Page 86 of Duke of Storme
She was letting him run. Not fighting his retreat, not demanding explanations, not pleading with him to stay andface the terrifying possibility that their marriage might become something real.
She was granting him the freedom to choose fear over love, which somehow made his cowardice feel infinitely more shameful than if she’d tried to stop him.
Outside, autumn wind rattled ancient windows like restless spirits seeking entry, but Finn heard only the echo of silk skirts fading down corridors, carrying away the woman brave enough to love him despite everything he’d done to prove himself unworthy.
Come morning, he would ride for London and the familiar safety of Parliamentary obligations that demanded nothing more than political maneuvering.
But tonight, he sat surrounded by the ghost of her presence, wondering if running away from love was just another form of the destruction he’d sworn to avoid.
CHAPTER 26
“Another brandy, Your Grace?”
Finn barely glanced at the club steward hovering beside his chair because his attention was fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. The reading room at White’s gentleman’s club in London buzzed with the usual political discussions and business negotiations, but every conversation felt muffled, as though he were hearing it through water.
“No.”
Finn has spent three days in London, and everything felt hollow. The parliamentary meetings where he’d once found purpose now seemed like elaborate theater. The correspondence from his steward about estate matters lay unopened on his desk at his London residence. Even the familiar leather and tobacco scent of the club felt wrong somehow, lacking the wild Highland air that had become home.
Or rather, lacking the woman who had made it feel like home.
“Hurriton! There ye are, ye stubborn bastard.”
The familiar Highland brogue cut through his brooding. Finn looked up to see Locke MacRae approaching, his usually easy grin faltering as he took in Finn’s appearance.
“Christ, man, ye look like death warmed over,” Locke said, settling into the chair across from him without invitation. “When’s the last time ye slept? Or shaved properly?”
“I’m fine.” Finn took another sip of brandy, noting how Locke’s sharp eyes catalogued every detail of his disheveled state.
“Aye, and I’m the King of Scotland.” Locke said with a snort before he signaled the steward for whisky. “Where’s yer Duchess? I assumed ye two were together.”
Something cold settled in Finn’s chest. “She’s at Storme Castle.”
“Is she?” Locke’s tone remained casual, but there was something underneath it that made Finn’s shoulders tense. “Funny thing, that. I could have sworn I saw her at the Chiswick Gardens yesterday. Alone.”
Finn’s glass froze halfway to his lips. “What?”
“Diana,” Locke said slowly, his eyes never leaving Finn’s face. “Yer wife. She was sketchin’ near the rose arbor, wearin’ that green pelisse of hers. Looked rather melancholy, actually.”
“She’s in London?” The words scraped out of Finn’s throat like gravel.
“Ye didn’t know she was comin’?” Locke leaned forward, his expression shifting from casual inquiry to something much sharper. “Finn, tell me ye didn’t try to leave her at Storme Castle alone.”
Finn looked away, unable to meet his friend’s penetrating gaze. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
The admission was there, written in every line of his posture, every carefully controlled breath. Locke had always been able to read him too well – it came from years of serving together, of watching each other’s backs through naval battles and political storms alike. There was no point in lying, not to the one man who’d seen him at his absolute worst and somehow still considered him worth saving.
“Jesus bloody Christ.” Locke’s voice dropped to a deep whisper. “Ye did, didn’t ye? Ye left her alone in that great stone pile while ye ran off to London to lick yer wounds.”
“‘Tis not–”
“Aye, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Locke interrupted, his Highland accent thickening with emotion. “Tell me, what exactly did ye say to her before ye left? Because the woman I saw yesterday looked like someone had ripped her heart out.”
Finn’s hands clenched involuntarily around his glass. He could still see Diana’s face from that morning, could still hear the careful modulation in her voice as she’d wished him a safe journey. She hadn’t pleaded or wept or demanded explanations. She’d simply... accepted it. Accepted his rejection with the same quiet dignity she brought to everything else, and somehow that made it infinitely worse.
Finn’s jaw clenched. “I told her the truth, that’s all.”
“Are ye out of yer goddamn mind?”
