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A Sprinkling of Christmas Magic

Page 14

by Elizabeth Rolls


  Catherine smiled and followed suit, working with a little girl in a red coat, one of the Moffat grandchildren. Perhaps there would be another chance to talk with Channing later. Soon, they had the whole lake trying their spin.

  * * *

  ‘You must be getting tired. You’ve been at it for an hour,’ a low voice said at her ear. It was Finn. Her body seemed to tense at his presence.

  Either by plan or by accident, she hadn’t seen him all morning, not even at a distance, although she’d assumed he was somewhere in the crowd. Perhaps there was a reason he hadn’t sought her out. Perhaps he was as discomfited as she about the moment in the stables. She’d tried not to think about it overmuch. It was silly really. It had lasted mere seconds and she might have even imagined it had happened at all. Had he thought about it too? Catherine shook her head. ‘Dizzy maybe, but not tired. I could skate all day.’

  ‘Good, then you can come take a turn with me.’ Finn tucked her arm through his. ‘Nothing fancy, just gliding.’ His breath came out in little puffs.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Organising things behind the scenes. I came down earlier with the servants to make sure the lake was safe and the pavilions were set up.’ That explained why she hadn’t seen him at breakfast or as they’d all bundled into sleighs.

  ‘I found something this morning.’ Finn guided them towards a spot in the lake where it veered off from the main body, back in to the forest.

  ‘I love how still everything is in the winter,’ Catherine whispered, taking in the absolute quiet of the woods.

  ‘Be very quiet and look over there,’ Finn whispered back, his breath at her ear. ‘Right past the trees on your left. I don’t dare raise my arm. I don’t want to frighten them.’

  She saw them right away. ‘Oh’ was all she could manage. A doe and her new fawn were tucked in the copse on a warm bed of fir boughs. Their grey-brown coats made them nearly invisible against the trees.

  ‘The fawn can’t be more than a few days old,’ Finn said. ‘It’s early, most fawns aren’t born until closer to spring.’

  Catherine shot Finn a worried look. ‘Will they be all right?’

  It was cold, food was likely to be scarce. Spring seemed a long way away from December.

  Finn chuckled and eased them out of the little frozen estuary. ‘They’ll be fine. I’ll have the gamekeeper watch for them and leave out extra grain.’

  They skated out, but they didn’t go back to the lake. Finn had another surprise waiting. ‘Guess what, the upper part of the river froze.’ Finn propelled them further away from the skating party until they were out of sight and the winter silence surrounded them, broken only by the rhythmic click and slice of their blades.

  The river was breathtaking, its icy beauty entirely untouched. They stood in the middle of the frozen river, taking it in: blacks and greys and whites and a hint of blue where the sun overhead hit the ice. All about them winter’s palette was at its finest. Snow was piled on dark branches. In the distance, a lone hawk cried.

  ‘It’s like we’re the only two people in the world,’ Catherine breathed. Even her voice sounded hushed as she looked up at Finn. Lord, he was tall! She was forever looking up at him to make eye contact. Tall, and broad. She’d never considered his shoulders until last night.

  A thought struck her. ‘You’re a winter person.’

  Finn’s brow knitted, but she could see the comment amused him. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You’re like the winter; you’re dark and quiet, yet there’s a lot going on beneath the surface that one doesn’t see unless one knows where to look.’

  ‘And you know where to look?’

  ‘Yes, but it sounds like you’re fishing for a compliment,’ Catherine scolded playfully.

  ‘All right, assuming I am, what else makes me a winter person?’ Finn smiled.

  ‘You have winter’s colours. You’re dark—your hair and eyes are like those branches leaning out over the river.’

  Finn chuckled. ‘At least you didn’t say my hair was grey.’

  ‘Dark is mysterious and winter is mysterious,’ Catherine pressed on, defending her position, entirely aware there was mystery in the air now. Something was changing between them. She was alert to every aspect of his body, to the breadth of his shoulders, the dark depths of his eyes, of his hand where it rested on her waist as it had so many times before. But never like this.

  She began to babble, trying to bring back the safe Finn, the Finn she knew and thought she understood. ‘As for me, I’m a spring person. My red hair, my green eyes, all spring.’

  ‘You’re a veritable rainforest of colour,’ Finn corrected.

  ‘Is there lots of red and green in the rainforest?’ She tried for humour in hopes of regaining some neutrality. The conversation was definitely charged with dangerous undertones—dangerous because she didn’t necessarily understand them. They’d taken her at complete unawares.

  Finn’s face cracked into a smile that broke the austere planes of his face. ‘There are shades of red so vivid, so intense, they deserve words we haven’t invented yet. There’s turquoise, too, and teals and blues. It’s not just the colours though, it’s the plants, the animals, the sounds. Oh, Catherine, you can’t believe how rich it is.’

  But she could believe it if Finn’s passion for the subject was anything to go on. She could almost imagine the trees alive with colourful birds, the air full of new sounds, and vivid sights everywhere the eye turned. ‘How different it must be from here,’ she managed to say, feeling a little foolish. She’d thought she’d come home educated and sophisticated from Paris, that she’d seen the world. In actuality, she’d seen a city. Finn had seen places and things that sounded like fairytale beings come to life.

  ‘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 enc
ounter 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 lavished 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.

 

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