Page 87 of Duke of Storme
Several heads turned in their direction, but Locke didn’t lower his voice. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as though restraining himself from physical violence.
“Do ye have any idea what ye’ve done?” Locke continued, his voice shaking with barely controlled fury. “That woman – yer wife – has been tryin’ to love ye despite every wall ye’ve put up. And when she finally gets close enough to matter, ye panic and crush her spirit like a bug under yer boot.”
“Ye don’t understand–”
“Och, I understand plenty,” Locke snarled. “I understand that ye’re a daft numpty who’s so terrified of bein’ happy that ye’d rather destroy the best thing in yer life than risk gettin’ hurt.”
The words hit their mark with devastating accuracy. Finn felt something crack in his chest, some carefully constructed defense crumbling under the weight of truth.
“She deserves better,” he said quietly.
“Aye, she does. But she chose ye, ye stubborn fool. She chose ye, and ye threw it back in her face because ye’re still the scared little boy who thinks everyone leaves eventually.”
“They do leave.” The admission came out raw, stripped of all pretense. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has left. Died. Been taken. I won’t survive losin’ her, Locke.”
The memories crashed over him unbidden – his mother’s cold grave in the Highland cemetery, the way his father had looked right through him as though he’d ceased to exist. The faces of his men on theIntrepid, boys barely old enough to shave who’d trusted him to bring them home safely. The crushing weight of command, of responsibility, of caring too much about people who could be snatched away in an instant.
“My mother died givin’ birth to me,” Finn said, his voice barely above a whisper. “My father blamed me for it. Said I killed the only thing he’d ever loved. Every guardian, every household that sheltered me, every attempt at connection – they all ended the same way. People leave, Locke. It’s what they do.”
“So instead ye push her away first?” Locke’s voice gentled slightly, but the steel remained. “News for ye, friend – ye’ve already lost her. The only question now is whether ye’re brave enough to try gettin’ her back.”
Finn stared into his brandy, seeing Diana’s face reflected in the amber depths. The way she’d looked at him that night in the library, trust and hope shining in her dark eyes. The way her expression had shuttered when he’d delivered his brutal dismissal the next morning.
But there were other memories too, ones that made his chest tighten with longing. Diana laughing at something Mrs. Glenwright had said, her whole face lighting up with genuine mirth. Diana defending his Highland tenants with passionate conviction, standing toe-to-toe with visiting dignitaries who thought they could dismiss Scottish concerns. Diana sketching by candlelight, completely absorbed in capturing some detail that had caught her artist’s eye.
She’d been falling in love with him. Not with his title or his wealth or his carefully constructed facade, but with the man underneath all the armor. And instead of treasuring that gift, he’d thrown it back in her face like it meant nothing.
“Ye love her,” Locke said quietly. “Everyone can see it except ye. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to ye, and ye’re still runnin’ like the scared boy ye’ve always been.”
The truth of it sat between them like a living thing, impossible to deny. Finn did love her. Had loved her from the momentshe’d challenged him in her parents’ drawing room, maybe even before that. But love had always meant loss, and he’d spent so many years building walls that he’d forgotten how to tear them down.
“At the Inverthistle ball,” Finn said suddenly, his voice hoarse with unshed emotion. “She was magnificent. Handled every challenge, every subtle slight, every test they threw at her. And afterward, when it was just the two of us...” He swallowed hard, remembering the way she’d looked at him, soft and trusting and so damned beautiful it had scared him senseless.
“What happened afterward?” Locke prompted gently.
“I almost kissed her. Hell, I wanted to do more than kiss her. And she wanted it too – I could see it in her eyes; feel it in the way she responded to me. For just a moment, it felt... real. Like we were actually married, actually cared about each other.”
“And that terrified ye.”
“Aye.” The word came out like a confession. “Because if I let myself love her – really love her – and then lost her...” Finn shook his head. “I’d rather be empty than broken. Christ… I need another drink,” Finn muttered, starting to rise.
“What ye need,” Locke said firmly, “is to find yer wife and grovel shamelessly at her feet until she decides to forgive ye. That is,ifshe’ll still have ye after the way ye’ve treated her.”
But Finn was already walking away, pushing through the crowded room toward the door. He couldn’t breathe in here, couldn’t think with Locke’s words echoing in his head like accusations.
The London streets offered little relief. Finn walked aimlessly through the familiar maze of avenues, his thoughts a churning storm of regret and self-recrimination. Every elegant townhouse seemed to mock him, every well-dressed couple strolling arm in arm a reminder of what he’d thrown away.
As much as he hated to admit it, Locke was right.
Diana had chosen him. Despite his rough edges, his inability to speak pretty words, his Highland heritage that set him apart from London society – she had chosen him. And what had he done? Treated her like a responsibility instead of a gift. Pushed her away the moment she’d gotten close enough to threaten the careful numbness he’d cultivated for years.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d spent months teaching her to be a proper Duchess, molding her into someone who could command a room and hold her own with Highland society. And she’d succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, blooming into a confident, radiant woman who could match wits with anyone.
But in transforming her, he’d somehow lost sight of himself. The man who’d once prided himself on honesty and directness had become a coward, too afraid of his own feelings to recognize the woman falling in love with him.
Too late now,he told himself as he turned onto yet another street.She’s here somewhere, probably plannin’ how to return to her family. To forget the Highland brute who couldn’t appreciate what he had.
The thought sent fresh pain lancing through his chest. Diana, back at Drownshire Manor, returning to the life she’d known before he’d claimed her hand after a single dance. She’d find someone else eventually – someone who could give her the affection she deserved without all his baggage and fears.
