Page 13 of His Scottish Duchess

“I am.” She nodded intently, determined to survive the night, one way or another.

“Can you differentiate the extent of those duties? Where you are required to stop being a duchess and approach me as my wife?”

His tone was light, but it carried an edge that confused her. As usual, her feelings seemed to reflect on her face, and he frowned.

“I am not sure I?—”

Suddenly, he was in front of her, his hand reaching up to wrap his fingers around her chin and tilt her head back slightly so he could look her in the eye.

“As my Duchess, your duties revolve around the household. As my wife, your duties revolve around my well-being. Can you handle such a duty? Can you care for me and meet every single one of my needs?”

His touch burned, and she couldn’t help but flinch slightly, the action making him grin dangerously.

“You must stop being so easy to tease, Duchess. Come.”

He pulled back and nodded towards a table on which sat a bottle of wine and some candles that lent the room some warmth. He picked up the bottle and poured them each a glass.

When she joined him, he held out a glass to her and said, “Let us play a game, Duchess.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Agame?”

Catherine eyed the wine glass in front of her warily. The deep red liquid swirled gently, catching the light of the flickering candles. Across from her, Sampson had settled in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the wood.

“Come now, Duchess,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Are you afraid of a little game?”

Catherine lifted her chin. “I’m afraid of what ye might consider a game.”

Sampson’s lips curved. “A wise fear.”

She hesitated for only a moment before lifting the glass and taking a sip. The wine was rich, full-bodied, and dangerously smooth.

She set the glass down and met his gaze. “And what are the rules?”

Sampson leaned forward, the candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. “Simple. We take turns asking each other questions. The other must answer honestly. No evasions. No refusals.”

Catherine frowned. “And if we refuse?”

Sampson smirked. “Then we take something off.”

She nearly choked. “Ye cannae be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” He leaned back again, swirling his glass. “But if you’re too shy, you’re welcome to forfeit. I’ll understand.”

Catherine bristled at the challenge. “Fine,” she said, setting her glass down with more force than necessary. “Ye can start.”

Sampson chuckled, clearly enjoying her determination. “That fierce spirit of yours is quite entertaining to witness. I do not believe I will ever tire of it.”

His compliment made her squirm, and she couldn’t help the burst of pleasure she felt at his approval.

Her older sister had expressed some concerns over her betrothal when it had been announced so suddenly, pointing out the factthat she had received numerous proposals and courtship offers in the past but ultimately turned them down because she did not like the men. Either that or they rescinded their offers after seeing how brazen she could be in her words and actions.

It had made Catherine wonder if she would ever find someone who would accept her for who she truly was. And here her husband was, admitting he liked the very same personality Scottish men had disliked.

While she couldn’t trust Sampson as far as she could throw him, she couldn’t ignore the warmth she felt at his acknowledgment and approval.

“That is nae a question,” she pointed out, taking another small sip of her wine.

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