Page 44 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

“ T he morning post, if ye please.”

Finn’s tone carried the crisp formality of addressing household staff rather than speaking to the woman who’d melted against him in Highland rain just two nights past. Diana lifted the silver letter tray with practiced grace, her movements careful as a diplomat’s as she placed it beside his untouched porridge.

“Thank ye.”

Not Diana. Not even the grudging warmth her name had carried during their lessons.

Just the same distant courtesy he might offer any servant performing expected duties.

Diana smoothed her napkin across her lap, watching morning light stream through tall windows to illuminate the rigid set of his jaw beneath perfectly groomed whiskers.

“Would you like some coffee? Cook prepared it specially.”

“Tea’s sufficient.”

Each clipped response landed like stones thrown into still water, creating ripples of tension that spread across the breakfast table.

Diana studied the way candlelight flickered across silver service that had graced Storme tables for generations, wondering how many previous Duchesses had endured similar meals seasoned with masculine withdrawal.

Mrs. Glenwright appeared with silent efficiency, replacing Diana’s cold toast with warm Bannocks that smelled of honey and Highland heather.

The housekeeper’s observant eyes noted the frost settling between Duke and Duchess with the practiced assessment of someone who’d weathered enough domestic storms to predict their severity.

“Will ye be reviewing the tenant petitions this mornin’, Your Grace?” she asked Finn.

“Later. I’ll be unavailable until afternoon. See that I’m not interrupted.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

Diana waited until the housekeeper’s purposeful stride faded before attempting conversation again. “The Cameron correspondence arrived yesterday. There’s some concern about winter preparations for the eastern cottages.”

“Handle it as ye see fit.”

“Shall I? How remarkably trusting of you, considering your previous concerns about my capabilities.”

Something dark flickered behind Finn’s carefully controlled expression, but he merely folded his unused napkin with military precision. “Ye’ve proven yerself... adequate to such responsibilities.”

“Adequate.” Diana tested the word like wine that had turned to vinegar. “What glowing praise from my devoted husband.”

Finn’s teacup clinked against its saucer with more force than necessary. “I have urgent matters requiring attention.”

“Of course you do. There are always urgent matters when conversation becomes too personal, aren’t there?”

This time, her observation made him pause entirely, his broad frame going still as Highland granite. For one breathless moment, Diana thought he might actually respond with honesty instead of ducal deflection.

“Ye’re imaginin’ things, Duchess.”

Then he was gone, leaving Diana alone with congealing porridge and the bitter taste of disappointment coating her tongue like Highland mist.

The traveling trunk squatted in Storme Castle’s main hall like a black raven announcing death, its brass corners catching afternoon light that streamed through ancient leaded windows.

Diana descended the carved staircase slowly, her fingers trailing along centuries-old banister worn smooth by countless hands, as familiar voices drifted up from the stone floors below.

“His Grace requires the Edinburgh route prepared,” Robertson was explaining to a cluster of grooms and stable hands. “Fresh horses at every postin’ station, no delays permitted.”

“Emergency Parliamentary session?” asked Mr. Calder, the head groom.

“So His Grace claims. Departure at dawn, return date unspecified.”

“What about the Highland Assembly? I thought His Grace was committed to representin’ the northern estates?”

“Apparently English politics take precedence over Scottish obligations.”

The casual dismissal hit Diana knocked the breath from her lungs as effectively as a fall from horseback. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall with her pulse thundering in her ears as the terrible truth crystallized with diamond-sharp clarity.

Finn was running. Again.

Not toward anything important or necessary, but away from the careful intimacy that had bloomed between them like spring flowers pushing through Highland snow. Away from the woman who’d dared to love him despite his determined efforts to remain loveless.

“Any instructions about the castle while His Grace is away?” Mr. Calder asked.

“Her Grace will manage estate affairs as necessary. His Grace was quite specific that she’s to be given full authority.”

Diana closed her eyes, leaning against unforgiving stone as bitter understanding flooded through her veins like Highland whisky. Full authority over everything except the one thing that mattered most – her husband’s heart, which he guarded more fiercely than any fortress wall.

She should have anticipated this retreat.

Finn’s emotional patterns followed the same predictable cycle as Highland weather – moments of unexpected warmth followed by brutal, devastating cold.

She’d witnessed it during their drawing room conversations, their dancing lessons, every instance when their careful arrangement threatened to become something real.

But recognizing his pattern didn’t ease the hollow ache spreading through her chest like winter settling over the moors.

Diana straightened her shoulders with the dignity her sisters had spent years instilling and continued down the stairs.

Her silk slippers whispered against stone worn smooth by generations of Storme feet.

If Finn preferred flight to facing the feelings growing between them, that was his choice to make.

She wouldn’t chase him through castle corridors like some desperate heroine from a Gothic novel. She wouldn’t plead with him to acknowledge what they both knew was true or give him the satisfaction of witnessing how thoroughly his cowardice had wounded her.

She was learning that true strength sometimes meant graceful acceptance of what couldn’t be changed.

Evening painted the drawing room in shades of amber and gold as firelight danced across silk wallpaper while Diana remained motionless in her preferred chair beside the hearth.

A volume of Highland ballads lay open in her lap, though she’d attempted the same melancholy verse countless times without absorbing a single word about love lost to pride and fear.

Familiar footsteps approached along the corridor – measured, purposeful, carrying the unconscious authority of someone accustomed to command. Diana didn’t raise her eyes as Finn paused in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against lamplight from the hall beyond.

“Duchess.”

The formal address struck her like ice water, each syllable carefully chosen to maintain maximum emotional distance. Diana turned a page she hadn’t read, her movements unhurried despite the storm building beneath her composed exterior.

“Your Grace.”

Silence settled between them thick as Highland fog, weighted with unspoken confessions and abandoned promises. Diana heard him move deeper into the room. Crystal clinked softly as he poured himself whisky from the sideboard that had served Storme Dukes for generations.

“I depart for London at first light.”

The announcement fell between them with the finality of a funeral bell. Diana’s grip tightened imperceptibly on her book’s leather binding, but her voice emerged steady as castle stone.

“Parliamentary business, I assume?”

“Aye. Matters requirin’ my immediate attention.”

Diana finally lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes with the calm composure she’d mastered during weeks of navigating Highland society’s treacherous currents. Finn stood beside the sideboard cradling his tumbler, expression shuttered tighter than any castle gate.

“How long do you anticipate being away?”

“Indefinitely. Could be weeks, dependin’ on how proceedings develop.”

“I see. You’ll want Robertson to handle correspondence in your absence, I suppose. And I should cancel our Highland Assembly obligations.”

Something that might have been surprise flickered across his aristocratic features. “Ye can manage the Assembly yerself. Ye’ve proven... capable of such responsibilities.”

“Have I?” Diana closed her book with deliberate care, setting it aside like discarded armor. “How gratifying to earn such confidence from someone who married me specifically for my ability to remain quietly unobtrusive.”

“That’s not–”

“What I was acquired for?” Diana rose with fluid grace, silk skirts rustling softly against upholstered furniture. “Forgive my confusion, Your Grace. Perhaps you could clarify exactly what role I’m meant to play in your absence.”

Finn’s jaw worked silently, internal struggle visible in every tense line of his powerful frame. “Ye know what yer role is.”

“Do I? Because it seems my understanding changes depending on your mood. Sometimes I’m competent enough to plan formal dinners and manage Highland politics. Other times I’m apparently so lacking that you can’t bear sharing the same castle.”

“Diana, that’s not–”

“Not what? Not accurate?” Diana stepped closer, close enough to observe the way his knuckles whitened around his crystal tumbler. “Then explain to me why every moment of progress between us is followed by days of retreat.”

“There’s been no retreat. I’ve simply been... busy with estate matters.”

“Estate matters.” Diana’s voice carried bitterness. “How convenient that these urgent concerns always arise after moments of genuine intimacy.”

Finn set his whisky down with enough force to make crystal sing against wood. “Ye’re imaginin’ intimacy where none exists.”

“Am I? How fascinating. Then perhaps you could explain what happened in the garden the other night.”

“Nothin’ happened.”

“So when you pulled me into your arms and kissed me like a man desperate for salvation, that was... nothing?”

“We were caught in the rain. Circumstances made us... careless.”