Page 44 of Duke of Storme
“I’m sure ye’ll enlighten me.”
“Ye’re so busy protectin’ yerself from carin’ about her that ye’ve forgotten to actually get to know her, old friend.”
“I know her.”
“Do ye?” Locke turned to face him fully, his expression serious beneath the wild, wind-tousled mop of hair on his head. “Because the woman I’ve been watching for the past two days is nothing like the quiet, biddable creature ye described. She’s fiercely intelligent, unnervingly observant, and increasingly confident. She’s also lonely, ye know – though she hides it well.”
“She’s not–”
“She is, Finn. She’s married to a man who treats her like a responsibility instead of a wife. And sooner or later, she’s goin’ to realize she deserves better.”
Below in the garden, Diana threw back her head and laughed again at something the man said. The sound floated up to them on the wind like birdsong at dawn. Her chestnut hair caught the afternoon light, and Finn found himself memorizing the way the breeze caught her cloak, following the graceful line of her neck as she looked up at her companion.
“Better… like our young baronet, Sir James here?” Finn’s voice had gone dangerously quiet – the very same tone that had once made seasoned sailors check their knots twice.
“Maybe. He seems to appreciate her company.”
“He’s flirtin’ with my wife.”
“Aye. And she’s enjoyin’ it. Question is, what are ye goin’ to do about it?”
Finn was moving before he’d consciously made the decision. His immaculate hessian boots clicked against the stone. The sound echoed through the castle as he strode forward with purposeful gait that had once cleared paths on crowded decks. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, recognizing the stern set of his shoulders and the controlled fury in his eyes.By the time he reached the garden, his expression had settled into the cold mask that had once intimidated naval officers and lords alike.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the space between them.
Diana turned at his approach, and Finn felt that familiar twist in his chest at the way her smile dimmed slightly when she saw him. The light that had been dancing in her eyes just moments before flickered like a candle flame threatened by an unexpected draft.
“Your Grace,” Sir James said smoothly, stepping forward to offer a perfectly correct bow. “What excellent timing. I was just telling Her Grace about the poetry society in Edinburgh.”
“Were ye now.”
“Sir James has offered to bring me some Scottish poetry on his next visit,” Diana said, her voice carefully neutral though Finn caught the slight tremor beneath the words. “It is kind of him.”
“Aye. Very kind.” Finn’s gaze fixed on the baronet with the intensity of a man sighting down a rifle barrel. “I wasn’t aware ye had such… literary interests, Sir James.”
“Oh, I’m quite passionate about poetry, Your Grace. There’s something about verse that captures the soul of a people, don’t you think? Particularly the Highland poets – they write withsuch raw emotion about love and loss and the striking beauty of the land.”
“Do they.” Finn’s voice had gone quiet. Each of his words were precisely enunciated in a way that made Diana’s eyes widen with sudden alarm. “And ye think my wife would be interested in such… passionate verses?”
“I believe Her Grace has an appreciation for beauty and depth that many people tend to overlook. She strikes me as someone who understands that there’s more to life than superficial pleasantries.”
Finn felt his temper flare at the subtle implication. Heat rose in his chest as if he had just chugged an entire barrel of Highland whisky. “And ye think I don’t appreciate my wife’s… depths?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t dare presume to comment on your marriage, Your Grace.”
But the damage was done. Diana was looking between the two men with growing alarm. Her dark eyes were wider than ever as she began to understand the undercurrent flowing beneath the polite conversation.
“Perhaps,” she said quickly, her gloved hands twisting together in a gesture that betrayed her anxiety, “we should–”
“Actually,” Sir James interrupted with the smooth grace of a practiced diplomat, “I should be taking my leave. I have a long ride ahead of me.”
“So soon?” Diana asked, and Finn caught the note of genuine disappointment in her voice that made something dark and possessive uncoil in his chest.
“I’m afraid so. But I do hope we’ll have the opportunity to continue our conversation about poetry, Your Grace.”
“I should like that very much.”
He turned to Finn with another perfect bow, “Thank you for your hospitality and allowing me to replenish my energies, Your Grace.”
