Page 46 of Duke of Storme
“The dinner party. Yer plans were brilliant. Every detail, every consideration. Ye surprised me.”
“Did I?” She turned to face him, and he was shocked to see tears threatening in her dark eyes. “Good. It’s about time I surprised someone.”
She pulled free of his grip and walked toward the castle, her spine straight and her chin lifted with new determination. Finn watched her go.
The taste of his own inadequacy was bitter on his tongue as he stood alone in the garden. The Highland wind whipped through his dark hair and carried with it the faint scent of winter. She was right, of course. He had been treating her like an obligation, like a responsibility to be managed rather than a woman to be known and cherished.
He’d been so focused on protecting himself from the growing attraction that threatened to destroy his carefully maintained control that he’d forgotten to actually see the remarkable woman he’d married. Diana was no longer the quiet, biddable girl who’d arrived at his castle weeks ago. She was becoming something else entirely—something stronger, more confident, more hazardous to his peace of mind.
And watching her laugh with another man, seeing the way her face had lit up under genuine appreciation and interest, had awakened something primitive and possessive in him that he was no longer certain he could control.
The lessons, it seemed, were teaching them both far more than either had expected. Diana was learning to command respect and claim her rightful place in the world.
And Finn was learning that somewhere along the way, his convenient arrangement had become something infinitely more complicated.
He was falling in love with his wife.
CHAPTER 14
“Is something the matter, Your Grace?”
Diana’s voice carried that deliberate sweetness that had begun to set his teeth on edge – not because it was fake, but because it meant she knew exactly what she was doing. She sat across from him in the small salon, the seating chart spread before them like a battlefield map, her brown eyes studying his face with the careful attention of someone cataloging every micro-expression.
Finn kept his gaze fixed on the parchment before him, though the names on it blurred together in meaningless scrawls. The previous afternoon’s scene in the garden played through his mind on endless repeat – Diana’s laughter, bright and genuine as spring water and the way her face had lit up when that blasted baronet had made some witty observation about Scottish poetry.
“The chart lacks political tact,” he said curtly, his finger tracing an arbitrary line between two names. “Ye’ve seated LordMacKenzie next to his brother-in-law. They’ve been feuding over a property line for three years.”
“Have they?” Diana leaned forward, genuinely interested. “I wasn’t aware. How fascinating that familial disputes can extend to dinner parties.”
“Everything extends to dinner parties in Highland society. Every slight, every alliance, every bloody clan grudge dating back to the Jacobite rising.” Finn finally looked up, meeting her gaze steadily. “This isn’t London, where people smile and pretend politeness while plannin’ each other’s social destruction. Here, they’ll simply refuse to speak to each other, and the entire evenin’ will collapse into uncomfortable silence.”
“Then perhaps you could have mentioned these feuds when you assigned me this task,” Diana replied, her tone remaining perfectly pleasant. “Unless, of course, you wanted me to fail.”
The suggestion hit him like a slap to the cheek. “I didn’t want ye to fail.”
“Didn’t you?” She tilted her head, that maddening composure never wavering. “Because it’s beginning to feel rather like you’re testing me against standards you’ve never bothered to fully explain.”
Finn watched as she pulled the chart closer, her movements precise and unhurried. With swift, confident strokes, she began rearranging the seating with the efficiency of a general repositioning troops.
“Lord MacKenzie can sit beside Mrs. Cameron – she mentioned her interest in agricultural improvements at the MacKinnon gathering. His brother-in-law can go there, between the vicar and young Mr. Douglas, who’ll keep him occupied with questions about estate management.” She glanced up. “Is that better?”
The changes were brilliant – not just diplomatically sound but strategically inspired. She’d turned potential conflicts into opportunities for productive conversation, creating natural alliances that would keep the evening flowing smoothly.
“Aye. Better.”
Diana set down her quill and folded her hands in her lap, studying him with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see straight through every defense he’d constructed.
“You’re angry about something,” she observed quietly. “Not the seating chart. Something else.”
“I’m no’ angry.”
“No? Then what would you call this particular mood you’ve been in since returning from your ride? This… careful distance you’ve been maintaining all evening?”
Finn stood abruptly, moving to the window where he could avoid those too-perceptive eyes. The garden beyond was shrouded in Highland mist, the same garden where he’dwatched her laugh with another man, where he’d felt something primitive and possessive rear its head like a wild animal seeking retribution.
“‘Tis late,” he said instead of answering. “Ye should retire.”
“Should I?” Diana’s voice carried a note of challenge that made him turn back toward her. She was rising from her chair with fluid grace, but there was a strength in her spine that hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived at Storme Castle. “Very well, Your Grace. But before I go…”
