Page 23 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“ M y word! The Duchess truly created a marvel!”

Sampson nodded in silent agreement to the comment that reached his ears, admiring his wife’s work with a faint smile on his lips.

The grand ballroom of Rosehall pulsed with vibrant energy, a kaleidoscope of shimmering silks, polished shoes gliding across the floor, and the rumble of animated and elegant conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume and freshly cut flowers—Catherine had insisted on an abundance of fragrant white roses and delicate lilies.

Crystal chandeliers, their myriad facets catching and scattering the warm glow of hundreds of candles, cast a magical light over the assembled guests, reflecting in the gleaming surfaces of the polished parquet floor and the ornate gold-framed mirrors that adorned the walls.

Sampson leaned against a fluted marble pillar near the grand entrance, his usual guarded expression softened by a sense of pride. His gaze, momentarily distracted by the numerous sights and sounds his wife had curated, inevitably returned to the radiant figure of his Duchess.

The members of the ton, a notoriously critical and often jaded audience, moved through the room with an air of genuine enjoyment, their hushed conversations carrying snippets of impressed commentary about the evening’s flawless execution.

Whispers of surprise and admiration for the “Scottish Duchess” caught Sampson’s attention multiple times. It seemed that no one had quite anticipated such a grand and impeccably organized affair from the woman who had arrived at Rosehall a few months ago under such… unconventional circumstances.

Sampson was all but consumed by the novel and undeniably potent sensation swelling in his chest each time he thought of how hard Catherine had worked to achieve such results. He wished he could inform the masses. He wanted to turn the event into an exhibition of her skills, to show off the wonder that had made her way into his life—they did not deserve the privilege of breathing the same air she did.

He had been utterly captivated by Catherine since she had made her dramatic entrance, descending the sweeping grand staircase like a vision from a dream. Her gown, a masterpiece of deep sapphire blue silk, flowed around her with ethereal grace, its elegant cut perfectly accentuating the delicate curve of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips.

The rich color deepened the green hue of her eyes and provided a stunning contrast to the warm tones of her auburn hair, which was styled in an intricate and sophisticated updo, interwoven with delicate braids and secured with bejeweled pins that sparkled like tiny stars with every subtle movement.

“You look absolutely ravishing.” Sampson had all but salivated over her, unable to stop himself from cupping her cheeks in his hands, not caring who might be watching.

His heart felt as though it would beat out of his chest, swelling with need and desire. Even after tasting her so thoroughly, even after the pleasure she had given him the night before, he was still insatiable. Still aching to consume her whole.

“Likewise, my dear husband,” she had replied, her cheeks flushing prettily as she allowed her gaze to wander over his form as well. “I like that we look… like a pair.”

The deep blue of her gown was a perfect complement to the midnight blue of his meticulously tailored jacket, a visual harmony that hadn’t been consciously planned but felt undeniably right.

Standing beside her as they had greeted their guests, he had felt an unexpected sense of completeness, a quiet acknowledgment of the rightness of her presence at his side. He couldn’t deny the feeling—almost like a blessing—that washed over him whenever he looked at her.

Catherine navigated the ballroom with a newfound confidence, her initial shyness seemingly melting away in the face of her triumph. Her laughter, a bright and melodic sound, punctuated the conversations she engaged in, and her genuine warmth and engaging manner seemed to effortlessly put even the most reserved and socially awkward guests at ease.

She possessed a natural grace that Sampson had come to appreciate, a quiet strength that underpinned her gentle demeanor.

“I have to admit, I am very impressed, Your Grace. I did not expect you to possess such good taste. I almost feel bad for not bringing a gift because I believe such hard work should be rewarded,” Lady Abernathy praised, smiling kindly at her.

“Just knowing that you and your family are enjoying the ball is the best gift I could ask for. Thank you for coming,” Catherine replied with a smile.

It had been quite entertaining, watching Lady Abernathy and her husband immediately becoming smitten by Catherine’s warm and precious expression. They looked as though they were moments away from pledging their lives and resources to her.

“The honor is all ours, Your Grace,” Lord Abernathy stammered and bowed.

Her coterie of newly acquired friends were visibly thrilled by her success. The Duchesses formed a small, animated circle around her at one point, their excited whispers and genuine compliments creating a buzz of feminine camaraderie. Their eyes sparkled with undisguised delight at the evident triumph of her first major undertaking at Rosehall.

“Catherine, my dearest, you have truly outdone yourself!” Eleanor exclaimed, her radiant smile rivaling the glittering chandeliers. “The entire evening is simply exquisite! Frederick was just remarking on the tasteful decorations. It all turned out better than I could have imagined!”

“Indeed,” Selina chimed in with a playful wink, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Who would have thought that our quiet ‘Scottish Duchess’ had a talent for organizing balls that put even the London Season to shame? You have certainly shown the more skeptical members of the ton what you are capable of.”

Thalia murmured her enthusiastic agreement, her gaze sweeping over the meticulously arranged floral displays that adorned every available surface.

“The arrangements are absolutely divine, Catherine. The choice of lilies and roses is so elegant, and the fragrance is simply intoxicating. Benedict has been quite taken with them. He has a habit of pointing at things he finds interesting and making odd sounds. I have had to swat his hands away from the flowers all evening.”

“And the refreshments!” Nora added, her expression filled with genuine satisfaction. “Those delicate, little lobster tartlets are simply heavenly, Catherine. Samuel has already requested the recipe from your chef. I fear I might need several recipes, as I am quite impressed with the extensive selection you have offered tonight.”

Catherine blushed prettily at their effusive praise, her happiness radiating from her like a warm glow.

“Thank you. I could not have done this without your help. I really appreciate the lengths you went to just for me, and your extensive support.”

The women cooed at her and reached out to embrace her, their melodic laughter filling the air.

Just as Eleanor launched into a detailed description of a particularly impressed Lady Danvers, Sampson approached their group, his hand finding the delicate curve of Catherine’s waist.

“Forgive my rather abrupt intrusion, ladies,” he said, his tone polite. “But I find myself in desperate need of a word with my wife.”

With a chorus of giggles, conspiratorial glances, and murmured well-wishes, the Duchess gracefully relinquished Catherine to him. As he steered her gently through the throng of elegantly dressed guests, he leaned down, his lips grazing the delicate shell of her ear.

“You have created a truly remarkable evening, Catherine,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I am… immensely proud of you.”

The words, though simple, carried a weight of genuine admiration that warmed her from the inside out.

A radiant smile spread across Catherine’s face, her green eyes sparkling with happiness. “Thank you, Sampson. Your support and encouragement mean the world to me. Thank you for letting me do this.”

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 would scarcely 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, his movements 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.

Catherine’s carefully chosen words remained unspoken, a silent question hanging in the moonlit air.

Another time, she decided with a small sigh of resignation.

As Sampson turned to Lord Bradwell, his hand remained reassuringly on hers. “Forgive me, my dear. This will only take a brief moment, I assure you.”

While he listened attentively to Lord Bradwell’s concerns regarding a recent trade agreement, he turned back to her, his expression suddenly thoughtful.

“In fact,” he said, addressing her directly, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter, “this conversation reminds me that I have a rather important—and potentially lengthy—business trip to Scotland scheduled in a few weeks. It will likely require our absence for the better part of a month.”

He paused, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. “I would very much like you to accompany me, Catherine. It would give you the chance to visit your family while I attend to… business matters.”

Catherine’s eyes widened, a rush of pure, unadulterated excitement coursing through her.

Scotland! The prospect of seeing her family again so soon, and of returning to her beloved homeland with Sampson by her side, filled her with an almost overwhelming joy.

“Oh, Sampson,” she said, her voice filled with genuine delight and a warmth that encompassed more than just the prospect of seeing her family. “I would like that very much, indeed.”

The unspoken question about their future, about the deepest desires of her heart, could wait a little longer. For now, she would savor this moment of shared happiness, this unexpected invitation, and the promising prospect of a journey home, together.