Page 8 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER EIGHT

“ I will never understand that.”

Catherine blinked, a little startled. In her rant about missing her family, she had nearly forgotten that she was with her husband.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I will never understand that,” Sampson repeated, his voice low. “I have never understood what people meant when they spoke about this grandiose, special place. Home is merely a building.”

“That isn’t true,” Catherine replied, her voice soft. “Not for me, at least. Home is a feeling. Home is a collection of imperfect memories. Home is knowing that you are cared for and thought of. Home is where you go when you are tired and hurt and you need help putting yourself together. It is warmth, comfort, belonging.”

Sampson was silent for a moment, and she thought she had managed to get through to him. But then he tipped his head back to look up at her with a cheeky smirk.

“Those are also words you could use to describe owning a blanket. It gives me warmth and comfort. It is a part of my belongings.”

“You are unbearable,” Catherine huffed, feeling annoyed that her profound speech had been taken as a joke once more.

She was so irritated that she tugged on his hair without much thought. He winced visibly, and she gasped.

“Oh. Oh nay. I-It was an accident,” she stuttered, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Sampson stared at her in disbelief, his jaw almost slack.

Catherine was not sure what surprised him more—the fact that she had pulled on his hair, or that it hurt.

However, before she could get to the bottom of that issue, Sampson took advantage of her distracted state and tugged her forward. With a flail of her limbs and a half scream, she landed in the warm bathwater. On his lap.

Her clothes were immediately soaked, and she somehow became even more aware that he was naked. Very naked. Naked enough for her to feel the warmth of his body seeping through her clothes, much like the water, and heating her up.

“Accident,” he repeated, his lips curving into a mischievous smile.

“Ye’re unbelievable,” Catherine sputtered, trying not to scream over her messy state.

She felt like she had been turned into a washcloth, waiting to be wrung dry and used to wipe up even more water.

“That would be you, Duchess. It was you who started this little game.”

“Ye and yer games!” she snapped. “Do ye ever get tired? Is it always worth it, making others feel foolish for yer amusement? I am a person, nae a pawn for yer silly games.”

Something flashed in Sampson’s eyes, and he pulled her closer, his gaze settling on her lips momentarily before he lifted it to meet her eyes.

“You are no pawn. In any game of mine, you will always be the queen,” he told her, his voice low and sultry as he dropped his gaze to her lips.

Catherine’s heart began to beat erratically, and she tried her best not to squirm, going perfectly still as one of his hands brushed her jaw, his thumb pressing down on her lower lip.

“You are far too interesting, far too special to be something as common as a mere pawn. You can only be a showstopper—the queen ,” Sampson emphasized, with a smile that looked a little odd on him.

Before Catherine could speak, he leaned in, his lips finding hers.

She felt her body melt in his embrace, her heart beating so fast that it felt as though it would burst into flames. Sampson’s hand trailed from her jaw to the nape of her neck, his fingers gripping her hair and pulling it slightly.

She whined into the kiss, giving his tongue access to her mouth. She braced her hands on his shoulders in the hope of grounding herself. One of Sampson’s hands that had been resting on her lower back—effectively keeping her pressed to him—started to slide lower and lower, making her shiver when his fingers caressed her buttocks.

There was nothing more that concerned Catherine at that moment other than her husband, the humidity around them, and the growing fire in her chest. She pulled back for a moment, inhaling deeply before his fingers gripped her jaw and brought her lips back to his.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, sighing when he playfully tugged on her lower lip with his teeth, his tongue swiping over it. The world around them faded away, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the intensity of their embrace.

Soon after, they broke apart, but the kiss lingered, a silent promise hanging in the humid air.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind reeling from the sudden intimacy. She gazed into Sampson’s eyes, searching for answers, for a glimpse of the man beneath the playful facade.

He gazed back, his eyes dark and intense, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken emotions.

“Catherine,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

That seemed to bring her back to her senses. She quickly wrenched herself from his embrace, climbing out of the tub.

“Catherine, wait?—”

“Ye should rinse yer hair one more time,” she told him hastily as she ran towards the door.

Sampson called after her, but she quickly left the bathing room, running towards her chambers.

“Your Grace! I have been searching all over for you! Where were—Your Grace! You’re soaking wet! Are you all right? What happened?” Anna gasped, stumbling onto her path with a worried expression.

“It was a small accident. Anna. Do not fret,” Catherine reassured, but the younger woman was insistent.

“You must change out of your dress immediately. Shall I have someone bring you some warm water for a bath?”

“No!” Catherine exclaimed suddenly.

Confused, Anna merely stared at her.

At that moment, Catherine wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“No baths,” she said quietly. “I would simply like a change of clothes.”

“All right, Your Grace. Let us get you into dry clothes,” Anna said gently, ushering her into her room.

The maid made quick work of the knots and buttons that held the dress securely, so Catherine could slip out of it quickly and into something dryer and more comfortable.

“Would you like anything else, Your Grace?” Anna asked softly, clearly confused by the sight of Catherine in this state when she had been so animated and eager to play earlier.

“A tassie, perhaps?”

Anna had begun to spend a considerable amount of time with the Duchess and was slowly learning her dialect. It was not much yet, but enough for her to know that her mistress had just asked for a cup of tea.

“Of course. I shall return soon with a cup,” she promised.

Catherine watched her go and waited for a few moments after the door had closed behind her before she pressed her face into her pillow and screamed.

She could scarcely believe what happened. And yet her lips still tingled, and she could still taste him on her tongue, the spicy heat of scotch making her dizzy and light-headed.

Is it always like that? Kissing?

Her mother had tried her best to prepare her for intimate acts like that, but Catherine felt strange thinking of her, so she had asked them to simply cross their fingers and hope she wouldn’t humiliate herself.

Which she might have done now.

“Och, ye absolute dobber,” she groaned, recalling how she had run away.

She felt utterly embarrassed. But more than that, she felt scared of her desire. She had wanted more. She had wanted more kisses. She had craved more of his hands on her.

His touch felt so warm and grounding, as though she was made to fit perfectly into his arms. And his kiss took away every thought from her consciousness, filling her mind with chants of him. She had wanted to remain there until he had kissed her name from her memory. She had wanted all that he would offer.

It took her by storm because lately, in the dead of night, as she drifted off into slumber, she had wondered if perhaps Sampson did not think she was attractive. Because why else would he not make a move to touch her when she had stood naked in front of him?

This time, however, it was quite obvious that he felt something because he had held her as if he never wanted her to leave his sight. He had kissed her as though he wanted to drink the essence of her soul.

How am I supposed to go about my life when such a thing has occurred? What do I do?

Anna returned with a cup of tea and handed it to her with a concerned look, before announcing that she had some duties to attend to and excusing herself. Catherine had dismissed her easily, settling back to wallow in shame, in private.

Suddenly, she recalled what Sampson had said when they were talking about what a home was. It was sad that he had not experienced the love and warmth that raised her into the woman she was.

Her beliefs and opinions were shaped by the way her parents had raised not only her but her siblings as well. Her parents might have not been the wealthiest, but they made sure their children had everything they needed. Physically and emotionally.

And although Sampson said that home was merely a building, deep down she knew that he yearned to be shown otherwise.

He was more than he allowed himself to show her. He was more than the rumors that surrounded his existence. And she wanted to know all about it—all about him. But it was hard to do that when he consistently evaded her questions about him.

By the time her teacup was empty, she had more questions and no answers. And she could tell that obtaining answers and solutions would be quite difficult.