Page 28 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ I s something the matter, Your Grace?”

Diana’s voice carried that deliberate sweetness that had begun to set his teeth on edge – not because it was fake, but because it meant she knew exactly what she was doing.

She sat across from him in the small salon, the seating chart spread before them like a battlefield map, her brown eyes studying his face with the careful attention of someone cataloging every micro-expression.

Finn kept his gaze fixed on the parchment before him, though the names on it blurred together in meaningless scrawls.

The previous afternoon’s scene in the garden played through his mind on endless repeat – Diana’s laughter, bright and genuine as spring water and the way her face had lit up when that blasted baronet had made some witty observation about Scottish poetry.

“The chart lacks political tact,” he said curtly, his finger tracing an arbitrary line between two names. “Ye’ve seated Lord MacKenzie next to his brother-in-law. They’ve been feuding over a property line for three years.”

“Have they?” Diana leaned forward, genuinely interested. “I wasn’t aware. How fascinating that familial disputes can extend to dinner parties.”

“Everything extends to dinner parties in Highland society. Every slight, every alliance, every bloody clan grudge dating back to the Jacobite rising.” Finn finally looked up, meeting her gaze steadily.

“This isn’t London, where people smile and pretend politeness while plannin’ each other’s social destruction.

Here, they’ll simply refuse to speak to each other, and the entire evenin’ will collapse into uncomfortable silence. ”

“Then perhaps you could have mentioned these feuds when you assigned me this task,” Diana replied, her tone remaining perfectly pleasant. “Unless, of course, you wanted me to fail.”

The suggestion hit him like a slap to the cheek. “I didn’t want ye to fail.”

“Didn’t you?” She tilted her head, that maddening composure never wavering. “Because it’s beginning to feel rather like you’re testing me against standards you’ve never bothered to fully explain.”

Finn watched as she pulled the chart closer, her movements precise and unhurried. With swift, confident strokes, she began rearranging the seating with the efficiency of a general repositioning troops.

“Lord MacKenzie can sit beside Mrs. Cameron – she mentioned her interest in agricultural improvements at the MacKinnon gathering. His brother-in-law can go there, between the vicar and young Mr. Douglas, who’ll keep him occupied with questions about estate management. ” She glanced up. “Is that better?”

The changes were brilliant – not just diplomatically sound but strategically inspired. She’d turned potential conflicts into opportunities for productive conversation, creating natural alliances that would keep the evening flowing smoothly.

“Aye. Better.”

Diana set down her quill and folded her hands in her lap, studying him with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see straight through every defense he’d constructed.

“You’re angry about something,” she observed quietly. “Not the seating chart. Something else.”

“I’m no’ angry.”

“No? Then what would you call this particular mood you’ve been in since returning from your ride? This… careful distance you’ve been maintaining all evening?”

Finn stood abruptly, moving to the window where he could avoid those too-perceptive eyes.

The garden beyond was shrouded in Highland mist, the same garden where he’d watched her laugh with another man, where he’d felt something primitive and possessive rear its head like a wild animal seeking retribution.

“‘Tis late,” he said instead of answering. “Ye should retire.”

“Should I?” Diana’s voice carried a note of challenge that made him turn back toward her. She was rising from her chair with fluid grace, but there was a strength in her spine that hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived at Storme Castle. “Very well, Your Grace. But before I go…”

She moved toward him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of rosewater that always seemed to cling to her skin.

“Tomorrow, I’ll teach ye how to walk into a room and have every head turn without havin’ to speak a word. No more sisters to hide behind. No more vanishing into walls.”

Diana’s eyebrows rose at the unexpected declaration. “I beg your pardon?”

Finn leaned closer, slowly, deliberately, until they stood close enough that he could see the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.

“Ye are the Duchess of Storme,” he said, his voice dropping to that tone of command that had once made naval officers scramble to obey. “Ye will be seen.”

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes – surprise, perhaps, or something that looked eerily close to hurt.

“Then I expect you shall simply have to look harder, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “Because I have always been right here.”

The statement was unexpected and devastating. She walked past him toward the door, her spine straight and her chin lifted with a dignity that made something twist painfully in his chest.

Finn watched her go, noting the confident set of her shoulders. When had she transformed from the quiet, uncertain woman who’d arrived at his castle into this formidable creature?

And when exactly had she become the one giving out lessons?

The following afternoon found Diana in the blue drawing room, standing before the tall windows that overlooked the castle’s formal gardens.

Sunlight streamed in through the glass, casting prismatic patterns across the Persian rug beneath her feet, and highlighting the dust motes that danced in the still air.

She’d been waiting patiently for nearly ten minutes, but she didn’t mind. The time gave her opportunity to study the room with an artist’s eye, noting the way light played across the silk wallpaper and the careful arrangement of furniture that spoke of centuries of refined aristocratic taste.

“Punctuality is a Duchess’s first weapon,” came Finn’s voice from behind her.

Diana turned to find him filling the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light from the corridor beyond. He’d changed from his morning attire into a dark blue coat that emphasized the breadth of his chest and the gray-blue of his eyes.

“Is it?” she replied evenly. “I was under the impression that intelligence might rank rather higher, Your Grace.”

“Intelligence without presence is useless in society. Ye can be the most brilliant woman in the room, but if ye enter it like ye’re apologizin’ for existing, no one will bother to listen to a single word ye have to say.”

He moved into the room with that controlled stride she’d come to recognize, the measured pace of a man accustomed to both giving and receiving command.

“Today, ye’ll learn how to enter any space and make everyone stop speakin’. Not by shouting, not by creating a scene, but by existin’ with purpose.”

“Existing with purpose,” Diana repeated thoughtfully. “How does one practice such a thing?”

“By walkin’ like ye belong wherever ye are. By speakin’ like yer words matter. By lookin’ at people as though ye expect them to be interesting, rather than hopin’ they won’t notice ye.”

He gestured toward the far end of the room. “Go to the door. Enter as though ye were arrivin’ at Lady Fraser’s drawing room for afternoon tea.”

Diana complied, moving toward the doorway.

She paused to gather herself before stepping back into the room with practiced elegance.

She’d been trained in deportment since childhood, could walk with a book balanced on her head, and could curtsey to precise degrees depending on the rank of the person she was greeting.

Yet, she somehow felt woefully unprepared.

“Ye walk like ye expect to be ignored,” Finn said quietly, his voice carrying that note of gentle criticism that somehow stung worse than outright censure.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yer head’s down, yer shoulders are curved inward as though ye’re tryin’ to make yerself smaller. Every step ye take apologizes for the one before it.”

The accuracy of his observation was mortifying. Diana lifted her chin, squaring her shoulders.

“Again,” he commanded.

This time, she moved more deliberately, her steps slower and more purposeful. She could feel his eyes tracking her progress across the room, cataloging every gesture, every breath, and despite herself, Diana felt a warmth spread through her chest.

“Better. Now, greet the room. Imagine Lady Fraser is here, along with five other ladies whose approval ye need.”

Diana turned to face the imaginary gathering, summoning the social graces that had been drilled into her since before she could speak properly.

“Lady Fraser, how lovely to see you. What a beautiful afternoon for tea, is it not? I particularly-”

“No.”

The single word stopped her dead. Her heart beat frantically as Finn moved toward her with an intent expression on his face.

“Ye’re still apologizin’. Still askin’ permission to exist in their space.”

He stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body and smell the subtle scent of sandalwood and something uniquely masculine that wafted from his skin.

“A Duchess doesn’t ask permission,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “She grants audiences.”

Diana’s breath caught audibly as his proximity sent an unexpected jolt of awareness through her. When had she become so conscious of his physical presence? When had the sound of his voice begun to affect her like whisky, warming her from the inside out?

“Try again,” he said. “But this time, remember – they should feel honored that ye’ve chosen to spend yer afternoon in their company.”

Diana lifted her chin, drawing on reserves of confidence she wasn’t entirely sure she possessed.

“Lady Fraser,” she began, her voice stronger this time. “How delightful it is to join you.”

As she spoke, Finn’s hand came up to rest lightly at the small of her back, a touch so brief and proper it shouldn’t have affected her at all. But the contact sent sparks shooting through her, making her voice waver slightly.

She stumbled over her next words as her carefully practiced poise deserting her entirely.

“I… that is… I hope you’re all well…”

The moment she faltered, Finn stepped closer. His presence was both steadying and utterly unsettling. His fingers came up to lift her chin gently, tilting her face until she was forced to meet his gaze.

“Again,” he said quietly.

The touch was nothing more than two fingers on her chin, entirely proper and brief. But something in his gray-blue eyes made her pulse race and her mouth go dry with an awareness that had absolutely nothing to do with social instruction and everything to do with the way he was looking at her.

“Lady Fraser,” Diana said, her voice steadier now despite the chaos thrumming through her chest. “How lovely it is to see you again.”

The words came out confidently. Finn’s fingers lingered for just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, but not quickly enough to hide the way his own breathing had changed.

“Better,” he said, though his voice had gone rough around the edges.

Diana remained where she was, acutely aware of the space between them. She noticed the way the afternoon light caught the dark strands of his hair and she saw the barely controlled tension in his shoulders.

“When you look at me like that,” she said quietly, the words tumbling out before she could think to stop them, “are you proud, or are you afraid?”

The question hung in the air between them like smoke, inescapable. Finn’s jaw tightened, a single muscle jumping beneath the skin of his cheek.

For a long moment, he said nothing at all. Then he moved to the window, putting the width of the room between them. He clasped his hands behind his back in a pose that might have looked casual if not for the rigid set of his spine.

“The lesson is over,” he said finally.

But he didn’t answer her question – and they both knew that his silence was an answer in itself.

Diana watched him from across the room, noting the careful way he avoided her gaze, the deliberate distance he’d placed between them.

Something had shifted in the space of that brief touch, in the moment when his fingers had gently lifted her chin and she’d witnessed something unguarded in his eyes.

The lessons, it seemed, were teaching them both far more than they expected.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “Thank you for the instruction.”

She moved toward the door with the same confidence he’d been trying to teach her. But just before she reached the threshold, she paused and looked back at him.

“Tomorrow, perhaps you might consider what lesson it is you need to learn, Your Grace,” she said softly. “Because I’m beginning to think you are the one who has forgotten how to be seen.”

Then she was gone, leaving Finn alone in the blue drawing room with the afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows and the echo of her words ringing through the halls.