Page 24 of Duke of Storme

“Och, now!” she whispered. “That’ll be His Grace. He’ll have our heads for bein’ in here!”

Diana straightened her spine, moving to stand protectively in front of the younger woman. “I’ll handle this, Morag. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

The footsteps grew closer, and Diana’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d been so careful to avoid confronting Finn directly, but perhaps this was for the best.

“Wife?” Finn’s voice called from the hallway, rough with something that might have been concern. “Are ye in there?”

Morag whimpered softly, but Diana squeezed her hand reassuringly before calling back. “Yes, I’m here.”

Finn appeared in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His stormy eyes swept the room, taking in the disturbed dust, the opened portrait, and Morag cowering behind Diana’s skirts.

“What are ye doin’ in here?” His voice was carefully controlled, but Diana caught the underlying tension.

“Exploring my new home,” she said evenly, “as any Duchess should.”

His gaze fixed on the portrait, and for a fraction of a moment, his mask slipped. Diana saw pure agony flash across his features before he shuttered his expression again.

“This wing is off-limits,” he said curtly. “I thought I’d made that clear.”

“You made a number of things clear,” Diana replied, lifting her chin. “But that does not mean I understand them all.”

“Understanding isn’t required. Only obedience.”

The harsh words hit Diana squarely in the stomach. Behind her, Morag made a sound of distress.

“I see. So I am to be your duchess in title only, never permitted to truly know my own home or understand my husband?”

Finn went absolutely rigid, staring at them with a darkening, unreadable expression. Diana held her breath, not entirely sure what to expect. When he next spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.

“Leave. Both of ye. Now.”

But Diana didn’t move. Instead, she turned to Morag with a gentle smile. “Thank you for sharing your mother’s stories with me. They’ve helped me understand a great deal.”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and fled, leaving Diana alone with her husband and the ghosts of his past.

“That girl had no right to fill yer head with tales,” Finn said once Morag’s footsteps had faded away.

“She had every right to honor her mother’s memory,” Diana countered. “Just as you have every right to honor yours.”

“This is not honoring anyone. This is about respecting boundaries.”

Diana moved closer to the portrait, studying the face of the woman who’d given Finn life. “She was breathtakingly beautiful. I can see where you inherited your eyes.”

“Diana.” His voice carried a warning.

“And this room,” she continued, gesturing around the space. “She prepared it with such love; such hope for the child she never even got to hold.”

“Yes. Now come away from there.”

But Diana remained fixed in place as something stubborn rose in her chest. “I heard you used to draw, even as a small child.”

Finn’s jaw clenched. “The staff talk too much.”

“Do you still sketch?”

“I don’t have time for childish pursuits.”

“Is beauty childish?” Diana asked, turning to face him fully. “Is finding joy in creation somehow beneath your station?”