Page 9 of His Scottish Duchess

“Do not worry, Your Grace. I am sure I will learn quickly.”

“See that you do, Duchess,” he replied, lifting his teacup in a toast to her.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea. Now that that concern had been somewhatunhelpfullyresolved, Catherine realized she was alone with Sampson and felt a wave of apprehension wash over her.

She knew all too well what was expected of her—to perform her wifely duties. However, the thought of sharing a bed with this man, of bearing his children, sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

She watched him, her mind racing, her imagination conjuring images of the night ahead of them.

He turned to her, a strange expression on his face. And then, to her surprise, he burst out laughing.

“You wear your thoughts so vividly on your face, Duchess. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Sampson remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

“I… I was merely wondering what happens now,” Catherine stammered, her cheeks flushing.

“What happens now?” he echoed, his laughter subsiding a tad. “Why, nothing, of course.”

“Nothing?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “But… But we are married. Surely, you will need…” she trailed off, embarrassment causing her tongue to feel heavy at the very thought of utteringthatword.

With amusement etched on his handsome features, Sampson shook his head, seemingly thrilled to have been given the chance to explain this to her.

“I do not need an heir, Catherine. I needed a wife because it is good for business. Clients are more likely to trust a man who is committed to a woman and plans to start a family. Married men seem more stable and reliable. It was the benefits of having a wife that I needed more than anything else.”

“Is it really as important as you say? Then why did you not marry sooner?” she questioned, too curious for her own good.

“It truly amazes me, each time you make it known that you have no idea who I am—and neither does your father, because he was the one who came up with this ludicrous idea. But I have a feeling your new status shall teach you sooner or later.”

Sampson’s words held an underlying sharp edge, and they made a strange emotion that she couldn’t quite place rise within her. She had expected duty, perhaps even a sense of obligation, but not this cold, calculated indifference.

Although taken aback by his bluntness, Catherine felt a surge of defiance.

“If that is the case, then I have a condition for this marriage,” she declared, her voice firm. “Ye will have no lass visiting to keep you ‘company.’ I dinnae care who she is—or who they are. They will not set foot in here. Not in our home, not in our bed.”

Sampson looked at her, his expression a mixture of surprise and puzzlement. “Is that so? But dear wife, I am rarely able to sleep at night, and therefore I require company during those restless hours. If I am no longer allowed to invite anyone to our home to fulfill that role, then you will have to take on that duty.”

Catherine scoffed, rising to her feet. “Preposterous. Ye think me a daft woman? That is none of my concern.”

“Oh, but it is,” he announced, rising to his feet and stepping closer, his movements smooth and predatory. “You have issued an order—more or less—and I have argued that seeing as it was a means of handling my problem, you should provide me with an alternative solution.” He continued forward, backing her against the cold stone. “Or in this case, you’ll become the alternative solution.”

Catherine, her heart pounding in her chest, found herself unable to speak. His proximity and his intense gaze sent a shiver of fear and a strange, unwelcome flutter of excitement through her.

“That is hardly fair. I should not have to tell you not to be so carefree within the boundaries of our marriage,” she protested.

“You are my wife now,” he said, his voice a low growl. “It falls to you to satisfy my needs. You will obey my every command, regardless of what it entails. Even if it means taking off your clothes for me, moaning my name, or getting on your knees.”

Catherine’s cheeks flushed crimson as her mind reeled from his words. She tried to think, to form a coherent response, but his proximity, his blatant sensuality, made it impossible.

“Ye… ye can’t sleep?” she managed to stammer, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to understand the strangest part of his statement. “What are ye? A vampire?”

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down her spine. Instead of answering, he leaned in, his teeth grazing her neck.

Catherine gasped as he sank his teeth into the skin of her neck, not painfully but hard enough to startle her, before he pressed a soft kiss to her skin.

“You will have to find that out for yourself, my dear wife,” he whispered, his voice husky. He stepped back, leaving her breathless and disoriented. “I will call for you soon,” he said, his voice laced with a promise that sent a shudder of anticipation and dread through her.

Without another word, Sampson turned and strode out of the drawing room, leaving Catherine alone with her thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest.

CHAPTER FOUR

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