Page 15 of His Scottish Duchess

Sampson’s gaze lingered on her before he spoke. “Your turn.”

Catherine took a deep breath, then folded her hands in her lap. “What about your family? Can you tell me about them?”

Sampson’s smirk faded slightly. “I cannot.”

“What do ye mean ye cannot?” she queried, surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor.

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. Then, he took a slow sip of his wine and said, “Pass.”

Catherine furrowed her brow. “Ye cannae—you cannot pass.”

“Of course, I can.” He gestured towards his coat, shrugging it off and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “And that’s how the game is played, Duchess.”

Catherine pursed her lips. “Coward.”

“Call it whatever you like, but you shouldn’t pout over my intelligence.” He winked at her, then he sat up. “My turn. Did you really have no reservations about marrying me? Your father gave up your hand to pay off his debt?—”

“He did nay such thing. Do not slander my father’s honor. Offering ye something other than the exact sum ye were owed was the only solution we could come up with, and the only thingwe could think of was a lass for ye to wed. It was either Meg or me, and I volunteered because Meg wasnae ready to marry. I did not mind it as much, and I was glad and thankful to be able to help my family.”

“You are truly quite noble. You and your family,” Sampson commented casually.

“Ye say it as if ye expected differently,” she noted.

“I try not to have any expectations of others. It prevents a lot of regrets and severe mistakes. It is better this way.”

“It sounds like ye have many tales of regrets and mistakes.”

“Is that a question, dear wife?”

“Would ye answer it if it was?” she countered, clearly irritated.

Sampson chuckled, a sound she discovered she was getting used to because it no longer grated on her nerves as it did before.

“Ask me properly and find out.”

“What do ye regret?” Catherine persisted, furrowing her brow.

“Many things, dearest. Many things,” he sighed.

“Ye are incredibly infuriating.” She tsked, rolling her eyes.

“If I were any less of the person I am, you would not like me as much.”

Catherine was momentarily stunned by his courageous assumption. “Ye speak as if I like ye now.”

“You will.” Sampson grinned cheekily. “It is inevitable, Duchess.”

“Ye didnae answer my question,” she groaned, barely resisting the urge to throw her wine in his face when he simply took off his waistcoat and dropped it on his coat.

“Your turn. What are you afraid of?” he asked.

“Loss,” Catherine answered far too quickly for her liking. “The thought of losing anyone in my family terrifies me to death. They are all I have, all I’ve ever known. Losing any one of them would destroy me, I think.”

Sampson studied her carefully. “Sounds like you have thought about it a lot.”

“Nae particularly,” Catherine stated, raising her wine glass to her lips to drain it. “I practice expressing gratitude and thankfulness. And I am most grateful for them. As such, I am aware of what they mean to me, and trading them for anything else is nae an option.”

There was a time when Graham had fallen very ill. The family had done what they could to keep him company during what they had assumed would be his final days. And, at some point, her mother had said, with a devastated look, that perhaps they should say their goodbyes to him.

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