Page 36 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ G ood morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well?”

Diana’s voice carried across the breakfast room with its usual gentle politeness, but Finn didn’t look up from his correspondence.

The stack of letters beside his plate grew smaller as he methodically sorted through estate business, parliamentary matters, anything that would justify his presence here without requiring actual conversation.

“Well enough,” he replied curtly, not lifting his eyes from a grain report that suddenly seemed fascinating.

“I thought you might be interested to know that Lord MacPherson sent a note this morning. He was quite complimentary about the dinner, and mentioned he’d like to discuss some improvements to the village road.”

“Handle it as ye see fit.”

Diana’s fork paused halfway to her lips. “Don’t you want to review his suggestions first? The road connects several tenant farms to the main thoroughfare.”

“Ye managed the entire evening without my input. I’m sure ye can manage a road.”

Three days had passed since that moment in the dining room – three days since he’d come close to kissing his wife in full view of anyone who might have walked in. Three days since he’d nearly destroyed every careful barrier he’d built between them.

The memory of her lips, so close to his, the way she’d leaned into his touch with such trust... it haunted him. Which was precisely why he couldn’t allow it to happen again.

“I see,” Diana said quietly, setting down her fork. “Well then, I’ll send Lord MacPherson my response directly.”

Finn finally looked up, catching the slight tightness around her eyes that suggested hurt carefully concealed. Good. If she was hurt, she’d keep her distance. If she kept her distance, he wouldn’t be tempted to repeat his moment of weakness.

“Excellent,” he said, gathering his papers with deliberate efficiency. “If ye’ll excuse me, I have other matters requiring my attention.”

He was gone before Diana could respond, leaving her alone with the echo of his footsteps and the bitter taste of rejection.

The pattern continued throughout the morning.

When Diana passed him in the corridor, he nodded curtly and kept walking.

When she entered the morning room where he was reviewing tenant reports, he gathered his papers and moved to his study.

Every interaction was brief, formal, and utterly devoid of the warmth that had been growing between them.

By afternoon, Diana found herself in the castle gardens, seeking solace among the late-blooming roses. Her sisters had departed that morning after breakfast, their farewells tinged with concern about Finn’s notably cold demeanor during their final meal together.

“He seemed quite different from dinner,” Jane had observed as their carriage was being loaded. “Almost... hostile.”

“Give him time,” Diana had replied, though she wasn’t sure she believed her own words. “He’s not comfortable with... emotional displays.”

“And you?” Lydia had asked gently. “Are you comfortable with his emotional retreats?”

Diana hadn’t answered then, but walking among the gardens now, she realized the truth was more complicated than simple comfort or discomfort.

She understood why Finn was pulling away – the almost-kiss had shaken him as much as it had her.

But understanding didn’t make his coldness any easier to bear.

A commotion from the stables drew her attention, and she walked toward the sound of raised voices.

“—complete incompetence! How difficult is it to properly clean tack?”

Finn’s voice carried across the courtyard, sharp with an anger that seemed disproportionate to whatever offense had been committed. Diana could see him standing in the stable doorway, his broad shoulders rigid with tension as he berated a young groom.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the boy stammered. “The leather was muddy from yesterday’s rain, and I thought–”

“I don’t pay ye to think. I pay ye to follow instructions.”

Diana felt something cold settle in her stomach at the harshness in Finn’s tone. She’d never heard him speak to the servants with such cruelty before. He was fair but distant with them, never warm but never unkind.

“Your Grace?” she called, approaching the stables with careful steps.

Finn’s jaw tightened visibly when he saw her. “What do ye need, Duchess?”

The formal address stung more than it should have. “I wanted to discuss the arrangements for the harvest festival. Several tenants have approached Mrs. Glenwright with questions about–”

“Handle it,” he said curtly, turning back to the cowering groom. “Ye don’t need my approval for that, Duchess. Ye’ve proven ye can handle yerself.”

The dismissal was so casually cruel that Diana felt her breath catch. Around them, the stable hands had gone very quiet, clearly uncomfortable witnesses to their Duke’s treatment of his wife.

“I see,” Diana said, her voice steady despite the hurt blooming in her chest. “Well then, I’ll make the arrangements myself.”

She turned to go, but not before catching the flash of something that might have been regret in Finn’s eyes. It was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

Later that afternoon, Diana sought him out in his study, carrying the correspondence that had arrived from the local magistrate. Surely estate business would warrant some form of civil interaction.

“The magistrate has written regarding the boundary dispute between the MacLeod and Cameron properties,” she said, placing the letter on his desk. “He’s requesting your thoughts on the proposed resolution.”

Finn glanced at the letter, read it with the same attention he might give a bill from the modiste, then shrugged and set it aside.

“Your opinion?” Diana prompted when he offered nothing more.

“The magistrate’s proposal seems reasonable enough.”

“That’s all? No concerns about the precedent it might set? No thoughts about how it might affect our own boundary agreements?”

Another shrug. “I’m sure ye’ll sort it out.”

Diana stared at him, waiting for more, but Finn had already returned his attention to whatever document had been occupying him before her arrival. The dismissal was complete and utterly impersonal.

“Right then,” she said quietly. “I’ll handle it myself.”

She turned toward the door, moving slowly enough to give him an opportunity to call her back, to offer some explanation for his behavior. But he said nothing, and Diana left with the sound of silence ringing in her ears.

That evening, Diana made her decision. She’d expected distance after their interrupted moment – Finn’s pattern of retreat whenever emotions threatened to surface was becoming familiar.

But she hadn’t expected cruelty. She hadn’t expected him to treat her like a stranger, or worse, like an inconvenience he was forced to tolerate.

She found him in the library, exactly where she’d known he would be. He looked up when she entered, his expression already shifting toward that careful blankness he’d perfected over the past few days.

“Your Grace,” she said, settling into the chair across from his desk without invitation. “We need to talk.”

“I’m rather busy this evenin’. Perhaps tomorrow–”

“No,” Diana said firmly. “Not tomorrow. Now.”

He set down his pen with deliberate precision. The movement was sharp enough to suggest barely controlled irritation. “What exactly do ye wish to discuss?”

“Your behavior. The way you’ve been treating me – treating everyone – since the dinner.”

“I haven’t been treating anyone in any way. I’ve been attendin’ to estate business.”

“You’ve been hiding,” Diana corrected, her voice gentle but implacable. “And worse, you’ve been punishing everyone around you for something that isn’t their fault.”

Finn’s eyes flashed. “I don’t know what ye’re referrin’ to.”

“Yes, you do. You’re angry with yourself for that moment in the dining room, so you’re taking it out on me. On the servants. On anyone who happens to cross your path.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Diana leaned forward slightly, studying his face in the lamplight. “Then explain to me why you can barely look at me. Why you’ve turned every conversation into a dismissal. Why you’re treating me like a stranger when three days ago you were about to–”

“Nothin’ happened three days ago,” Finn cut her off sharply.

“Didn’t it?” Diana’s voice remained calm, but something steel-strong had entered her tone. “Then why are you so determined to punish us both for it?”

Finn stood abruptly, moving to the window with sharp, agitated steps. “Ye don’t understand what ye’re talkin’ about.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“There’s nothing to explain. We had a moment of... proximity. It won’t happen again.”

“Proximity,” Diana repeated. The word carried a weight of disappointment. “Is that what you call it?”

“It’s what it was.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Diana rose from her chair, moving closer to where he stood silhouetted against the dark glass. “And your determination to pretend otherwise doesn’t make it less real.”

“Diana–”

“You don’t have to shut every door, Your Grace,” she said quietly, the words carrying across the space between them like a bridge he was too afraid to cross. “Not in this castle, and not in your heart either.”

His shoulders went rigid as every line of his body radiated with tension. “Some doors aren’t meant to be opened.”

“Then why do you keep standing behind them?”

The question hung in the air between them, weighted with all the things neither of them had been brave enough to say. Diana watched Finn’s reflection in the window glass. She saw the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides and how the muscle jumped in his jaw.

For a moment, she thought he might answer. Thought he might turn around and let her see whatever war was being fought behind his carefully controlled expression.

Instead, he straightened his shoulders and walked past her toward the door, not trusting himself to speak.

“Running away won’t make this disappear,” Diana called softly as he reached the threshold.

Finn paused, his hand on the doorframe, but he didn’t turn around. “Goodnight, Duchess.”

And then he was gone, leaving Diana alone with the dying fire and the echo of words that had found their mark whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Finn made it halfway to his chambers before the words caught up with him and wrapped around his chest like iron bands that made breathing difficult.

Why do you keep standing behind them?

He pressed his back against the stone wall of the corridor, closing his eyes as Diana’s voice echoed through his mind. The question was simple enough on the surface, but it cut straight to the heart of everything he’d spent years trying to avoid.

Because opening doors meant vulnerability.

It meant letting someone close enough to see all the ways he was inadequate; all the reasons he’d never deserved the title that had fallen to him by accident of birth and tragedy.

It meant risking the kind of rejection that had shaped every relationship he’d ever known.

But Diana wasn’t asking him to open doors for just anyone. She was asking him to open them for her . And that was what terrified him most of all.

Seemingly overnight she had become the woman who’d commanded a room full of Highland nobility with quiet grace. The woman who’d looked at his cruelty today and responded with patience instead of anger. The woman who refused to be dismissed, no matter how cold he became.

He’d married her expecting compliance, grateful acceptance of a marriage of convenience that would benefit them both. Instead, he’d gotten someone who saw through every defense he’d ever built, who challenged him to be better than he’d ever believed possible.

Diana was someone who might actually care about him enough to keep trying, to keep fighting for whatever connection they might build together, if he could find the courage to let her.

But courage had never been his strength when it came to matters of the heart.

On a ship’s deck, facing enemy fire, he’d never hesitated.

But standing in front of Diana, seeing the hope in her eyes when she looked at him.

.. that required a different kind of bravery.

It was the kind that meant risking everything he’d carefully protected for years.

Every cruel word, every dismissal, every attempt to drive her away only seemed to strengthen her resolve to understand him. She wasn’t retreating the way he’d expected, the way everyone else eventually did.

She was standing her ground, meeting his coldness with quiet strength and facing his cruelty with unwavering kindness.

And that terrified him more than anything he’d ever faced.

Because if Diana Brandon – Diana Hurriton now – if she truly saw him, all of him, and chose to stay... then he might have to admit that perhaps he was worthy of something more than mere tolerance after all.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing that the only way forward was to jump and trust that someone would be there to catch him when he fell.

Finn pushed away from the wall and continued toward his chambers, but Diana’s words followed him like ghosts in the corridor. He could hide from her questions, avoid her searching gaze, and retreat behind every wall he’d ever built.

But he couldn’t escape the growing certainty that she wouldn’t let him stay hidden forever.

And perhaps – God help him – perhaps he didn’t want her to.