Page 43 of His Scottish Duchess

“And you won’t regret it?”

Catherine was determined not to regret her decision. She had come to thank him, and now she was here, following him to his chambers, late at night. Since she had made up her mind to provide him with some semblance of care and comfort, she would make the most of it.

Her small hand was nestled in his larger, warmer one as he led the way, her heart fluttering when he glanced back at her and gave a light squeeze.

When they arrived at his door, he opened it but didn’t usher her inside, as if he wanted her to take the first steps by herself.

She peered through the doorway, noticing that the room was just as large as hers. It had been decorated with more masculine tones in mind, with dark wood furniture and heavy drapes. It was a stark contrast to her lighter, more feminine chambers, and it reminded her that she did have something more to offer than just her company.

“I will return shortly,” she said, excusing herself.

Sampson looked down at her, then he nodded towards his room. “I’ll be here. You do not need to knock when you arrive. Just come in.”

“All right.” Catherine nodded, before turning around to walk to her room.

After all, she needed to prepare.

She hurried back to her room and changed into her nightdress first, before moving on to the next thing.

She retrieved a small, intricately carved wooden box from her dressing table, picking some of the dried herbs and flowers nestled inside and wrapping them securely into a piece of paper. Then, she grabbed a small bottle of scented oil—a blend of lavender and sandalwood. She had thought to repay him for his kindness at the ball and his gentle teasing tonight. A massage seemed a fitting way to do so.

Before she returned to his room, she stopped by the kitchen and ordered a maid to put boiling water in a teapot, into which she added the herbs she had handpicked carefully. This was a special tea, one her mother had often made for her when she had trouble sleeping. It was soothing and calming, and she hoped it would help ease the tension that seemed to crackle between her and Sampson.

The maid put the teapot and a teacup on a tray, and Catherine grabbed it before returning to where she was expected. When she arrived at his room, she found him already loosening his cravat.

“I brought something,” she announced, holding out the tray.

Sampson raised an eyebrow, his gaze questioning. “And what might that be?”

“A calming tea,” she replied, pouring the fragrant liquid into the delicate porcelain cup. “My mother used to make it for me when I couldn’t sleep. It is really calming, and I like how it smells. If it doesn’t help… perhaps a massage would. If you would like that.”

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the cup for a moment too long to be simple curiosity. “Are you certain the tea is safe?”

Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you think I would poison you, Your Grace?”

She expected him to join her and laugh about the absurdity of the idea, but he didn’t. His expression remained serious, almost suspicious. It was a strange reaction, and it made her feel slightly uneasy, if not a bit disheartened that he did not trust her.

As a sign of good faith, Catherine brought the cup to her lips and took a sip of the tea, holding his gaze.

“See? Perfectly safe,” she said after swallowing and placing the cup on the bedside table. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

She felt a sting in her chest as she said it, unable to keep herself from feeling offended by his distrust. Did he truly think she would hurt him?

He picked up the cup, swirling the liquid thoughtfully. He took a tentative sip, holding her gaze. Then, he took another. After a moment of consideration, he lowered the cup back to the tray.

“I think I would prefer the massage,” he said, his voice low.

Catherine nodded, retrieving the bottle of oil. “Very well.” She gestured towards the edge of the bed. “Please, sit.”

He sat, loosening his shirt to expose his back. Catherine poured a small amount of oil into her hands and rubbed them together to warm them. She began to knead the muscles of his shoulders, her fingers working out the knots and tension.

She noticed the way his muscles relaxed beneath her touch, the subtle shift in his breathing. Her gaze swept over his skin, noticing a few pale scars scattered across his back—the only imperfections on his otherwise perfect body.

Sampson felt hot to the touch, and the heat spread up her arms, then down her torso to pool in her stomach as she worked her way down his back.

He seemed to be enjoying it, thankfully—perhaps a bit too much, she noticed as she accidentally glanced down and noticed the bulge in his breeches. A blush crept up her neck, and she tried to focus on the task at hand, to finish quickly, but the heat radiating from his skin and the subtle scent of his cologne all worked to distract her.

When she finally stopped, he turned to her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

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