Page 39 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)
The pause before ‘cultivation techniques’ was loaded with implication, and Finn felt something snap inside his chest. Before Diana could respond, he found himself speaking, his voice cutting through the civilized atmosphere like a blade.
“My wife is occupied,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Storme doesn’t run itself, and her responsibilities here are considerable.”
Both Diana and Rutherford turned to look at him with obvious surprise – Diana because of the possessive edge in his voice, Rutherford because of the direct challenge to his carefully laid plans.
Rutherford’s eyebrows rose at the interruption, and his smile took on a slightly mocking quality.
“Pity,” he said, his voice carrying just enough insolence to make Finn’s teeth clench.
“I imagine the Duchess is far more pleasant company than yourself, Your Grace. And considerably more... enlightening on matters of cultivation.”
The insult was delivered with such polished smoothness that it took a moment for its full impact to register. When it did, Finn felt something dark and hungry stir in his chest – the same cold fury that had served him well during naval battles, when enemies needed to be identified and neutralized.
“And far more discerning,” he replied, his own smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Particularly when it comes to recognizing the difference between genuine interest and mere... opportunism.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, thick with tension that had moved far beyond the bounds of polite conversation. Diana set down her teacup with careful precision. The gentle clink of porcelain against saucer was unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice carrying just enough authority to remind both men of their manners, “we might discuss something else? Lord Rutherford, I understand you’ve recently returned from London. How did you find the Season?”
The deflection was masterfully done, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory with the skill of a diplomat who’d learned to navigate treacherous social waters.
But Finn barely heard Rutherford’s response about London’s social whirl, too focused on the way the man’s gaze kept returning to Diana’s face, studying her with an intensity that made Finn’s hands form unconscious fists beneath the table.
Rutherford regaled them with stories from London society – tales of scandals and engagements, political intrigue and social climbing that painted a picture of a world Diana had left behind.
He complimented her management of the household, expressing amazement at the efficiency with which she’d organized everything from the servants’ schedules to the castle’s social calendar.
“It’s quite remarkable,” he said, his tone suggesting genuine admiration mixed with something more calculating. “Most young ladies of your background would find such responsibilities overwhelming. But you seem to have taken to estate management with remarkable ease.”
“Diana has always been exceptionally capable,” Finn said, surprised by the pride that crept into his voice. “She sees solutions where others see only problems.”
It was the truth, though he hadn’t fully realized it until the words left his mouth.
Diana had transformed not just the castle’s physical appearance but its entire atmosphere, turning a fortress into something that actually felt like a home.
She’d earned the respect of servants who’d been suspicious of change, managed complex social situations with grace, and somehow made Finn himself feel less like an interloper in his own inheritance.
“Indeed,” Rutherford agreed, though his smile suggested he was thinking of capabilities that had nothing to do with household management. “I imagine a woman of such... talents... must find Highland society somewhat limiting after London’s more sophisticated pleasures.”
“On the contrary,” Diana replied, her voice carrying a note of steel that Finn was beginning to recognize. “I find Highland society refreshingly honest. People say what they mean rather than hiding their intentions behind elaborate courtesy.”
The subtle rebuke was delivered with perfect politeness, but its message was clear enough to make Rutherford’s smile falter slightly. Diana was not the naive country wife he’d apparently taken her for.
The remainder of the visit passed in a blur of increasingly strained civility.
Rutherford made several more attempts to secure private meetings with Diana – to discuss estate management, to view the gardens, to share his insights on dealing with Highland customs. Each time, Finn found reasons why such meetings would be impossible.
The estate required Diana’s attention. The weather was too unpredictable for garden tours.
His wife’s schedule was entirely committed to existing obligations.
By the time Rutherford finally took his leave, promising to call again soon and expressing hope that the Duchess might find time in her busy schedule for a more extended conversation about gardening, Finn felt as though he’d been through a battle.
Every muscle in his body was tense with suppressed aggression, and his hands ached from being clenched into fists for the better part of an hour.
“Such a charming man,” Diana observed as they watched Rutherford’s carriage disappear down the drive, her tone carefully neutral. “Very well-informed about estate management. And so interested in gardening techniques.”
“Charmin’,” Finn repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “If ye find predatory behavior charmin’.”
Diana turned to study his face, and there was something almost like amusement dancing in her brown eyes. “Predatory? My, that’s quite an accusation. He seemed perfectly polite to me.”
“Polite.” Finn’s laugh was harsh and entirely without humor. “The man was practically undressin’ ye with his eyes, and ye call it polite.”
“Finn,” Diana said, her voice carrying a note of gentle reproach.
Her voice stopped him at the threshold, and he turned back reluctantly, bracing himself for whatever observation she was about to make.
“Were you jealous?” she asked, her head tilted slightly in that way she had when she was trying to solve a particularly interesting puzzle.
The direct question forced him to confront emotions he’d been trying to ignore for the past hour.
Jealous? The word seemed inadequate to describe the primitive fury that had torn through him at Rutherford’s attention, the possessive need to mark Diana as his own in ways that went far beyond legal documents and marriage contracts.
“Don’t be absurd,” Finn scoffed, but even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the flush creeping up his neck. “I simply don’t appreciate strange men making advances toward my wife.”
“Of course not,” Diana agreed, though her tone suggested she didn’t believe his denial for a moment. “After all, he only asked about the garden. Perfectly innocent curiosity about horticultural techniques.”
Something about her deliberately innocent expression made the last of Finn’s control snap. He took a step toward her, close enough to see the way her pupils dilated slightly, close enough to catch the faint scent of rosewater that seemed to cling to her skin.
“He wasn’t interested in yer garden,” Finn said, his voice low and rough with emotions he was only beginning to understand. “He was interested in ye. In findin’ ways to get ye alone, away from yer husband’s watchful eye so he could pursue whatever fantasies that charmin’ smile was hiding.”
Diana’s lips parted slightly, and a flush spread across her cheekbones like spilled wine. “No?”
“No.” The word came out weighted with all the possessive fury that had been building in his chest since the moment Rutherford’s gaze had lingered on Diana’s face.
“He was interested in seduction, in conquest, in addin’ the Duke of Storme’s wife to whatever collection of conquests he’s assembled since his wife’s death. ”
“And that...” Diana’s voice was barely above a whisper. “That bothers you?”
The question was asked so quietly that Finn almost missed it.
Did it bother him? The thought of another man pursuing Diana, charming her with smooth words and practiced flattery?
The image of Rutherford’s hands touching hers, of his lips forming her name with intimate familiarity?
The possibility that she might be flattered by such attention, might begin to see her marriage to a gruff Highland Duke as less appealing than whatever romantic fantasy Rutherford was prepared to offer?
Yes.
It bothered him more than anything had bothered him in years. It bothered him in ways that went far beyond duty or propriety or protecting his wife’s reputation.
“Aye,” he said finally, the admission scraping his throat raw. “It bothers me.”
Diana’s eyes went very wide, and Finn could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. “Why?”
The simple question opened a chasm beneath his feet, threatening to swallow everything he’d carefully constructed about their marriage, their arrangement, and the careful distance he’d maintained between what he felt and what he was willing to acknowledge.
Because ye’re not just my wife , he wanted to say. Because somewhere between our first dance and last night’s sketching session, ye’ve become essential to my existence in ways I don’t fully understand. Because the thought of losing ye to another man’s charm makes me want to commit murder.
“Because ye’re my wife,” he said instead, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t the whole truth.
“Your wife,” Diana repeated, something unreadable flickering across her features. “Your convenient arrangement.”
The echo of his own cruel words from days past hit him like a slap. Had he really been so determined to deny what was happening between them? So afraid of vulnerability that he’d reduced Diana to nothing more than a social necessity?
“Diana–”
“It’s quite alright,” she said, though her smile was strained around the edges. “I understand perfectly. Lord Rutherford was being inappropriate with your property. Naturally, you would object to another man encroaching on what belongs to you.”
The word ‘property’ made Finn’s stomach clench with something that might have been shame. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Diana took a step back, creating distance that felt like a physical wound. “After all, what else could explain such... territorial behavior from a man who’s made it clear that our marriage is purely a matter of convenience?”
Finn opened his mouth to deny it, to explain that his feelings had somehow evolved far beyond anything resembling convenience, but the words stuck in his throat like broken glass.
Because acknowledging that would mean admitting that somewhere in the space between their wedding day and this moment, between her quiet strength and determined kindness, he’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with his wife.
And love, Finn had learned long ago, was the most damning vulnerability of all.
“I should check on the afternoon post,” Diana said when he remained silent. “Mrs. Glenwright mentioned several responses to our dinner invitations that require attention.”
She moved past him toward the door, and Finn caught the faint scent of lavender again, mixed with something uniquely her that made his chest ache with wanting.
“Diana, wait.”
She paused but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
A dozen different confessions crowded his throat – that she wasn’t property, that their marriage had stopped being convenient the moment she’d smiled at him with genuine warmth, that the thought of Rutherford or any other man touching her made him want to commit violence.
That he loved her so completely it terrified him.
Instead, he said, “Be careful of men like Rutherford. Their charm often masks less honorable intentions.”
Diana’s shoulders went very still, and when she finally turned to look at him, there was something almost like disappointment in her eyes.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “Thank you for the warning, Your Grace.”
The return to formal address felt like a door slamming shut between them. And then she was gone, leaving Finn alone with the echo of her footsteps and the growing certainty that his careful denials were crumbling faster than he could rebuild them.
The jealousy that had torn through him at Rutherford’s attention wasn’t about duty or propriety or protecting his wife’s reputation. It was about the primitive, possessive need to keep other men away from the woman he loved.
The woman who still thought their marriage was nothing more than a convenience.
Finn sank into the nearest chair, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as the full scope of his situation became clear. He’d spent so much energy convincing Diana that their relationship was purely practical that he’d managed to convince himself of the same lie.
But watching Rutherford look at her with obvious desire, seeing the easy way Diana had deflected his advances while maintaining perfect composure... it had shattered every careful rationalization Finn had constructed.
He was in love with Diana. He had been for weeks, probably, though he’d been too stubborn and too frightened to admit it even to himself.
The question now was whether he had the courage to tell her the truth, knowing that she might not believe him after all his protests about convenience and duty.
Or whether his jealousy had just cost him any chance of convincing the woman he loved that she was far more than a mere arrangement to the man who’d claimed her heart without even realizing it was happening.