Page 40 of Duke of Storme
“Ye left it in the drawing room,” he replied, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness that seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “Thought ye might be lookin’ for it.”
“Were you?” She set her fork down with deliberate precision and met his gaze directly. “Looking through it, I mean.”
Finn’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the muscle jumping beneath the skin of his cheek. “I was returnin’ yer property.”
“Of course.” Diana’s lips curved into the faintest smile as she noticed the slight flush creep up his neck just above his pristine white cravat. “How foolish of me to think otherwise.”
“Diana–”
“It is quite alright, Your Grace. I’m not offended.” She reached for her teacup. The fine porcelain was delicate against her fingers and she noticed how his eyes followed the movement. “Though I confess, I’m curious about what you thought of my… observations.”
“Yer observations?”
“My sketches of the castle. The servants. The look you get when you think no one is watching.”
The silence stretched as taut as a bowstring. The only sounds were that of the gentletick-tockof the clock on the mantle and the distant wind rattling the windowpanes. Finn’s knuckles had gone white where they gripped his cup, and Diana felt a thrill of power she’d never experienced before.
“I should finish reviewing the estate reports,” he said finally, standing abruptly with enough force to have his chair make a screeching sound against the polished floor.
“Should you?” Diana tilted her head, studying his face with the same careful attention she gave her sketches. “Or are you simply retreating again?”
“I don’t retreat.”
“No?” She rose, moving around the table with newfound confidence that surprised them both. “Then what do you call what you’ve been doing these past weeks?”
Finn’s eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds gathering over the Highland peaks. “Ye don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”
“Don’t I?” She stepped closer. “I may be young, Your Grace, but I’m not blind. When was the last time you asked my opinion about anything of consequence?”
“Ye want my attention, is that it?”
“I want your respect. There is a difference.”
They looked at each other across the breakfast table like two duelists measuring the distance of their shots. Diana could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears and feel the weight of this moment pressing down on them both like heavy air before a storm.
“Aye.” Finn said finally, his voice deadly quiet. “There it is.”
Neither of them said anything else. They simply sat together in uncomfortable silence before Finn finished his meal and marched out of the breakfast room.
Three hours later, Diana had spent the better part of the morning walking the castle grounds to clear her head and organize her thoughts. She found herself standing in the doorway of the small salon while Finn stood at the window, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his dark coat as he gazed out at the landscape that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon.
“You wished to see me, Your Grace?”
“Aye. Come in. Close the door.”
Diana’s pulse quickened, but she did as he instructed. The soft click of the latch echoed in the intimate space.
“We might need to return to London,” Finn said, still facing the window, his voice carrying reluctance rather than certainty.
“Yes,” Diana agreed quietly. “And you’ll need guidance on how to navigate those drawing rooms without looking like you’d rather be out on the ocean commading a ship.”
He turned slowly, surprise flickering across his features. “What are ye sayin’?”
“I am saying that I grew up in that world, Your Grace. I watched my sisters master London society, learned from their successesand mistakes. If we’re to convinve the ton that our marriage is a success, you’ll need to play the part of a devoted husband – and that requires more than just standing beside me looiing grim.”
Finn’s jaw tightened. “I’ve managed well enough before, wife.”
“Did you?” Or did you simply avoid most social situations entirely?” Diana moved closer, her confidence growing. “There’s a difference between surviving and commanding London society, Your Grace. And if we’re to protect both our reputations, you’ll need to master that difference.”
