Page 73 of Duke of Storme
“Then someone else would have had to help Mrs. MacLeod,” Diana said simply. “But I didn’t fall, and neither did Tempest. We succeeded.”
The matter-of-fact way she dismissed the danger made something twist in his chest. “Ye speak as though riskin’ yer life was a reasonable decision.”
“Wasn’t it?” Diana rose from her chair, moving toward the dying fire. “When did survival become more important than living? When did safety become more valuable than doing what’s right?”
Finn found himself studying her profile in the firelight.
“Ye’re different,” he said suddenly. “From when ye first arrived. Stronger.”
“Yes,” Diana agreed, poking at the embers with the fire iron. “I suppose I am. Though I’m not entirely certain when that happened.”
“I am.” The admission escaped before he could stop it.
Diana turned to face him fully. “You sound like my sisters,” she said with a small smile. “Is that truly what I was doing?”
“Aye. Every word, every movement, every breath seemed to beg for permission.” Finn found himself stepping closer, drawn by something he couldn’t name. “But not anymore.”
“No,” Diana said softly. “Not anymore.”
Thunder crashed overhead, so loud it rattled the windows in their frames. Neither of them moved, caught in a moment that felt balanced on the edge of something irrevocable.
“I used to pray for a quiet life,” Diana said suddenly, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. “A husband who would be kind, children someday, a household to manage. Nothing complicated or challenging or... dangerous.”
“And now?” The question emerged before Finn could stop it.
“Now I think...” She hesitated, then met his gaze directly. “Maybe I want more.”
“What kind of more?” Finn asked, his voice rough.
“Connection. Understanding. A marriage that’s about more than just mutual convenience.” Diana turned from the fire to face him fully. “I want to know the man I married, not just the duke I’m required to obey.”
“More is difficult,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Diana agreed. “But it’s real.”
They stood in silence while the storm raged outside. Finn found himself studying her face in the firelight – she was nothing like the woman he’d thought he was marrying.
“And if the man ye married isn’t worth knowing?” he asked, the words emerging like a confession torn from his very soul. “My father used to beat me when I flinched,”
Diana went very still, but she didn’t gasp or offer empty sympathies. She simply listened.
“When I cried, he called it weakness,” Finn continued, his voice flat. “When I bled, he told me to bleed quieter.”
Finn stared into the flames, seeing not the drawing room but a darker place where a boy had learned that showing pain only invited more of it.
“So, I stopped cryin’. And I stopped bleedin’. At least where anyone could see.”
Diana said nothing. Waiting. Listening.
“When I joined the Navy, I thought I’d finally escaped him,” Finn said, his voice roughening with memory. “But war has its own punishments. Men die under yer command. Some young. Some screamin’. And ye go on, because that’s what’s expected.”
He finally looked at her across the space between them, and what he saw nearly undid him. Not pity – he couldn’t have bornepity. But understanding. As though she saw straight through to the wounded boy he’d tried so hard to bury.
“So when ye ask me for more,” he said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to give it. I don’t believe in openin’ yerself to that kind of pain. I believe in survivin’. And keepin’ the ones ye care about at a safe distance, where they can’t be hurt by yer failures.”
Very slowly, Diana reached across the space between them. Her fingers, warm and gentle, covered his hand where it rested against the mantelpiece.
He tensed at the contact, but her touch was so careful that he found himself frozen in place.
