Page 65 of His Scottish Duchess

Their progress was soon impeded by a small group of Sampson’s business associates and influential figures from the world of finance and international trade. They greeted Catherine with effusive compliments, praising her graciousness, her intelligence, and, of course, the unparalleled elegance and sophistication of the ball.

“It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Lord Bradwell offered. “His Grace has been a fine business partner for many years, and I always hoped he would find a formidable woman to spend the rest of his life with. And you seem as though you were made just for him—which is well enough, considering his rather high standards.”

“Farewell, Lord Bradwell,” Sampson dismissed the man quickly, not liking how he had unknowingly exposed some of his secrets. “Do not attempt to diminish my reputation in my wife’s eyes.”

“No such thing could ever happen.” Catherine smiled up at him, making his heart flutter.

Soon, their attention was drawn by another guest, and they engaged in conversation with the Baron Ashworth, a man who was known for both his wealth and appreciation for feminine beauty.

“I’ve heard tales of your loveliness, but seeing you now, I do not doubt that your so-called admirers did not attempt to do you justice, Your Grace.” He grinned.

“Ah.” Catherine smiled good-naturedly. “You are too kind.”

“Hardly.” He tutted. “I am merely vocal about my appreciation for the finer things in life. Of which you are a wonderful example.”

Catherine smiled and nodded as politely as she could, her lips quivering slightly.

“I hope you do not think me a liar, Your Grace. I fancy myself a poet and an artist, and as such, I have quite the eye for spectacular sights.”

“I see.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Ashworth continued, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that Sampson found increasingly irritating, “you are a veritable vision of loveliness tonight. One wouldscarcely believe that such exquisite beauty and refined grace could originate from the… shall we say, more ruggedly picturesque lands of Scotland.”

He offered a smarmy smile that did little to mitigate the impertinence of his remark.

A cold, swift wave of possessive fury washed over Sampson. He subtly shifted his stance, placing himself between the Baron and Catherine, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly on her waist. His gaze, when it met the Baron’s, was like polished steel, devoid of any trace of warmth or amusement.

“Lord Ashworth,” he said, his voice deceptively level but carrying an unmistakable menace. “My Duchess is indeed a treasure, a fact of which I am constantly aware. I urge you to remember that she can only be mine. Do not ogle another man’s crown, lest he feel inclined to gouge your eyes out in irritation.”

The warning hung heavy in the air.

The Baron’s face paled slightly, and his smile faltered. He stammered out a hasty apology, his gaze flicking nervously between Sampson and Catherine, before making a rather undignified retreat into the relative safety of the crowd nearby.

Sampson turned his attention back to Catherine, his rigid posture immediately softening, his concern for her well-being evident in his blue eyes.

“Are you all right, Catherine?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Catherine met his gaze, her hand finding his and squeezing it reassuringly. “Perfectly fine, Sampson. Thank you.”

There was a warmth in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of his protectiveness, that had nothing to do with the glittering spectacle around them.

“Come,” Sampson said, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. “Let us take a break from this delightful chaos.”

Catherine preened as he gently took her hand and led her to a quieter alcove near the large windows that overlooked the moonlit expanse of the Rosehall gardens. The soft glow of the moon cast long shadows across the manicured lawns, creating a tranquil contrast to the vibrant energy of the ballroom.

“Would you care to indulge me in a dance, my Duchess?” Sampson asked, a hint of his usual teasing returning, though it was now softened by the genuine affection in his eyes.

Catherine’s smile widened, her green eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I would like that very much, my Duke.”

They stepped onto the polished floor of the alcove, the music swelling around them, and Sampson drew her close, hismovements surprisingly fluid and graceful despite his usual preference for… less refined pursuits.

Catherine rested her hand on his shoulder, her gaze meeting his, and in the soft moonlight, she caught a glimpse of the silent affection that had been growing between them as of late.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did in his presence, to the possibility of building a family. The memory of the warmth and vibrancy of her large family, the joy of shared laughter and unconditional love, was a longing that had been unexpectedly rekindled by their recent visit.

And now, as she looked into the depths of Sampson’s blue eyes and felt the reassuring strength of his arms around her, the desire to create that kind of life with him, with this complex and compelling man she had come to love, felt more tangible, more attainable than ever before.

She opened her mouth, the carefully considered question about their future, about the possibility of children gracing their lives, forming on her lips. But at that moment, Lord Bradwell’s voice called for Sampson’s attention, and the portly gentleman approached, his brow furrowed with urgency.

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