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He finally relented, his tongue plunging deep, pushing her over the edge with a few strokes. She cried out, her body convulsing with pleasure, her fingers digging into the sheets.

Catherine collapsed onto the mattress, still shaking as the waves of pleasure rolled through her. She sighed when Sampsonscooped her into his arms and kissed her, sharing the taste of her that lingered on his tongue.

It was almost ironic, how she had come to help him sleep better but now she was the one who felt overcome with exhaustion.

“Good,” Sampson murmured against her lips. “You were very good for me, Duchess. You have done well.”

She buried her face in his chest and exhaled, succumbing to the exhaustion in her bones.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“What on earth is going on?”

Catherine stopped at the top of the stairs, expecting an answer from any of the servants passing by.

But all they did was greet her eagerly, as they did every morning, walking by quickly to carry on their duties. Confused, she watched them move along, wondering if she was hallucinating or maybe even dreaming still.

But a pinch to her elbow told her that this was, in fact, reality.

“Your Grace! A wonderful morning we’re having, aren’t we? Are you hungry? The chef made that special French toast you love,” Anna greeted cheerfully, looking out of place and energetic in the chaotic space.

Catherine had awoken to an unusual flurry of activity. The normally serene atmosphere of Rosehall was replaced by abustling energy, a sense of anticipation that permeated the very walls. Servants scurried through the corridors, their voices hushed but hurried, and the clatter of preparations echoed from the kitchens.

Puzzled, Catherine had risen from her bed and dressed herself, her mind filled with questions. She ventured downstairs, finding the main hall transformed into a hive of industry. Furniture was being rearranged, floral arrangements were being meticulously placed, and an air of quiet excitement hung in the air.

And Anna was now before her, looking as though there was not a thing amiss.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Catherine said, spotting the housekeeper a few feet away. “Mrs. Starling,” she called, heading towards the older woman, who was directing the placement of a particularly large vase of lilies. “What is happening?”

Mrs. Starling smiled at her reassuringly. “Ah, good morning, Your Grace. I trust you had a good night’s rest.”

Catherine blinked and blushed, recalling that she had spent the night in her husband’s bed, nestled in his arms.

“I—yes, I did. I feel well-rested, and confused, by all the commotion.”

Mrs. Starling nodded in understanding. “I am sorry for the ruckus, but we should be done within the hour. We are expectingimportant guests, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone calm. “But you have nothing to worry about. Everything is under control.”

“But who are the guests?” Catherine pressed, her curiosity piqued. “And why was I not informed?”

Mrs. Starling’s smile widened slightly. “It is a surprise, Your Grace. His Grace wished to keep it… secret.”

Catherine frowned, her confusion growing. She spent the rest of the morning in a state of mild unease, wondering who these mysterious guests were and why their arrival was being kept so secret. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to happen.

Anna returned to escort her to breakfast, and she tried to get something out of the girl. But much like the others, her lips were sealed.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but telling you would ruin the surprise, and we were told that there would be dire consequences if that happened,” the maid said, far too cheerful for someone keeping what Catherine thought was a burdensome secret.

“Who could it be? Give me a hint,” Catherine practically begged. “I do not wish to make a fool of myself in front of this person or people—whoever they might be.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Your Grace.” Anna smiled softly, her eyes alight with fondness.

“I appreciate the faith you have in me, dear, but accidents happen when you least expect them. Please. Just a hint.”

“I cannot, Your Grace,” Anna said, strangely firm about her decision. “Please eat your food, lest it get cold.”

Catherine relented for a moment and turned to her breakfast. She lifted her knife and began cutting into her toast, then?—

“Is it the Queen?”