Page 90 of Duke of Storme
“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said, his voice rough with emotions he could no longer contain.
Diana’s eyes widened slightly at his position, at the raw desperation in his tone. “Finn, you don’t understand–”
“No, ye don’t understand.” The words poured out of him like water through a broken dam. “I came because I couldn’t breathe knowin’ ye were hurt. Because I’ve spent every moment since I left ye realizin’ I left the only person I’ve ever wanted to come home to.”
Diana’s careful composure flickered for just a moment, something vulnerable flashing across her features before she schooled her expression back to neutral. “You don’t need to say these things out of guilt or obligation. The accident wasn’t your fault–”
“Wasn’t it?” Finn’s voice cracked with the weight of his self-recrimination. “If I hadn’t been such a coward, if I hadn’t pushed ye away, ye never would have been alone in that carriage. Ye never would have been hurt.”
“I made the choice to come to London,” Diana said quietly. “I made the choice to visit the Thompson family. Those were my decisions, not yours.”
“But ye made them because I made ye feel unwanted in yer own home!” The words exploded out of him with such force that Diana flinched. “Because I was too much of a fool to see what was right in front of me.”
Diana’s lips parted in shock, but he pressed on, needing to say everything before his courage failed.
“I was a coward,” he continued, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as though it were the only thing keeping him anchored. “I was terrified of lovin’ ye because everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me. My mother, my men, everyone who mattered. I thought if I kept ye at a distance, if I never let myself need ye, it wouldn’t hurt when ye finally left.”
“But I wasn’t planning to leave,” Diana whispered, her voice barely audible. “I was trying to be the wife you needed. The Duchess you wanted.”
“The Duchess I wanted?” Finn’s laugh was bitter, self-mocking. “Diana, ye became so much more than I ever dared to want. Ye became... everythin’.”
“I was falling in love with you,” Diana whispered as her composure finally cracked.
The past tense of her words cut through him like a blade. “Was?”
“You made it very clear that what I felt was unwelcome. One-sided. A mistake to be forgotten.”
The pain in her voice nearly broke him. How many times had she replayed his cruel words? How many sleepless nights had she spent convincing herself that her feelings were nothing more than foolish fancy?
“That night in the library,” Diana continued, her voice growing stronger, “when you drew me... I thought... I let myself believe that perhaps there was something real between us. Something worth fighting for.”
“There was,” Finn said desperately. “There is.”
“No.” Diana shook her head, and the movement seemed to cause her physical pain. “The next morning, you made it clear that itwas nothing. A moment of weakness brought on by brandy and proximity. Nothing more.”
“I lied.” The confession came out broken and desperate. “I thought I had to because… because I was scared. Because ye were gettin’ too close, makin’ me want things I’d sworn never to want again. A real marriage. A partner. Someone to share the weight of everythin’ with.”
“A real marriage,” Diana repeated softly, as though testing the words. “Is that truly what you want, Finn? Or are these just pretty words spoken in a moment of crisis?”
How could she doubt him when his heart was bleeding out right there on the inn room floor? But then he realized – she had every right to doubt him. After the way he’d treated her, after the walls he’d built and the cruel dismissals he’d delivered, why should she believe anything he said?
Diana stared at him, her dark eyes searching his face as though looking for some sign of deception.
“I need to know,” she said quietly, “because I can’t do this anymore, Finn. I can’t pretend to be satisfied with scraps of affection when my heart wants... everything. I won’t live as your convenient Duchess, smiling and nodding while my heart breaks a little more each day.”
Her honesty was like a sword through his chest. This was what his fear had done – turned a woman who’d been willing to lovehim completely into someone who had to steel herself just to ask for basic affection.
“Ye want to leave?” Finn’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Fine. If that’s truly what yer heart desires, I’ll make my peace with it, but ye should know somethin’ before ye make up yer mind.”
Diana simply nodded for him to continue. The silence that followed felt eternal. Diana’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, her uninjured hand trembling slightly where it rested on the coverlet.
Finn reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulledout a small object that he’d carried with him every day since he’d found it. Diana’s eyes widened as she recognized her own small pencil – the one that had fallen from her sketchbook that night in the library.
“I kept this,” he said quietly, holding it out so she could see. “Carried it with me like some lovesick fool. Every time I touched it, I thought of ye. Of the way ye looked when ye were drawin’, so focused and peaceful. Of the way ye captured beauty in everythin’ ye saw.”
“Finn...” Diana’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I memorized yer sketch of us dancin’,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Every line, every shadow. The way ye drew my face... ye saw somethin’ in me I didn’t even know was there. Somethin’ worth lovin’.”
