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“I should have tried harder,” Sampson muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “I was weak. And now… now I have lost the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Frederick was silent for a moment, his gaze filled with understanding. Then, he let out a sound that was a cross between sympathy and exasperation.

“So,” he asked, “you love her then?”

A wave of panic—a feeling that Sampson had grown intimately familiar with in the last few days—washed over him as he came to a sudden, terrifying realization.

Everything started to make a little more sense at that moment—why he was so upset he could barely handle basic duties and why it felt like her absence had left a gaping hole in his chest.

He loved her. He did. He truly did. The past few weeks had been a testament to it. He had lived for her smile, worried about her well-being, and had been willing to bend and break his rigid rules just to see her happy.

But what was the point of acknowledging it now? He had driven her away. No one could truly love a man with blood on his hands.

“She said she loved me,” he said, the words a hollow echo of Catherine’s heartfelt confession. “And she told me it wasn’t my fault.” He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “She was always kinder to me than I deserved.”

“Why do you not believe her? I met your wife, and she doesn’t seem like the sort to say things she doesn’t mean. Especially notjust for the benefit of the person she was speaking to,” Frederick pointed out, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Sampson shrugged, the movement heavy with resignation. “There’s no reason to. No sane person would believe that they could still love me, not after what they heard.”

Frederick sighed again, stifling a groan of frustration as he shook his head slightly.

“Let me tell you something, my friend. If she merely pitied you, she would have offered sympathy and perhaps suggested that your marriage remain in name only. But instead, she declared her love and her desire to be with you. While her actions might not be entirely rational in the face of such a confession, they are undeniably kind and loving. You doubted her too easily.”

“I did not. Anyone would! How could she?—”

“Has she ever given you a reason to doubt her? From what I heard, she has shown you nothing but sincere affection for so long, and the only reason you are in disbelief is that she came clean about how she felt about you after you had come clean about your past.

“She even said what I have been trying to tell you for years—it was not your fault. You should not punish yourself for a mistake that resulted in a fatal accident. And you shouldn’t deny yourself the chance to be truly happy by choosing to let yourself be haunted for the rest of your life. Your wife loves you. Do not throw that away.”

Frederick’s words struck a chord deep within him.

Was it possible? Could Catherine’s love be genuine? The thought, however faint, ignited a fragile spark of hope within the darkness of his self-loathing.

Sampson couldn’t leave the question unanswered. He had to know. Did Catherine truly love him, or was it merely pity?

Without another word, he rose, a newfound determination hardening his gaze. He had to go to her.

As he left his study, Frederick called after him with a grin, “Good luck, friend!”

Going back to Scotland was not in any way difficult for Sampson. The hard part came when he arrived at Spranklin Manor and had to face her family.

He understood that he had greatly disappointed them, and it would not be an easy feat to see his wife.

Just as he had expected, when he arrived, Fergus was standing outside the front door, his face devoid of his usual warmth.

“Yer Grace,” the Baron greeted stiffly. “What brings ye to my humble abode?”

The cold reception was one Sampson had expected, but still, it stung.

“Lord Spranklin,” he returned. “I apologize for the sudden intrusion. I need to speak to my wife, please.”

Fergus frowned. “Forgive me, Yer Grace, but ye dinnae sound like ye intend to make up for the hurt ye caused her. In fact, it sounds as though ye’ve come to serve her wi’ divorce papers.”

Sampson’s heart sank. “No! That is not my intention at all?—”

“As ye can imagine, I am less than happy with yer presence, because ye might nae be aware of the state my daughter was in when she arrived here. As her faither, it would be remiss of me to send her back to the very person who caused her such pain. I dinnae care if ye wish to reinstate the debt. Do what ye will, but dinnae come near my daughter again if ye dinnae wish to honor yer vows.”

It was as though the floor was falling apart from under Sampson’s feet. For a moment, he considered giving up.