‘It is different. But rainforests are dark places too.’ Finn’s smile faded and his face became serious again. ‘We explored places where the tree canopy was so tall and so dense sunlight could not filter down to the ground. It was perpetual night.’
That she could not imagine, but it made her shudder none the less. It was also another reminder of all Finn had seen and done. To wander in a land such as the one he’d described was almost beyond comprehension. She knew people explored, of course. She’d just never known someone personally. Finn had had incredible adventures, seeing far-off lands and things most men would never see in their lifetimes.
‘Perhaps I was wrong,’ Catherine ventured softly, her eyes focused on her gloved hand encased in his and laying against his chest. ‘Perhaps you are more like a rainforest, with your depths and your secrets. I don’t think people really know you at all, Finn Deverill.’ She certainly didn’t, or hadn’t until this little glimpse. If she’d known him, she’d never have thought he was dull. There wasn’t a boring bone in Finn’s body. No man could do what he’d done, seen what he’d seen and remain two-dimensional.
He squeezed her hand. ‘The people who count do.’ He gave her a smile and she felt the warmth of realisation sweep her. He counted her among their number.
‘I’m most unusually wrong. You’re not a winter.’ The moment had unnerved her and she was babbling again, desperately out of her depths. ‘Now, Channing’s a—’
Finn shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t want to hear about Channing.’ That was when it happened. Finn’s gloved hands came up and took her face between them. This time there could be no mistake, no sudden retreat. This time, he kissed her. His mouth covered hers, taking full possession, and she welcomed it. Her body knew what to do and her mouth opened to his, her arms about his neck, her body moulding to his, all of her suggesting this intimate gesture was most welcome.
There was not one kiss, but a series of kisses as their mouths learned one another, tongues exploring tentatively at first, then more confidently finding their way and yet there was something leashed behind the encounter that yearned to break free, yearned to claim more. A fire was kindling low in her belly, a delicious heat running through her veins. She could feel the press of his form, the manly contours of him even through their layers of clothes.
Kissing Finn Deverill was extraordinary. Kissing Finn Deverill was impossible.
He must have realised it the same instant she did. They sprang apart by implicit consent. They stared at one another with mixed expressions: horror warring with amazement. She fumbled for words, but Finn found them first.
‘I am sorry. I was overcome by your beauty and the moment. We should forget this ever happened.’
They weren’t exactly what a girl wanted to hear after the most earth-shattering kiss she’d ever received, but Catherine nodded, knowing that her nod was already a lie. She doubted she would ever forget the day she kissed Finn Deverill any more than she’d forget the day she’d discovered just how fascinating he really was.
Chapter Four
Finn sipped his brandy, feet balanced on the fender of the fireplace in the library. A warm fire and a fine brandy might create a more comfortable setting for contemplating what he’d done, but they couldn’t change it. He’d kissed Catherine. Devoured her was a more accurate description. What had he been thinking?
That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d been feeling, something he seldom allowed himself to do. Feelings weren’t good for science. But he was thinking now, when it was too late. Even so, the solitude of the library was failing to provide him any valid answers to his thoughts.
Normally, this was the place he came when he thought about his work, his flowers, his plants. Tonight, all he could do was think about Catherine. He thought about how she’d looked, so vibrant with her auburn hair and deep-teal-wool skating costume with its skirts short enough to let her skate with ease. She’d been a splash of vibrant colour against the stark beauty of the winter landscape. He thought about how she’d felt in his arms, how she’d wanted to be in his arms. There’d been no reticence about her. Her arms had gone about his neck, her body had pressed willingly to his, her breasts soft against his chest.
Arousal was stirring again. He had to stop thinking about it! Suffice to say, she’d liked his kiss, more than liked it, and so had he. That was the problem, the only problem in an otherwise perfect day. He and Catherine had skated back to the party and judiciously avoided one another the rest of the day, although that hadn’t stopped him from watching her.
The rest of the outing had gone off without any trouble. Lunch had been a delicious assortment of cold meats and hot soup. The guests had enjoyed themselves. No one had twisted an ankle, or cut a leg with a blade or any of the other small crises that can plague a skating party, although Finn had prepared for all contingencies.
It was a good thing the rest of the day had been so carefully planned because he wasn’t sure he could have dragged his attention away from Catherine. Finn had found it deuced difficult not to seek her out with his eyes and what he’d seen had infuriated him.
Channing had invited her to sit with his group at lunch and had taken her back out on the ice for one last spin. Channing had taken her up in his sleigh for the return journey. And Channing had walked into the drawing room upon their return with Catherine on one arm and Lady Alina Marliss on the other. Well, he couldn’t have them both. Finn would see to that. He was going to have a long conversation with Channing.
About what? Finn’s more logical side prompted. His anger was irrational when one truly examined it. He was angry because his brother was being nice to an old friend? He was angry because his brother skated with Catherine when she’d skated with almost everyone from children on up? His anger made no sense except for the niggling phrase that pounded in his brain: she’s mine.
That’s why he was angry and that was irrational. Catherine Emerson was not his. Not in that way, not in any way. For all he knew, she was simply home for Christmas and would return to Paris in the New Year.
A knock sounded on the library door, but the door opened without waiting for a response. ‘I thought I might find you here.’ Channing stepped into the room. So much for thinking the house-party guests would be too busy changing for dinner to give him a moment’s privacy to sort through his thoughts. However, if he meant to have that discussion with Channing, there seemed to be no time like the present.
Channing seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘I need to talk to you.’ Channing paced the room, stopping every so often to distractedly play with an object.
Finn sat back in his chair and waited. When nothing was forthcoming, he offered a prompt. ‘Is there a problem with Lady Alina?’ Whatever was bothering Channing was serious—Finn had seldom known his brother to be at a loss for words.
‘Yes—no—not directly. The problem is with Cat.’
‘Catherine. She likes to be called Catherine.’
Channing halted his tour of the room and faced him. ‘Oh, not you too. Next you’ll be telling me about Katherine de Medici.’
‘Do you even know who that is?’
Channing threw up his hands. ‘No, but that is not the point. I saw you kissing her today. Alina and I happened to come upon the two of you.’ Channing seemed to have recovered his powers of speech now that he’d got started. ‘By the saints, Finn, you were all over her. I could hardly tell where one of you ended and the other began!’
‘We were supposed to be alone,’ Finn retorted, well aware that his answer wasn’t anywhere near good enough. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact they’d been spotted and by Alina Marliss of all people.
‘Being alone or not doesn’t excuse it,’ Channing said with surprising authority. The shoe was so seldom on this foot it made Finn wonder. He thought of all the attention Channing had lavishe
d on Catherine today, of the way Catherine had looked at Channing in the drawing room just yesterday and an uncomfortable idea came to him.
‘Why are you so interested? I doubt we’d be having this discussion if you’d discovered me kissing Lady Eliza.’ He was a grown man and he was entitled to his privacy. Goodness knew he’d protected Channing’s privacy often enough.
‘I know you, Finn, and you’d never kiss Lady Eliza.’
‘But apparently I would kiss Catherine Emerson and hence the conversation?’
‘You did kiss her and you knew I liked her, you knew!’ Channing sounded positively petulant.
Finn stiffened in his chair under the barrage of Channing’s accusation. ‘I knew no such thing. You have a female guest here. Lady Alina is the recipient of your attentions.’
‘She is a business arrangement and you knew that too.’
‘I’m the only one who knows it. What do you suppose Catherine thinks of Lady Alina’s presence? She asked, you know.’ It was Channing’s turn to be affronted.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I told Catherine you had an understanding with Lady Alina.’
Channing’s face went red. For a moment Finn thought they might come to blows. ‘Bastard,’ Channing growled in low tones.
‘I assure you I am not.’ Finn was feeling surly. He wanted to hit something even if that was Channing’s perfect face.
‘You knew what she’d make of that answer. You deliberately made it seem as if I were not an eligible Parti.’
‘Channing, you are not an eligible party,’ Finn argued. ‘I answered as you wanted. I protected your privacy. If you don’t like it, you can tell Catherine the truth, that you run a gentlemen’s service in London.’
‘I can’t do that.’ Channing sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, some of the anger leaching out of the encounter. ‘What are your intentions towards her?’
Finn shook his head. ‘And I can’t tell you that.’ He hardly knew himself. It had only been a handful of hours since the kiss, only a day since her return to their lives. His actions at the lake had surprised him. He’d not planned to kiss her, just as he’d not planned to nearly kiss her in the stables. Today, he had not let the opportunity go. He only knew that he was drawn to her. She was beautiful and she looked at him like he mattered in the way a man should and not as a future earl. She listened to him. Those traits alone were worthy of his consideration or maybe they were merely signs of his desperation. He would not know unless he pursued this avenue. A good scientist tested his variables.
‘Then we’re at an impasse,’ Channing said wearily. He looked as if he wanted to say something else. His mouth worked, but no words came. He simply left the room.
Finn swirled his brandy in its snifter, idly watching the firelight play across the amber surface. When he’d thought of the impending festivities, this scenario had never crossed his mind: he and his brother quarrelling over a woman and that the woman would be little Catherine Emerson, their childhood friend. Finn tipped his glass sideways to catch the facets of light. Yet, as distasteful as the situation was, he was not willing to cede the field to Channing. Who would have thought it would come to this?
* * *
‘The king has come!’ Catherine yelled in good fun and everyone sitting in the circle of chairs scrambled to exchange seats. Catherine scrambled with them, shrieking and jostling to edge Meredith out of the last chair.
Tonight, Channing was the game master and the young people had the drawing room to themselves for parlour games while the older guests had adjourned to the music room for quieter activities. The room was alive with energy and the games were starting to take the edge off the day’s events, or rather the event.
What did that kiss mean? Mistake or not, something had prompted it and the almost-kiss in the stables. These two thoughts had tumbled around in her head all afternoon and she was no nearer an answer. Perhaps Finn and she should talk, but Finn had made himself scarce, retiring with the older guests after dinner. He wasn’t too old for the games. Marcus and Ellis had joined them, after all. But instinctively, she knew why Finn hadn’t come. The kiss had messed everything up. And yet it was beyond her how something so wondrous, so glorious, could be so off-setting.
There was one last round of change seats and Channing called out a new game. ‘It’s time for our finale, Throwing the Smile.’ Channing paused with a grin, waiting for everyone’s attention. ‘Only this time, we’ll mix in a game of forfeits.’ There were oohs and nervous giggles as Channing explained the game. ‘Marcus will start. He will stand in the centre of the circle and try to make someone laugh. Then he’ll wipe his smile off his face and give a “straight look” to someone in the circle. If they smile, they have to pay a forfeit, instead of sitting out.’ There was an excited outburst of talk at the announcement. Channing raised his hand for silence. ‘As game master, I’ve decided what the forfeit will be. Do you all see the mistletoe ball hanging in the doorway? A Christmas kiss will be the forfeit. Are we ready?’
The game was under way amidst laughter and much commotion debating who had or hadn’t smiled. Marcus struggled, needing three rounds in the centre before Meredith took pity on him when he threw her a stare and she smiled back. ‘I can’t have anyone else kissing him, can I?’ she’d joked, dragging Marcus to the mistletoe ball, but it was Marcus who swept her into his arms with a dramatic kiss worthy of Drury Lane. Then Ellis kissed Alyson and the point of Channing’s game became obvious not long after. The forfeit rule was designed to let suitors claim a kiss or perhaps more covertly for would-be suitors to announce their intentions in a fun, entertaining venue.
The circle began to shrink as people sat down with the ones they’d caught throwing a smile, even though the rules hadn’t required it. There were few people left. Catherine wondered who she’d have to kiss—maybe nice Lord Richard, who had so far resisted the stare, although several of the girls had tried, no one trying harder than Jenny Brightly. Or maybe Channing. Lady Alina had pleaded a headache after dinner and gone to her room. Catherine’s pulse began to race. Channing had made it a point to spend time with her today after she’d returned from the river with Finn. But it had felt different, awkward almost.
A part of her felt disloyal to Finn although there was no reason for it. She’d spent time with Channing before. Her conscience made short work of that argument: Yes, when you were ten years old, when you were nothing more to him than a little girl with carroty hair and he was nothing more to you than a grubby boy. This was different. Still, why not spend time with Channing? Finn had told her to forget about the kiss. Besides, Channing was her fairy tale, he’d always been her fairy tale. He was fun and exciting and today at the lake proved it. Didn’t it? They’d spun in playful circles, but it had been Finn who had truly excited her with his talk of unseen lands and dark forests where the sun never reached the earth.
Channing can’t even remember to call you by the right name. Well, everyone had their foibles. It was a very little thing, really, as foibles went. Finn had his foibles too, always talking about things in Latin. She wondered what Finn would call a kiss in Latin. The thought brought a smile to her face.
No, don’t smile! But her warning to self came too late. She was smiling and Channing had caught her.
‘Time to pay the forfeit, Cat.’ Channing was grinning, others were applauding, some even whistling. The crowd was getting rowdy as the evening neared its end.
Under the mistletoe ball, Channing tipped her chin up. ‘Make it a good one, Cat.’ It was said in fun, but something else glimmered in Channing’s eyes just before his mouth caught hers. He wanted this kiss—some important test rode on this for him.
This was it, the dream! Channing was kissing her, had sought her out for this kiss on purpose. She waited to feel something, anything. But nothing came. She supposed the kiss was technically proficient as kisses
went. It wasn’t wet or sloppy or chaste. But in the end, it was just a kiss under the mistletoe, only a forfeit from a parlour game, and it left her surprisingly unaffected. Unfortunately, it hadn’t left everyone as unaffected as she.
Chapter Five
Finn had slipped in the back of the room and he was angry, seethingly angry. Catherine knew it right away as soon as she spotted him, standing with his arms crossed. She didn’t think anyone else noticed, though. He was one of those sorts who just got quieter and grimmer the angrier he became. Like the day he’d had to climb up the apple tree in the Deverill orchard to get her down after he’d warned her not to climb the tree in the first place. But Channing had dared her and she never backed down from a dare.
Her eyes met Finn’s briefly through the crowd. She flushed and looked away, feeling a prick of guilt as if she’d been caught doing something illicit, as if she had betrayed Finn. Such a feeling was ridiculous. Why should she feel guilty? It was a parlour game, a silly forfeit. Everyone else had done it. Even if it had meant something, that should be all right too. Just because Finn had kissed her first didn’t mean he had any rights over her. With that kind of logic, it meant Billy Fisher should feel jealous since he’d kissed her once at a birthday party in the village when they were thirteen. Billy Fisher had definitely been ‘first’ long before Finn’s devilish kiss on the river.
Catherine could feel her own fury start to simmer. Why should he be angry at all? He’d declared the kiss was a mistake in the first place, something that should never have happened. A horrid thought occurred to her. Had Finn been as unaffected by their kiss as she had been by Channing’s? Was that the reason he wanted to forget it? He’d been disappointed? She certainly hadn’t been. How awful to be the only one. Her thoughts leapt back to Channing, who still had his hand on her arm. Had he alone been affected by their kiss? She tossed him a bright smile so he wouldn’t feel badly if that was the case. Perhaps he wouldn’t know.
A Magical Regency Christmas Page 14