Page 34 of His Scottish Duchess

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping again. “I shall fix it—I’ll fix it all. As soon as I can.”

“Catherine,” Sampson said, his voice a touch sharper this time.

Catherine could feel his eyes on her, and it made her even more uncomfortable. She fought the urge to squirm.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Reluctantly, Catherine raised her eyes to his. His expression was unreadable, but she sensed a flicker of something. Not anger, but perhaps impatience.

“You are usually far too spirited to be skulking around like a scolded child,” he noted, his gaze searching hers. “I prefer it when you have a bit more fire.”

Catherine tried not to dwell on that unexpected remark, her mind still reeling from her blunder with the redecoration.

“I-I understand, Your Grace,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I will ensure that the rooms are redone in a more suitable style. One befitting your… your status.”

Sampson opened his mouth to respond, but she rushed on, eager to escape this embarrassing conversation.

“I truly am sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t think, and that was clearly a mistake. I will aim to be better prepared in the future.”

Catherine quickly turned to walk towards the door, desperate to put some distance between them and her rather disappointing oversight.

“Catherine.” Sampson’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

She turned back, her hand still on the doorknob.

“Is this it?” he asked, his gaze intense. “Is this mild scolding all it takes to turn you into… this? Some bashful creature?” He gestured vaguely towards her, his expression a mixture of frustration and something else she couldn’t quite place. “Like a sheep?”

Catherine’s spine stiffened despite her embarrassment. “I am not a sheep, Your Grace.”

“Then stop looking like one,” he said, a hint of something dangerous in his tone. “Because it tempts me to… become the wolf.”

Catherine’s breath hitched. The air in the study suddenly felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension that had nothing to do with furniture or finances. She remained by the door, unsure what to do or say. And apparently, that was another thing she had gotten wrong.

“Come here,” Sampson commanded, his eyes never leaving hers.

Against her better judgment, despite her instinct to flee, Catherine obeyed. Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her towards him.

He was seated behind his desk, looking like the most powerful man she had ever laid her eyes on.

In some ways, Sampson was exactly that.

He reached out, his hand finding hers, and gently pulled her closer until she was standing directly in front of him. Then, with a swift tug, he pulled her onto his lap, her skirts pooling on the leather cushion.

Catherine’s heart hammered against her ribs, the sudden intimacy jarring the rest of her senses. She looked up at him, her eyes wide as a mixture of apprehension and a strange, undeniable yearning swirled within her.

“If you are truly sorry, Catherine,” he murmured, his gaze searching hers for a moment, before dropping to her lips, “then you should make it up to me.”

Catherine could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle tension in his muscles. She knew exactly what he was implying. He was trying to take advantage of her guilt. And yet a part of her, the part that had been inexplicably drawn to him from the moment they met, felt a strange pull, a reluctant willingness.

“What… what do you want, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Kiss me, Catherine.”

Catherine hesitated for a fleeting moment. Her mind flashed back to his anger, to the chasm between them. But then her senses were overwhelmed by the nearness of him. She caught the familiar scent that clung to his skin—woodsy, sharp, and with a hint of spice that always stirred something within her. She had missed it, this tangible presence that had been absent in the days since their last encounter.

Before she could think further, her hands rose almost instinctively to rest on his shoulders. And then she leaned in, her lips meeting his.

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