Page 67 of Duke of Storme
She rose from her chair slowly, smoothing her skirts with hands that had regained their steadiness. “Thank you. For the drawing. For... showing me how you see me.”
Finn watched her move toward the door with something desperate clawing at his chest. “Diana, wait.”
She paused, her hand on the door handle, but didn’t turn around.
“From now on,” he said, the words feeling like stones in his throat, “ye can call me Finn. No more ‘Your Grace’ between us. Just... Finn.”
Diana’s shoulders went very still, and Finn could see the way her grip tightened on the door handle.
“Are you certain?” She asked without turning around.
“Aye. I’m certain.”
She nodded once, a sharp movement that suggested she was fighting some internal battle. “Very well. Goodnight... Finn.”
And then she was gone, leaving him alone with his sketches and the echo of his name on her lips – a sound that felt like the first crack in armor he’d worn for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to breathe without it.
Finn looked down at the drawing he’d been working on, seeing it with fresh eyes. He’d captured something in her expression, something open and trusting that made his chest ache with possibility and terror in equal measure.
He’d spent days trying to push her away because he was convinced that distance would protect them both from the territory their marriage had begun to traverse. But sitting here in the candlelit parlor, watching her face as he drew, listening to her voice his name with such careful tenderness...
Perhaps some risks were worth taking after all. Perhaps some doors were meant to be opened, even if what lay beyond them was uncertain.
Finn closed the sketchbook and gathered his materials, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them tonight. The formal barriers that had defined their relationship were cracking, and in their place was something infinitely more real.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new reasons to retreat behind the safety of titles and careful distance. But tonight, for the first time in longer than he could remember, Finn allowed himself to hope that perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he’d always believed.
The name she’d spoken echoed in his mind as he made his way through the darkened corridors:Finn. Not Your Grace, not Duke, just his name, spoken with a warmth that suggested she might actually want to know the man behind the title.
It was a small thing, barely a crack in the walls he’d built around himself. But as Finn finally reached his chambers, he couldn’t help but think that sometimes the smallest cracks were where the light got in.
And perhaps, just perhaps, he was finally ready to let some light into the darkness he’d inhabited for far too long.
CHAPTER 21
“Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise to find you at home.”
The smooth, cultured voice drifted across the great hall, and Finn looked up from the estate correspondence he’d been reviewing to see Lord Rutherford ascending the steps with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to being welcomed wherever he went.
Finn had been expecting a quiet morning – Diana was supposedly occupied with household matters, and he’d planned to use the solitude to catch up on the mounting pile of business that seemed to multiply daily. Instead, he found himself faced with one of the last people he’d wanted to see.
“Rutherford,” Finn replied, his tone carrying the cool politeness he reserved for unwanted visitors. “I wasn’t expectin’ ye.”
“A spontaneous visit, I’m afraid.” Rutherford’s pale blue eyes swept the hall with obvious appreciation, taking in the restored tapestries, the polished stone floors, and the general air of prosperity that had replaced the previous Duke’s neglect. “I was passing through on my way to Edinburgh and thought I’d pay my respects. The improvements to Storme are quite remarkable. You’ve transformed the place entirely.”
There was something in the man’s tone that suggested more than casual interest in the castle’s renovations. Finn had heard enough gossip to know that Rutherford’s own estate had fallen on hard times since his wife’s death two years prior. The man was rumored to be in search of a wealthy widow to restore his fortunes, though his charm and good looks had apparently provided him with more temporary arrangements in the meantime.
“My wife deserves the credit for most of the changes,” Finn said, gesturing toward Diana as she descended the staircase with her usual grace.
The moment the words left his mouth; Finn realized his mistake. Rutherford’s gaze followed his gesture and fixed on Diana with an intensity that made something cold and primitive stir in Finn’s chest. The man’s expression changed from polite interest to something far more focused, far more personal.
It was the look of a predator spotting particularly appealing prey.
“Ah,” Rutherford murmured, his voice dropping to a register that suggested intimacy. “Now I understand the true source of Storme’s transformation.”
Finn felt his jaw clench involuntarily. His hands tightened around the papers he held until the parchment crinkled audibly. There was something in Rutherford’s tone – a knowing quality that suggested he was already imagining scenarios that had nothing to do with castle improvements.
Diana seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of tension suddenly crackling through the air. She moved toward them with that composed smile she’d perfected for Highland society, every inch the gracious Duchess. But Finn could see things in her appearance that Rutherford was undoubtedly cataloging as well: the way the morning light caught the rich brown of her hair, the elegant line of her neck revealed by her simple day dress, the natural grace that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with an inner confidence she’d only recently discovered.
