Page 23 of His Scottish Duchess

At last, he fully turned to step into the bathroom, Catherine’s eyes darted down, landing on his member, and she gasped, her cheeks flushing crimson. She then futilely tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice her.

But Sampson, ever alert, seemed completely unfazed by her presence. He turned, his gaze sweeping over the room, and his eyes landed on her hiding spot. A slow smile spread across his lips.

“Come out, Catherine,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I know you’re there.”

Catherine’s cheeks burned even brighter. “How did ye know?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I could smell you from the start,” Sampson replied, his eyes twinkling as he entered the bathroom fully, approaching her at a slow pace. “You smell like pomegranates. Very distinct.”

Catherine’s breath hitched. She had never been so close to her husband, so exposed to his raw masculinity. The sight of his naked body, his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, his… manhood, sent a shiver down her spine.

“Now that I’ve found you,” Sampson said, his voice laced with playful authority, “you’ve lost the game. And the loser must help the winner take a bath.”

“What?” Catherine exclaimed, her brogue accentuated by her indignation, as seemed to be the case whenever she was around her husband. “Ye’re a grown man. Ye can bathe yerself.”

“A good wife is obedient,” Sampson countered, his lips curving into a smirk.

Catherine bit her tongue, resisting the urge to retort. She knew she couldn’t win this argument.

With a sigh of resignation, she stepped out of her hiding place and approached the tub, mumbling under her breath, “Darn sleekit.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Your Grace!” She smiled innocently.

Sampson grinned victoriously as he slipped into the tub, the movement stirring the herbs and releasing a richer aroma into the air. Catherine shuffled even closer, wondering if she could really put her hands on him.

I dinnae think I will be able to survive touching him directly.

She stared down at his rippling muscles and glistening skin.

“I will wash yer hair. Only yer hair,” she announced suddenly, knowing that was the safest thing to do.

“Suit yourself.” Sampson shrugged, beckoning her to his side.

After a few moments spent praying for strength, she finally put her hands on his hair, nearly gasping in surprise at how soft the strands felt. It did not take long for her to become absorbed inher task, relishing how docile he had become beneath her fingers as she massaged his scalp and washed his hair.

“How are you, Duchess?” he asked after a few minutes of silence. “I heard that you’ve been taking lessons to learn more about your duties. Are those going well too?”

His words surprised her a little. Catherine had expected more teasing, and at worst silence until they parted ways, pretending they had not seen each other naked. It seemed that whichever way it went, she was in trouble.

“Fine. I am fine. And aye, the lessons are going well. They have been most helpful in highlighting my weaknesses and giving me a chance to improve on them. I am also surprised to see that I have a flare for organizing social events. It does require a lot of work and time, and I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. It really has been an enlightening experience,” Catherine said, lathering her hands with soap.

“I am glad to hear that. And the estate? Is it to your liking? Or do you wish to change anything?” Sampson asked, his words coming out a little slurred.

Catherine giggled, glad that he was reacting that way to her ministrations, carefully combing her fingers through his dark locks as she thought of how to answer the question.

“The estate is magnificent. True, there are some things I wish to change—for our collective benefit. But I still do not like how quiet it is. I know it might seem as though I do not like the peace—I truly do—but my family is quite… eccentric.” A smile tugged at her lips. “We are always laughing or talking, and we cherish each other’s company more than anything. I was never alone. Not unless I wanted to be or needed to be. And here, unless I am carrying out my duties, I am alone. I have my meals alone and simply wait, craving the barest interaction with someone. It makes me miss my family so much. It makes me crave my home.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Iwill never understand that.”

Catherine blinked, a little startled. In her rant about missing her family, she had nearly forgotten that she was with her husband.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I will never understand that,” Sampson repeated, his voice low. “I have never understood what people meant when they spoke about this grandiose, special place. Home is merely a building.”

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