Page 70 of Duke of Storme
“Aye,” he said finally, the admission scraping his throat raw. “It bothers me.”
Diana’s eyes went very wide, and Finn could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. “Why?”
The simple question opened a chasm beneath his feet, threatening to swallow everything he’d carefully constructed about their marriage, their arrangement, and the careful distance he’d maintained between what he felt and what he was willing to acknowledge.
Because ye’re not just my wife, he wanted to say.Because somewhere between our first dance and last night’s sketching session, ye’ve become essential to my existence in ways I don’t fully understand. Because the thought of losing ye to another man’s charm makes me want to commit murder.
“Because ye’re my wife,” he said instead, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t the whole truth.
“Your wife,” Diana repeated, something unreadable flickering across her features. “Your convenient arrangement.”
The echo of his own cruel words from days past hit him like a slap. Had he really been so determined to deny what was happening between them? So afraid of vulnerability that he’d reduced Diana to nothing more than a social necessity?
“Diana–”
“It’s quite alright,” she said, though her smile was strained around the edges. “I understand perfectly. Lord Rutherford was being inappropriate with your property. Naturally, you would object to another man encroaching on what belongs to you.”
The word ‘property’ made Finn’s stomach clench with something that might have been shame. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Diana took a step back, creating distance that felt like a physical wound. “After all, what else could explain such...territorial behavior from a man who’s made it clear that our marriage is purely a matter of convenience?”
Finn opened his mouth to deny it, to explain that his feelings had somehow evolved far beyond anything resembling convenience, but the words stuck in his throat like broken glass.
Because acknowledging that would mean admitting that somewhere in the space between their wedding day and this moment, between her quiet strength and determined kindness, he’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with his wife.
And love, Finn had learned long ago, was the most damning vulnerability of all.
“I should check on the afternoon post,” Diana said when he remained silent. “Mrs. Glenwright mentioned several responses to our dinner invitations that require attention.”
She moved past him toward the door, and Finn caught the faint scent of lavender again, mixed with something uniquely her that made his chest ache with wanting.
“Diana, wait.”
She paused but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
A dozen different confessions crowded his throat – that she wasn’t property, that their marriage had stopped being convenient the moment she’d smiled at him with genuinewarmth, that the thought of Rutherford or any other man touching her made him want to commit violence.
That he loved her so completely it terrified him.
Instead, he said, “Be careful of men like Rutherford. Their charm often masks less honorable intentions.”
Diana’s shoulders went very still, and when she finally turned to look at him, there was something almost like disappointment in her eyes.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “Thank you for the warning, Your Grace.”
The return to formal address felt like a door slamming shut between them. And then she was gone, leaving Finn alone with the echo of her footsteps and the growing certainty that his careful denials were crumbling faster than he could rebuild them.
The jealousy that had torn through him at Rutherford’s attention wasn’t about duty or propriety or protecting his wife’s reputation. It was about the primitive, possessive need to keep other men away from the woman he loved.
The woman who still thought their marriage was nothing more than a convenience.
Finn sank into the nearest chair, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as the full scope of his situation became clear. He’d spent so much energy convincing Diana that their relationship was purely practical that he’d managed to convince himself of the same lie.
But watching Rutherford look at her with obvious desire, seeing the easy way Diana had deflected his advances while maintaining perfect composure... it had shattered every careful rationalization Finn had constructed.
He was in love with Diana. He had been for weeks, probably, though he’d been too stubborn and too frightened to admit it even to himself.
The question now was whether he had the courage to tell her the truth, knowing that she might not believe him after all his protests about convenience and duty.
