Page 60 of His Scottish Duchess

“How dareyouneglect your well-being?” he countered, his face equally hot. “You haven’t eaten a proper meal all day—if this is even your first time neglecting your well-being for the sakeof this ball! Why would you jeopardize your health for the enjoyment of others? It is unreasonable.”

Sampson felt so exasperated, unsure why he had to explain something so basic to her. He had heard her last night and had understood the weight and expectations she had put on herself with this project. But the truth was that he did not feel it was worth compromising her health.

He knew he would never fully understand what she was going through, being from a different country and all. Still, he wished she did not care about the opinions of strangers more than her well-being.

And certainly not more than his orders.

“I only missed a single meal,” she argued, though her voice was slightly softer. “It is not that important, and I am nearly done, anyway. What is a few more hours?”

“Can you not hear yourself? A few more hours? When you already look like a flower wilting beneath the harsh sun? Catherine?—”

“I dinnae ken why ye insist on bein’ like this,” she snapped, her brow furrowed in frustration. “If ye believe ye must control every single aspect of my life, then perhaps ye shouldnae be so fickle wi’ yer attention and yer… affections. It seems ye only notice me when it suits yer fancy. And ye shouldnae have just up and left this mornin’ without a single word, Sampson. Am I just a plaything to be picked up and put down as ye please?”

Sampson frowned. “Is that what this is about? You stubbornly refuse to take care of yourself because I didn’t bid you a proper farewell this morning?”

Catherine took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “The ball is tomorrow, Sampson. Those floral arrangements are the final touch. I want everything to be perfect. I am so close, so close to achieving all my goals. Do not make my efforts amount to nothing.”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Mrs. Starling, who was bearing a tray laden with food.

Sampson gestured towards it. “Eat, Catherine.”

“But the arrangements—” Catherine began, her mind still fixed on the unfinished task.

“Mrs. Starling and the rest of the staff are perfectly capable of finishing the decorations,” Sampson said firmly, his patience wearing thin. “You need to rest.”

The housekeeper wisely bowed and took her leave, knowing better than to linger.

Sampson had hoped that Catherine would relent, and he was a little shocked when her gaze met his directly.

“No,” she said, her voice small but resolute.

His gaze darkened. He stepped closer to the bed, leaning down until his face was mere inches from hers. A sudden, charged silence filled the room, their argument replaced by a different kind of weight, a palpable energy that crackled between them.

“Catherine,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, “If you disobey me again… there will be consequences.”

His eyes locked onto hers, holding a promise of something more.

A visible shiver ran through Catherine, despite her defiance.

“No,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“No?” Sampson echoed, staring at her.

Catherine saw the precise moment understanding dawned in Sampson’s eyes. The initial flash of anger in his gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of something sharper, more knowing.

He recognized the deliberate defiance in her refusal, the stubborn set of her jaw that went beyond mere determination to finish the task she had started. He saw that a part of her was pushing back, testing the boundaries he had just laid down.

A slow, almost predatory smile touched his lips, a stark contrast to his earlier fury. He straightened, his tall frame looming over her, and she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach that had little to do with fear.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “You wish to disobey me, even after my warning?”

Catherine held his gaze, her defiance unwavering, though a thrill of anticipation, unexpected and slightly scandalous, coursed through her veins.

“The ball is tomorrow, Sampson. It is important.”

He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, the touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. “And my command means nothing?”

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