the effect you have on me, woman? Do you know what you do to me?”

Catriona’s breath hitched as his fingers descended, tracing her sex over her skirts. After lingering for a moment, his hand continued its descent. He lifted her skirts and found the tender flesh between her legs. At the contact, they began kissing frantically again.

Afraid of being caught, and the noise she was involuntarily making, Catriona broke their kiss and brought her hand to her mouth.

She desperately needed to brace herself as waves of pleasure flowed through her body as strong as her own blood.

She was ready to spill over the edge, as he continued working her.

“Your Grace! Your Grace! Your Grace !” A cacophony of voices shouted down the alleyway. “Help, Your Grace!”

Catriona quickly steadied herself and adjusted her clothing as Richard released her. Lydia’s maids frantically stumbled down the alleyway toward them. She noted the expressions on their faces, pale and contorted with fear. The sight made Catriona’s hot blood turn to ice in an instant.

“Lydia! She’s gone! We can’t find her anywhere!” Miss Nadley cried in panic. “We’ve looked everywhere we can think of. She took off like a shot in the dark!”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Richard demanded, his voice sharp with alarm as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“One minute she was watching the Punch and Judy show with us,” Miss Magnan gasped, clutching her chest and fingering the cross around her neck in silent prayer. “The next, well, she was just gone! We turned around and she wasn’t there! I don’t know how it happened!”

“It had to have been seconds,” Miss Mattuck said finally, barely able to speak. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground as she shook her head from side to side.

Panic seized Catriona, piercing her deep in her gut. The image of Lydia’s small, happy face just moments ago twisted into a vision of danger.

“We have to find her now!” Catriona cried as she set into motion, pulling her hair behind her shoulders and steadying her gaze up and down the alleyway. “Where could she have run off to?”

“Spread out! Question every vendor, every entertainer. Anyone who might have seen her! Catriona, you take the east side of the fair and I’ll take the west. We meet back at the main stage in ten minutes to regroup,” Richard ordered, with all the skill of a military general.

They went their separate ways in haste as they plunged into the crowd. The joy of the day was replaced in an instant by a frantic, desperate search for Lydia.

“Lydia!” Catriona cried as she looked high and low, in every stall and corner for her small frame. “Has anyone seen Lady Lydia!” she called out in desperation, only receiving sad, worried looks from the villagers in return.

These minutes are an eternity. Where are ye, lassie?