Page 21 of Duke of Storme
Below, Sorrel shied violently at the sudden commotion.
Finn was already moving by the time Diana’s soft cry of surprise reached his ears. He watched her lean too far to the right as Sorrel crow-hopped and he saw the moment she lost her seat and began to slip from the saddle.
Training from a lifetime of sailing, where a moment’s inattention could mean the difference between life and death, sent him sliding down the rocky slope faster than wisdom might have suggested. He reached the lower path just as Diana lost her grip entirely.
His arm caught her around the waist, pulling her against his chest as Sorrel danced away from what he now considered a very suspicious patch of earth. For a heartbeat, Finn found himselfsupporting Diana’s full weight while she struggled to regain her footing.
And in the space of that heartbeat, the world shifted.
She was smaller than he’d realized – the careful way she held herself had disguised how delicate her frame actually was. But there was nothing fragile about the strength in her hands as they gripped his coat, or the quickness with which she caught her breath and steadied herself.
Her face was mere inches from his, close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes and count the individual lashes that framed them. Finn was close enough to Diana to catch the subtle scent of rosewater that clung to her hair.
He stood close enough to notice that her lips had parted slightly in surprise, and that she was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite name. Something like awareness, something that made his grip on her waist tighten involuntarily before his rational mind reasserted control.
“Are ye hurt?” The question came out rougher than intended, his accent thick with concern.
“No.” Her voice was breathless, but steady. “No, I’m… thank you.”
She was still gripping his coat, he realized. And he was still holding her waist. His hands spanned the narrow curve beneath the green wool that had once belonged to his mother.
The rational thing would be to release her. To step back and inquire about Sorrel and ensure that no harm had been done to horse and rider.
Instead, Finn found himself studying Diana’s face with an intensity that was most inappropriate under the circumstances. She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense – her features were too strong, her expression too direct for fashionable insipidity. But there was something compelling about the intelligence in her eyes and the way she met his gaze without simpering or looking away.
“Ye should be more careful,” he said finally, the words coming out as gruff criticism when he’d meant them as genuine concern. “These lands are not a place for daydreamers.”
Something flashed across Diana’s expression – disappointment, perhaps, or resignation. She straightened in his arms, and when she pulled away, he let her go.
“Thank you,” she said simply, her tone carefully neutral. “I’ll remember that.”
She moved to where Sorrel stood eyeing the suspicious patch of ground with continued wariness and gathered the reins with steady hands despite what must have been a considerable shock. When she mounted him again, it was with an easy competencehe’d not expected of her – no dramatics, no demand for assistance, simply quiet capability.
“I–” Finn began, though he wasn’t sure what he meant to say.
She looked back at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw something vulnerable there, something that suggested his criticism had struck deeper than he’d intended.
Then, she touched her heels to Sorrel’s sides and rode away without looking back.
Finn stood alone on the Highland path, watching his wife disappear into the distance, and realized that for the second time in as many days, Diana had managed to leave him feeling like he’d mishandled an encounter completely.
Later that night, Finn stood in his study with a glass of whisky growing warm in his hand, staring into the fire that provided the room’s only light.
He could not stop thinking about that afternoon.
Not the near accident – Sorrel was too well-trained and Diana too competent a rider for that to have been truly dangerous. No, what disturbed his peace was the lingering memory of how she’d felt in his arms. He recalled the soft intake of breath when he’d caught her and the way she’d looked at him in thatunguarded moment before his own discomfort had made him retreat behind criticism.
What had possessed him to scramble down that slope like some young fool trying to impress a woman with heroics? And more importantly, why couldn’t he shake the lingering feel of her waist beneath his hands?
Finn raised the whisky to his lips, then sat the glass down without drinking a drop. Alcohol wouldn’t solve the problem of his inconvenient attraction to his own wife. Nothing would, except distance and discipline.
Attachment was a luxury he couldn’t afford – not when everyone he’d ever cared about had either died or abandoned him. Diana would be safer if he kept his distance, and so would his carefully reconstructed heart.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would speak with Diana about establishing clear boundaries. Separate lives, separate pursuits, and no more lingering on Highland paths to watch her discover freedom.
It was the most sensible course of action, after all.
Meanwhile, Diana sat in her chambers, with her pulse racing from something that had nothing to do with her near fall from Sorrel’s back.
