Page 62 of Duke of Storme
And as she finally made her way to her chambers, Diana couldn’t shake the feeling that all her public triumphs meant nothing if she couldn’t find a way to reach the man who had, somewherealong the way, claimed her heart so completely. What terrified her wasn’t losing him – they were bound by marriage vows, after all – but the possibility that he might retreat so far behind his carefully constructed walls that she’d spend the rest of her life married to a stranger who shared her name but never her heart.
Success in public was sweet, but what did it matter if she remained a stranger to her own husband in private?
The question followed her into her dreams, where candlelight danced across Finn’s face and his lips were always just a breath away from hers – close enough to feel, too far away to claim.
CHAPTER 19
“Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well?”
Diana’s voice carried across the breakfast room with its usual gentle politeness, but Finn didn’t look up from his correspondence. The stack of letters beside his plate grew smaller as he methodically sorted through estate business, parliamentary matters, anything that would justify his presence here without requiring actual conversation.
“Well enough,” he replied curtly, not lifting his eyes from a grain report that suddenly seemed fascinating.
“I thought you might be interested to know that Lord MacPherson sent a note this morning. He was quite complimentary about the dinner, and mentioned he’d like to discuss some improvements to the village road.”
“Handle it as ye see fit.”
Diana’s fork paused halfway to her lips. “Don’t you want to review his suggestions first? The road connects several tenant farms to the main thoroughfare.”
“Ye managed the entire evening without my input. I’m sure ye can manage a road.”
Three days had passed since that moment in the dining room – three days since he’d come close to kissing his wife in full view of anyone who might have walked in. Three days since he’d nearly destroyed every careful barrier he’d built between them.
The memory of her lips, so close to his, the way she’d leaned into his touch with such trust... it haunted him. Which was precisely why he couldn’t allow it to happen again.
“I see,” Diana said quietly, setting down her fork. “Well then, I’ll send Lord MacPherson my response directly.”
Finn finally looked up, catching the slight tightness around her eyes that suggested hurt carefully concealed. Good. If she was hurt, she’d keep her distance. If she kept her distance, he wouldn’t be tempted to repeat his moment of weakness.
“Excellent,” he said, gathering his papers with deliberate efficiency. “If ye’ll excuse me, I have other matters requiring my attention.”
He was gone before Diana could respond, leaving her alone with the echo of his footsteps and the bitter taste of rejection.
The pattern continued throughout the morning. When Diana passed him in the corridor, he nodded curtly and kept walking. When she entered the morning room where he was reviewing tenant reports, he gathered his papers and moved to his study. Every interaction was brief, formal, and utterly devoid of the warmth that had been growing between them.
By afternoon, Diana found herself in the castle gardens, seeking solace among the late-blooming roses. Her sisters had departed that morning after breakfast, their farewells tinged with concern about Finn’s notably cold demeanor during their final meal together.
“He seemed quite different from dinner,” Jane had observed as their carriage was being loaded. “Almost... hostile.”
“Give him time,” Diana had replied, though she wasn’t sure she believed her own words. “He’s not comfortable with... emotional displays.”
“And you?” Lydia had asked gently. “Are you comfortable with his emotional retreats?”
Diana hadn’t answered then, but walking among the gardens now, she realized the truth was more complicated than simple comfort or discomfort. She understood why Finn was pullingaway – the almost-kiss had shaken him as much as it had her. But understanding didn’t make his coldness any easier to bear.
A commotion from the stables drew her attention, and she walked toward the sound of raised voices.
“—complete incompetence! How difficult is it to properly clean tack?”
Finn’s voice carried across the courtyard, sharp with an anger that seemed disproportionate to whatever offense had been committed. Diana could see him standing in the stable doorway, his broad shoulders rigid with tension as he berated a young groom.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the boy stammered. “The leather was muddy from yesterday’s rain, and I thought–”
“I don’t pay ye to think. I pay ye to follow instructions.”
Diana felt something cold settle in her stomach at the harshness in Finn’s tone. She’d never heard him speak to the servants with such cruelty before. He was fair but distant with them, never warm but never unkind.
“Your Grace?” she called, approaching the stables with careful steps.
