Page 39 of Duke of Storme
Why does it matter so much what she thinks of this place?
But even as he asked himself the question, Finn knew the answer. It mattered becauseshemattered. Somehow, without his permission or awareness, Diana had become important to him. Not just as his Duchess, but as herself.
And that thought terrified him more than any enemy he’d ever faced on the seas.
Hours later, Finn found himself restless and unable to sleep. His friend’s words echoed through his thoughts like a challengehe wasn’t ready to accept. The castle felt different somehow – quieter but charged with an undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with his friend’s earlier visit.
Finn walked the corridors aimlessly. His footsteps echoed off stone walls that had witnessed centuries of Storme family drama. The portraits of his ancestors that lined the walls watched him pass with painted eyes that seemed to judge him to the very depths of his soul. What would they think of his bride? Or the way she was slowly, inexorably, working her way past his defenses without even trying?
The castle was full of ghosts – his mother’s gentle laugh – or at least how he imagined it, his father’s cruel words that still rang in his ears during moments of weakness, and the echoes of the children he and his cousins could have been before duty and death altered the course of their lives.
But tonight, there was also something else. A sense of possibility that hadn’t existed before Diana’s arrival.
The drawing room door stood slightly ajar, firelight flickering beneath it. Finn paused, listening for sounds of occupancy, but heard nothing. Diana must have retired for the evening, leaving the fire to burn itself out.
It was then when he saw it – a small, leather-bound book, half-hidden beneath the edge of the Persian rug, as though it had been dropped and forgotten in haste.
Finn knelt to retrieve it, recognizing Diana’s sketchbook immediately. He’d seen her carrying it often enough, had watched her through windows as she captured images of his castle and grounds with her artist’s careful eye.
He should return it immediately. But his hands seemed to move of their own accord, opening the cover to reveal page after page of delicate pencil and charcoal drawings. Diana had indeed been busy since her arrival – capturing the likeness of castle architecture, studies of Highland landscapes, and careful renderings of flowers and wildlife…
And then he found it.
The drawing stopped him cold. It was them dancing at the Inverthistle ball. Diana had captured the moment with devastating accuracy – his hands at her waist, her gown catching the candlelight, the way they’d moved together as though they’d been partners for years rather than strangers bound by a marriage contract.
But it was the expression on his own face that made Finn’s heart stop entirely. Diana had seen past his carefully constructed mask to something raw and honest beneath. The man in that drawing looked… vulnerable. Hopeful. Like someone who still believed in the possibility of happiness.
Is that truly what I look like in her eyes?
The thought was thrilling. All his life, Finn had worked to project strength, control, and the kind of commanding presence thatkept people at a safe distance. But Diana had peered deeper and seen the man he could have been, if life had not taught him that caring was dangerous.
Finn studied every line and smudge of the sketch, noting the careful attention she’d paid to the details – the way his coat had fit across his broad shoulders, the precise angle of her own head as she’d looked up at him, the subtle interplay of light and shadow that made the moment feel almost magical.
He stared at the drawing until his eyes burned, memorizing every line and shadow. This was how Diana saw their dance – not as a performance or a necessary deception, but as something real. Something beautiful. Something worth capturing and keeping.
Finally, reluctantly, Finn closed the sketchbook. He should return it to Diana’s chambers and pretend he’d never seen the drawing that revealed far too much about them.
But instead, he found himself climbing the stairs to her wing of the castle with the leather-bound book clutched in hands that was no longer steady. Each step felt significant, as though he were crossing some invisible threshold from where there would be no return.
When he reached her chamber door, he hesitated, listening to the silence on the other side. What was he doing? What did he hope to accomplish by returning her sketchbook in the middle of the night like some love-struck pup?
But he already knew the answer. He was taking the first step toward admitting what Locke had seen so clearly – that Diana mattered to him in ways that had nothing to do with duty or convenience.
Gently, carefully, Finn placed the sketchbook on the floor outside her door. Then, he knocked once, softly, and turned away before he could do something foolish – like tell her the truth about what the drawing had revealed.
As he walked back to his own chambers, Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed tonight. The sketchbook would be returned, Diana would know – or at least suspect – that he’d seen her work, and there would be no more pretending that their dance had just been a performance.
Tomorrow, he would have to face her knowing that she’d captured something he’d thought thoroughly hidden, something tender and vulnerable that he’d shoved down beneath years of careful control.
It should have terrified him.
Instead, for the first time in his life, Finn found himself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.
CHAPTER 13
“Thank you for returning my sketchbook.”
Diana’s voice was soft across the breakfast table as her fingers delicately cut into her morning eggs. The bright sunlight streaming through the tall stone-framed windows caught the highlights in her hair, creating an aureole of warm light around her delicate features. She could feel Finn’s gray-blue eyes studying her with an intensity that made her pulse flutter like a trapped bird beneath her tight corset.
