Page 69 of His Scottish Duchess

“That was—Maither!”

“Darlings, please allow us to have our breakfast in peace,” Mary sighed tiredly, her gaze shifting to her second daughter, who had merely been pushing her food around her plate. “Are ye all right, dear?”

“Hmm?” Catherine looked up, her eyes unfocused as she stared in her mother’s direction. “Oh—yes. I am quite well, Mama. Just… tired. I did not sleep well last night.”

Her admission had filled Sampson with guilt and concern, as he had been quite exhausted after his return the night before and he simply climbed into their bed, not realizing that she had been having difficulty resting.

“Are you sure you would not rather stay behind?” he questioned softly.

Catherine shook her head and smiled gently. “No, thank you, darling. I would much rather go with you.”

Sampson had long since given up trying to refuse Catherine what she wanted, so he nodded and smiled back at her, ignoring the part of him that buzzed at the fact that she was willing to forgo rest just to remain at his side.

“If that is what you want, my dear.”

Now, Sampson watched her from where he stood by the window, his thoughtful gaze trained on her, noting that her movements lacked their usual grace. They were preparing to leave, the carriage due to arrive shortly to take them south. He had an important meeting in York, one that couldn’t be postponed, necessitating their return to England and cutting their stay in Scotland short.

But as he continued to observe Catherine, his unease grew. She appeared distracted, a slight hesitation reflected in her actions. Her delicate fingers fumbled with the buttons of her traveling gown, her brow furrowed in concentration as if she was struggling to grasp a complex problem.

Earlier, she misplaced her gloves and searched for them for ten whole minutes, her confused murmurs bordering on whines, only to find them in the pocket of her coat moments later. Hermistakes were uncharacteristic when he considered how she was usually so poised, and they did not escape his notice.

“Catherine,” he began, his voice gentle, breaking the silence.

She looked up, her green eyes widening slightly, a hint of surprise on her face. “Yes, Sampson?”

He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. “Is everything all right? You seem… preoccupied.”

Catherine hesitated for a moment, her lips pursed as if choosing her words carefully. He saw a shadow of disappointment cross her features, and his first thought was that perhaps their time in Scotland had been too short, that she hadn’t gotten to spend enough time with her family.

All too aware of their closeness, Sampson realized that visiting her family, without staying for too long, would worsen—rather than heal—her homesickness.

A pang of guilt resonated within him, followed by waves of regret and remorse. He had been so focused on business matters that he had ignored her desire to remain in Scotland for a little while longer.

“I know our stay was brief,” he began, reaching for her hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “But I promise you, Catherine, we will return. And when we do, we will stay for amonth, perhaps even longer—for as long as you need. You will have ample time with your family then.”

As the words left his lips, a warmth spread through him, an unfamiliar tenderness that felt both natural and right.

“I know how much they mean to you, love. We will not be away for too long.”

The term of endearment had slipped on instinct, a spontaneous expression of his steadily growing affection for her. Before Sampson could second-guess his actions, he saw the effect it had on her, and his chest swelled with pride.

Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, and a delicate blush bloomed on her cheeks. Her heart had skipped a beat—he could feel it in the slight tremor of her hand.

“Love,” she repeated softly, the word a caress on her lips. “I… I love hearing you say that, Sampson.”

Her gaze softened, all trace of distraction vanishing, replaced by a tender warmth that mirrored his affection.

“I’ll say it more then, my dear wife,” he promised without hesitation.

He leaned closer, pulled in by the desire to comfort her even further, smiling slightly as she raised her hand to his face slowly, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of the emotions that had been building within the crevices of Sampson’s being. The world outside the room seemed to fade away, his focus solely on his wife, her wellness, and her happiness, as if nothing else mattered.

Not to him, not then.

The moment was shattered by a sharp knock on their door.

“Your Graces,” a footman’s voice called from the other side. “The carriage is ready for your departure.”

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