Page 14 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

Sorrel seemed to sense her mood, breaking into an easy canter that carried them across the open ground with a rhythm that felt like breathing. Diana let herself sink into the motion as her body remembered skills she’d thought lost to propriety and expectation.

Behind them, the castle grew smaller, its imposing stones softened by distance until it looked almost romantic against the Highland backdrop. Before them lay nothing but wild land and wilder skies, and for the first time since her marriage, Diana felt like she could breathe properly.

She was so absorbed in the sensation of movement and wind that she almost missed the figure watching from the path above.

Finn hadn’t meant to linger. He’d been returning from an inspection of the north pastures when he’d heard the sound of hoofbeats and glanced down toward the lower trail out of simple habit.

What he saw stopped him mid-stride.

Diana – his quiet, proper English wife – was riding across the open ground below with a grace and confidence he never would have credited to her. She sat on the horse like someone born to do it, her body moving in perfect harmony with Sorrel’s gait.

The green wool riding habit suited her perfectly, bringing out highlights in her hair he’d never noticed before. Something about seeing her mounted and confident stirred an unexpected warmth in his chest. But it wasn’t the clothes that held his attention. It was the transformation in Diana herself.

Gone was the carefully contained woman who spoke in measured phrases and held herself as if trying to disappear.

This Diana moved with unconscious confidence, her face lifted to catch the wind, her dark hair escaping it spins to curl around her face in a way that was infinitely more appealing than any London coiffure.

She looked… alive. Present in a way he hadn’t expected from someone so carefully trained in Society’s expectations.

Finn found himself dismounting and ground-tying his own horse with automatic precision while keeping his eyes fixed on the woman below. He told himself he was simply ensuring her safety – Sorrel was gentle, but Highland terrain could be treacherous for someone unfamiliar with it.

That was what he told himself, but the truth was something much more unsettling: Diana had surprised him – again.

First with her quiet defiance during their wedding conversation, then with her composed manner in dealing with the household staff, and now this display of horsemanship that suggested depths he hadn’t bothered to explore.

What else had he failed to notice about his wife?

The thought was interrupted by a sharp crack from somewhere above – the sound of a dead branch, weakened by recent storms, finally giving way under its own weight.

The heavy limb came crashing down through the canopy, spooking a pair of grouse that exploded from the undergrowth in a flurry of wings and alarmed cries.

Below, Sorrel shied violently at the sudden commotion.

Finn was already moving by the time Diana’s soft cry of surprise reached his ears. He watched her lean too far to the right as Sorrel crow-hopped and he saw the moment she lost her seat and began to slip from the saddle.

Training from a lifetime of sailing, where a moment’s inattention could mean the difference between life and death, sent him sliding down the rocky slope faster than wisdom might have suggested. He reached the lower path just as Diana lost her grip entirely.

His arm caught her around the waist, pulling her against his chest as Sorrel danced away from what he now considered a very suspicious patch of earth. For a heartbeat, Finn found himself supporting Diana’s full weight while she struggled to regain her footing.

And in the space of that heartbeat, the world shifted.

She was smaller than he’d realized – the careful way she held herself had disguised how delicate her frame actually was. But there was nothing fragile about the strength in her hands as they gripped his coat, or the quickness with which she caught her breath and steadied herself.

Her face was mere inches from his, close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes and count the individual lashes that framed them. Finn was close enough to Diana to catch the subtle scent of rosewater that clung to her hair.

He stood close enough to notice that her lips had parted slightly in surprise, and that she was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite name. Something like awareness, something that made his grip on her waist tighten involuntarily before his rational mind reasserted control.

“Are ye hurt?” The question came out rougher than intended, his accent thick with concern.

“No.” Her voice was breathless, but steady. “No, I’m… thank you.”

She was still gripping his coat, he realized. And he was still holding her waist. His hands spanned the narrow curve beneath the green wool that had once belonged to his mother.

The rational thing would be to release her. To step back and inquire about Sorrel and ensure that no harm had been done to horse and rider.

Instead, Finn found himself studying Diana’s face with an intensity that was most inappropriate under the circumstances.

She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense – her features were too strong, her expression too direct for fashionable insipidity.

But there was something compelling about the intelligence in her eyes and the way she met his gaze without simpering or looking away.

“Ye should be more careful,” he said finally, the words coming out as gruff criticism when he’d meant them as genuine concern. “These lands are not a place for daydreamers.”

Something flashed across Diana’s expression – disappointment, perhaps, or resignation. She straightened in his arms, and when she pulled away, he let her go.

“Thank you,” she said simply, her tone carefully neutral. “I’ll remember that.”

She moved to where Sorrel stood eyeing the suspicious patch of ground with continued wariness and gathered the reins with steady hands despite what must have been a considerable shock.

When she mounted him again, it was with an easy competence he’d not expected of her – no dramatics, no demand for assistance, simply quiet capability.

“I–” Finn began, though he wasn’t sure what he meant to say.

She looked back at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw something vulnerable there, something that suggested his criticism had struck deeper than he’d intended.

Then, she touched her heels to Sorrel’s sides and rode away without looking back.

Finn stood alone on the Highland path, watching his wife disappear into the distance, and realized that for the second time in as many days, Diana had managed to leave him feeling like he’d mishandled an encounter completely.

Later that night, Finn stood in his study with a glass of whisky growing warm in his hand, staring into the fire that provided the room’s only light.

He could not stop thinking about that afternoon.

Not the near accident – Sorrel was too well-trained and Diana too competent a rider for that to have been truly dangerous.

No, what disturbed his peace was the lingering memory of how she’d felt in his arms. He recalled the soft intake of breath when he’d caught her and the way she’d looked at him in that unguarded moment before his own discomfort had made him retreat behind criticism.

What had possessed him to scramble down that slope like some young fool trying to impress a woman with heroics? And more importantly, why couldn’t he shake the lingering feel of her waist beneath his hands?

Finn raised the whisky to his lips, then sat the glass down without drinking a drop. Alcohol wouldn’t solve the problem of his inconvenient attraction to his own wife. Nothing would, except distance and discipline.

Attachment was a luxury he couldn’t afford – not when everyone he’d ever cared about had either died or abandoned him. Diana would be safer if he kept his distance, and so would his carefully reconstructed heart.

Tomorrow, he decided, he would speak with Diana about establishing clear boundaries. Separate lives, separate pursuits, and no more lingering on Highland paths to watch her discover freedom.

It was the most sensible course of action, after all.

Meanwhile, Diana sat in her chambers, with her pulse racing from something that had nothing to do with her near fall from Sorrel’s back.

It had taken Mrs. Glenwright nearly a week to assign her a personal maid – whether from Highland practicality that saw lady’s maids as English frivolity, or from uncertainty about whether the new duchess would adapt to castle life long enough to warrant such arrangements, she couldn’t say.

She’d dismissed her maid, needing solitude to process what had happened that moment when Finn’s arms had closed around her waist and the world had narrowed to heartbeats.

She’d felt safe in his arms. More than safe – cherished, as if she were something precious rather than an inconvenience to be managed. His hands had been strong and sure, his body solid and warm against hers.

Then he’d spoke and the illusion shattered.

This land is no place for daydreamers.

The words had hurt deeply, reducing her back to feeling like a troublesome burden. But underneath the hurt, something else had taken root—a stubborn spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished by his casual dismissal.

Diana moved to the window, overlooking the castle’s front approach. In the distance, she could see lights flickering in his study – the west wing he’d claimed as his domain.

Was he thinking about this afternoon? Did he remember the way they’d looked at each other before he’d retreated behind his walls?

Something fundamental had changed between them, that much was certain. And now, that something would be awfully difficult to ignore, no matter how safe it might be to try.