Page 28 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Suddenly, a small cry reached Catriona’s ears. It was faint and muffled, but undeniably Lydia’s voice. She knew it as well as her own.

She followed the sound as her heart pounded in her ears, pushing through the dense crowd towards the edge of the fairgrounds.

She neared a cluster of less-frequented animal pens and looked around frantically.

The sounds of animals grunting made it difficult, but she was able to isolate the cry.

She ran as quickly as she could, looking for the source of the sound.

Lydia was sitting on the ground, her small face streaked with dirt and tears. Her skirt was hiked up, exposing knees that were scraped raw. Catriona looked up in shock to see Lord Mortridge looming over her, his face a visage of exaggerated concern that made her nauseous.

She dropped to her knees and hugged Lydia to her chest tightly.

“Richard! Over here!” Catriona shouted, not giving a damn about using his name in a social setting. “She’s here!”

“The poor dear had a fright and took a tumble,” Lord Mortridge offered as Richard approached them, his voice smooth as silk. “I was just about to bring her back to you. Nasty little fall, but I was here to catch her before she hurt herself too badly. Isn’t that right, Lady Lydia?”

But Lydia said not a word.

“Tell us what happened, Lydia,” Richard demanded as he considered the severity of her scrapes. “You must tell me what happened. How did you get hurt?”

Lydia remained silent. Her small body trembled violently as she clung to Catriona, her face buried in the folds of her skirt.

Sampson offered a small smile as his eyes flicked between Richard and Catriona.

“It is clear she cannae talk about it now,” Catriona offered as she scooped Lydia up to her feet. “I think it best we return home and get her scrapes cleaned.”

“Thank you for your help, Lord Mortridge. I do not know what has come over my niece, but I am glad you were here to see to her safety,” he said as she shook his hand.

“Think nothing of it,” Sampson said with a small bow. “I’ll pay you a call soon to finish our other discussion. Good day to you all.”

As he made his way back to the fair, the maids found them and helped to get Lydia prepared to make the journey back to Wilthorne. They fussed over her, the relief of finding her a tremendous burden lifted.

In contrast, Richard could not help. He could not say anything. His ashen face mirrored the gnawing guilt inside of him as he became lost in the reel of his own thoughts. Distracted.

Gods, how could I have been so utterly stupid? Just a fleeting, selfish moment of pleasure in an alley. What am I, a schoolboy? And Lydia… how could this have happened again? I cannot let this happen again.

And Sampson of all people, appearing just then to save the day.

Was it a bit too convenient?

No, it had to be pure, blind luck that he saw her. Nothing more.

That’s all Richard could think. For now, he had to focus on what mattered and never allow himself to get distracted again.

Richard could not sleep that night. He had long since abandoned the bed, his body restless, his mind worse.

He sat hunched in his chair near the fire, the poker clenched in his hand, feeding the flames in quiet penance.

Lydia’s tear-streaked face haunted him. The weight of her safety—so briefly, so carelessly risked—pressed down on his chest like stone. And Catriona. Her touch, her mouth on his, the urgency between them—it all curdled now, tangled in guilt.

It all tasted wrong now. It had been a lapse. An indulgence. One he couldn’t afford.

A soft knock broke the silence. Then her voice, hesitant. “Richard?”

He didn’t look up.

“I… I wanted to see if ye were all right. And if Lydia?—”

“She’s asleep,” he cut in, his voice measured but cool.

The door creaked open further, and she stepped into the room. She lingered in the shadows near the hearth, her presence as steadying as it was unsettling.

“I feel responsible too,” Catriona said at last, her tone quiet but clear. “If we hadnae been?—”

“Don’t,” he said, sharper than he intended. He turned, and the look in his eyes stopped her mid-step. “I should have been watching her. She was left in my care first. That responsibility is mine alone.”

Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “And yet it wasnae only yerself who acted on impulse. I kent the risk. I kissed ye back. Ye werenae the only one who forgot the world for a moment.”

He didn’t argue—but neither did he soften. “I had no right to forget,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “She needed me, and I wasn’t there. Because I let myself be distracted.”

Catriona took a measured step forward, her voice steady. “She’s safe now, Richard. Shaken, aye, but nae harm came to her. We both made a mistake. We let our guard down—but we willnae do it. That’s what matters.”

His eyes flicked to her, “But what if we hadn’t? What if something had happened to her while we?—”

She didn’t flinch. “But it didnae. Ye can torment yerself with hypotheses, but they willnae change anythin’. We’ve learned from it. We’ll be better.”

A silence stretched between them. Then, he exhaled, slow and tight.

“This… whatever has begun between us,” he said carefully, “it’s become a distraction. I can’t afford it.”

She took another step toward him. “A distraction?”

“I think whatever lies between us is a complication I cannot afford.”

Her brows drew together. “You cannae mean that.”

Richard didn’t answer right away. The silence he offered felt heavier than any denial.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I think our priority must be Lydia. Nothing else. Not feelings. Not—this. Nothing that might shift our focus from her care.”

“And what if feelin’s help rather than hinder? What if they make us better, stronger—for her?”

He met her gaze then, his own cool and unwavering. “Or what if they cloud our judgment again? I can’t afford that risk. She deserves more.”

A long breath left her lungs. “So ye’re shuttin’ the door. Because of one mistake.”

“I’m trying to keep it from locking behind us,” he said. “Before one of us makes a mistake. Before we do something we cannot undo.”

Catriona’s lips parted, but no words came.

“I see,” she said after a moment. Her voice was calm, but it carried the unmistakable edge of pain. “I shall leave ye to yer own devices from now on, Yer Grace.”

“Catriona—”

“Nae. Ye’ve made yerself clear. This was a distraction, nothing more.” She turned for the door, her spine straight, her shoulders taut with unshed anger. “Thank ye for the clarification, Yer Grace.”

The door closed softly behind her. Not a slam. Not a storm.

Just a quiet severing—quiet, and all the more final for it.