Page 29 of His Scottish Duchess

“Take yer time, Oswald. I’m here,” Catherine assured, not knowing what else to do.

The butler nodded again and took a moment to compose himself.

When he had regained some of his senses, he looked right at her and said, “I was searching for you, Your Grace. The Duke has requested your presence tonight.”

CHAPTER TEN

“The man is determined to be the death of me,” Catherine sighed.

Mr. Oswald had informed her that the Duke was waiting for her in a drawing room, and after dinner, she immediately set out to find him. It might have seemed as though she was eager to see him, but that was not the case.

It is better to get it over with, once and for all.

Any longer and she would manage to talk herself out of it.

Her mind was buzzing with the discovery she had made earlier that day, the abject lack of answers disturbing her for some reason. She couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between the Duke and his family for him to act as though they had never existed.

When she arrived at the drawing room, she knocked.

“You may enter.” The deep sound of his voice stirred something within her.

Catherine opened the door and stepped into the room, fighting the urge to flee at the sight of him.

He was lying on his back, his eyes trained on the pages of a book he held in his hands, looking quite relaxed.

Sampson glanced in her direction and grinned, sitting up immediately. “Well, well. If it isn’t my precious wife. It feels like eons have passed since I saw you last. I thought for sure something would’ve changed, but you still look as lovely as ever.”

He looked more pleased with himself with every passing moment.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Catherine greeted stiffly, hoping to dispel the heat in her cheeks by barely reacting.

“What a good evening it is, Duchess. Especially seeing as you have chosen not to avoid me any longer. I thought I would have to go and find you myself.” Sampson shook his head slowly.

“I havenae been avoiding ye,” she squawked indignantly.

“That can’t be. I know the house we live in is quite large, but for us to not have crossed paths for days now seems like purposeful machination, does it not?” Sampson frowned.

“I did not try to avoid ye. The house is quite large, and I have been busy,” Catherine told him defensively.

“Busy? And what, pray tell, has kept you so occupied as of late? Is Mrs. Starling giving you a hard time? Shall I have a word or two with her on your behalf?”

“Nay! No—don’t. That is unnecessary. It’s not her fault. There is much to be done, and I merely want to ensure that I am rightfully handling my duties,” she stated stubbornly, her cheeks burning.

Sampson studied her carefully, and then he smirked, shrugging casually. “I did not call you here to argue with you, Duchess. We can do that at a later date. For now, I want you to come closer.”

The refusal was hanging on the tip of Catherine’s tongue, but she held back, knowing that he might grow even more suspicious if she kept him at arm’s length.

Not to mention that she was expected to do what he needed her to do as his wife.

Reluctantly, she drew nearer, trying not to glare at him when he patted the spot next to him on the settee. She lowered herself onto the cushion gingerly.

Although she expected it somewhat, it still startled her when he rested his head on her lap.

“Ah, yes. This is much better than arguing with you.” Sampson sighed as he tipped his head back to look her in the eye.

“Surely ye did not bring me here to act as a cushion for ye, Your Grace,” Catherine said, deadpan.

“Why not? You are certainly warmer and softer than any cushion I’ve ever lain on.” He grinned, much to her irritation. “Not to mention, you are much prettier, and you smell like dessert—sweet and elegant.”

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