Page 25 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ T hank you for returning my sketchbook.”

Diana’s voice was soft across the breakfast table as her fingers delicately cut into her morning eggs.

The bright sunlight streaming through the tall stone-framed windows caught the highlights in her hair, creating an aureole of warm light around her delicate features.

She could feel Finn’s gray-blue eyes studying her with an intensity that made her pulse flutter like a trapped bird beneath her tight corset.

“Ye left it in the drawing room,” he replied, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness that seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “Thought ye might be lookin’ for it.”

“Were you?” She set her fork down with deliberate precision and met his gaze directly. “Looking through it, I mean.”

Finn’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the muscle jumping beneath the skin of his cheek. “I was returnin’ yer property.”

“Of course.” Diana’s lips curved into the faintest smile as she noticed the slight flush creep up his neck just above his pristine white cravat. “How foolish of me to think otherwise.”

“Diana–”

“It is quite alright, Your Grace. I’m not offended.” She reached for her teacup. The fine porcelain was delicate against her fingers and she noticed how his eyes followed the movement. “Though I confess, I’m curious about what you thought of my… observations.”

“Yer observations?”

“My sketches of the castle. The servants. The look you get when you think no one is watching.”

The silence stretched as taut as a bowstring. The only sounds were that of the gentle tick-tock of the clock on the mantle and the distant wind rattling the windowpanes. Finn’s knuckles had gone white where they gripped his cup, and Diana felt a thrill of power she’d never experienced before.

“I should finish reviewing the estate reports,” he said finally, standing abruptly with enough force to have his chair make a screeching sound against the polished floor.

“Should you?” Diana tilted her head, studying his face with the same careful attention she gave her sketches. “Or are you simply retreating again?”

“I don’t retreat.”

“No?” She rose, moving around the table with newfound confidence that surprised them both. “Then what do you call what you’ve been doing these past weeks?”

Finn’s eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds gathering over the Highland peaks. “Ye don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

“Don’t I?” She stepped closer. “I may be young, Your Grace, but I’m not blind. When was the last time you asked my opinion about anything of consequence?”

“Ye want my attention, is that it?”

“I want your respect. There is a difference.”

They looked at each other across the breakfast table like two duelists measuring the distance of their shots. Diana could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears and feel the weight of this moment pressing down on them both like heavy air before a storm.

“Aye.” Finn said finally, his voice deadly quiet. “There it is.”

Neither of them said anything else. They simply sat together in uncomfortable silence before Finn finished his meal and marched out of the breakfast room.

Three hours later, Diana had spent the better part of the morning walking the castle grounds to clear her head and organize her thoughts.

She found herself standing in the doorway of the small salon while Finn stood at the window, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his dark coat as he gazed out at the landscape that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon.

“You wished to see me, Your Grace?”

“Aye. Come in. Close the door.”

Diana’s pulse quickened, but she did as he instructed. The soft click of the latch echoed in the intimate space.

“We might need to return to London,” Finn said, still facing the window, his voice carrying reluctance rather than certainty.

“Yes,” Diana agreed quietly. “And you’ll need guidance on how to navigate those drawing rooms without looking like you’d rather be out on the ocean commading a ship.”

He turned slowly, surprise flickering across his features. “What are ye sayin’?”

“I am saying that I grew up in that world, Your Grace. I watched my sisters master London society, learned from their successes and mistakes. If we’re to convinve the ton that our marriage is a success, you’ll need to play the part of a devoted husband – and that requires more than just standing beside me looiing grim. ”

Finn’s jaw tightened. “I’ve managed well enough before, wife.”

“Did you?” Or did you simply avoid most social situations entirely?” Diana moved closer, her confidence growing. “There’s a difference between surviving and commanding London society, Your Grace. And if we’re to protect both our reputations, you’ll need to master that difference.”

“Is this your way of offering me a lesson?”

Diana lifted her chin. “It is not an offer, Your Grace. It’s a neccecity.”

“I see. And what makes it a necessity?”

“Because a Duke of Storme requires the social skills to match his title when he’s in London. Because I’ll not have you retreating to the edges of ballrooms when you should be commanding them. Because you are far more capable than you realize, and it’s time you learned to show it, Your Grace.”

“How presumtious. Your confidence in my… social abilities is overwhelming.”

“My confidence in you isn’t the issue. It’s your comfort with London’s expectations that need work. Especially since I suspect when confronted with the ton’s scrutiny, you’ll retreat behind that wall of Highland indifference again.”

The comment stung like a wasp’s bite, sharp and unexpectedly painful.

“Ah. I see.” Finn tried to keep his voice level despite the hurt that flared in his chest. “And how do you propose to remedy that?”

“By teaching you what it truly means to be a London duke in society. Starting with hosting.” She moved to the desk and retrieved a folded paper. “Here’s the guest list for a formal dinner we should host before we depart for London. You’ll help me plan it. All of it.”

Finn took the list with reluctant fingers, scanning the names with wariness rather than confidence. “How many courses?”

“What?”

“How many courses would be appropriate for guests of this caliber? And what topics of conversation would ye avoid with Lord MacPherson? He barely touched his food at the Inverthistle ball when someone dared to mention cattle tariffs.

Diana’s eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise flickering across her features. “You noticed that?”

“I notice a great many things, Wife.” He moved toward the writing desk, making notes. “What about wine pairin’s? Scottish whisky with the final course?”

“Whatever you think best.”

“And the seatin’ arrangements – Lord MacKenzie and Mr. MacTavish had quite the heated discussion about cattle breedin’. Should I separate them, or place them together? Sometimes allowin’ men to debate can be entertaining to the other guests.”

“Youwant to seat them together. Deliberately?”

“Why not? If they argue anyway, we might as well make it entertainin’. Besides, Lady MacKenzie finds her husband’s agricultural opinions tedious, if I recall. This would free her for more… stimulating conversation, do ye not agree?”

Diana simply stared at him, studying his face with the careful attention usually reserved for her sketches. But there was something in his expression – a curious concoction of uncertainty and something else that she couldn’t quite identify – that made her suddenly feel more confident.

“Have I said something wrong?” Finn asked.

“No.” Her voice carried a warmth neither of them had heard before. “No, you haven’t. Quite the contrary.”

“I hope I haven’t overstepped, Your Grace.”

“Not at all,” Finn said, his voice soft.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve never seen me before.” The morning light streaming in through the salon windows caught the silver flecks in his eyes, and Diana found herself unable to look away from the intensity burning there.

Finn was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that made heat crawl up her neck. The space between them seemed to crackle with unspoken tension as though the very air had become charged with an electrical current somehow. “Maybe I haven’t”

The words drifted through the air between them, heavy with implication and possibility, until Diana forced herself to look back at the guest list. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the quill again. “Well, I should see to these arrangements.”

“Aye. Ye should.” His voice was softer now.

Neither of them moved to leave. The silence stretched and ebbed between them, filled only by the distant sound of Highland wind against the windows and the rapid beating of Diana’s heart.

“Diana,” Finn said finally, his voice dropping to something more intimate.

“Yes?” She looked up to find he’d moved closer, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood and something else – something uniquely him.

“When ye’re plannin’ this dinner… don’t think about what they expect. Think about what ye want. What would make ye proud to be hostess.” His hand rested on the desk beside her papers. His fingers nearly brushed hers and Diana felt an unexpected awareness at the almost-contact.

Diana looked up at him, startled by the unexpected tenderness in his tone and the way the afternoon light played across the rugged features of his face. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”

“‘Tis not kindness, but practicality. A confident hostess commands respect.”

“And do you think I could be that?”

Finn studied her face, noting the determined set of her jaw. “I think ye’ve found yer voice… and that it suits ye.”

Diana felt warmth bloom in her chest at the first genuine compliment he’d given her. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know ye won’t.”

For a moment longer, they remained there, simply breathing the same air. Then Finn straightened and his mask of formality slid back into place with visible effort.