Born Wicked
Page 48

Because I wasn’t certain if he remembered. My happiness wavers. If he knew, what would he think of me?
“Your mother was there. And the Brothers were watching,” I say.
His chocolate eyes are fixed on mine. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You’ve hardly come outside.”
“You didn’t call on me.” Hurt slices through me. “You were right here and you didn’t come to the house. You didn’t even say hello at church.”
Finn shakes his head. “It seems we’ve been at cross-purposes. I saw you and McLeod together at services and I thought—I’ve been dunderheaded about it. Will you let me take responsibility for that?”
My lips twitch. “You may have full credit for dunder-headedness.”
“Thank you. So. Just to be quite clear—you don’t feel compromised?”
The Brothers teach us that lust and wickedness go hand in hand. A lack of modesty is a horrid thing in a woman. Women are meant to be chaste, just as we are meant to be subservient.
We are not supposed to enjoy kisses.
But I don’t feel it was wrong. On the contrary, letting Finn kiss me—kissing him back—it feels as though it was utterlyright.
“No,” I say slowly, raising my eyes to his. “I don’t feel compromised at all.”
Finn only looks at me, but it’s such a look. It tickles over my skin like a touch.
“McLeod. You didn’t tell him no.”
“I didn’t tell him yes, either,” I point out.
He reaches out to trace the curve of my cheek. Can he feel my pulse pounding? His eyes never leave mine. He’s barely touching me, but my breath catches, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips.
It’s all I can do not to grab him by the collar and pull his mouth to mine.
He laughs, a little hoarse. “Do you want me to compromise you further?”
“I do.” Is that too honest? “I don’t see the point of pretending that I don’t like”—I hesitate, my face burning—“being kissed. By you. I do like it.”
He grins, but takes a small step backward. “That’s quite convenient, as I’d like to kiss you again. Not now. Not here, where anyone could see us. But soon. At great length.”
I look around, half surprised to find us still in the gazebo, in the middle of my father’s land. I’ve forgotten myself entirely. “I suppose we are being rather scandalous.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I’d say so—the lady of the house flirting with the gardener. I imagine your father would have some choice words for me.”
My lips curve into a slow smile. “Don’t worry about that. I can handle Father.”
“I’m sure you can. You’re ferocious.” Finn chuckles, but then his face falls into serious lines. “I can’t—my family—I’m responsible for Mother and Clara now. The bookshop is barely afloat. No one wants to come inside with the Brothers watching us day and night. I don’t think they’ll give up until they find an excuse to close us down. I’m not able to make you any promises, Cate.”
I lift my chin. “I didn’t ask for any, did I?”
“No. But you’ll need them, and soon. If not from me, from—someone else.” Finn’s eyes fall to his scuffed brown boots. “I can barely support the three of us, much less—hell, I’ll put it plainly. I can’t afford a wife. I would understand if you accepted McLeod. I’d hate it—but we can still pretend this conversation never happened. I wouldn’t think less of you.”
“I would,” I snap. “I’d think a good deal less of me, marrying a man for his money when it’s someone else I want.”
I want Finn. Staggeringly. More than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself in my life.
But it’s impossible. What am I going todo? Now that I understand how I feel, how can I reconcile myself to anything else?
“I can’t ask you to wait for me. I don’t know when—if—my circumstances will improve. Even if they did—life with me would be very different from what you’re used to. Mother and Clara make their own dresses. They don’t have maids; they cook our suppers and keep house themselves.” Finn’s face is serious, his brow furrowed. “You’d be a shopkeeper’s wife, not a gentleman’s daughter. Mother and Clara aren’t invited to take tea with Mrs. Ishida.”
As if I care what Mrs. Ishida thinks! If that were the only thing standing between us—but it’s not. Allying myself with the Belastras would draw the Brothers’ keen eyes on our entire family. And if they realized what we could do—whatIcould do—
The prophecy said that if I fell into the wrong hands, it would create a second Terror. How many innocent girls would be murdered? I don’t know if the Sisterhood itself would be safe from a second onslaught. Would any witches survive it? Would witches become extinct?
I slump back against the railing. No matter how much I want Finn, it’s impossible.
My silence doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sorry.” Finn’s handsome face twists in anguish. “I’d give you more if I could. I’d give you the moon.”
“It’s all right,” I say softly, blinking back tears. Time to change the subject to something less perilous. “Speaking of tea—Maura and I are hosting our first tea tomorrow afternoon. Your mother and Clara ought to come, if they’re not otherwise engaged.”
Finn hesitates, his brown eyes intent on mine. “Mother and Clara aren’t usually invited out.”
I lean back against the gazebo. “Neither were we, until recently.”
“That’s different. You must know that.” I’m silent, staring out over the pond and the cemetery on the other side. Finn sighs. “I’m not too proud to say it. Your father’s a businessman, yes, but a gentleman and a scholar first. Mother’s a bookseller and a bluestocking. The Brothers’ wives don’t consider her their equal because she’s a shopkeeper. The shopkeepers’ wives believe she thinks she’s too good for them.”
“I’m the hostess now. Your mother and Clara are perfectly welcome here.”
“I’ll extend the invitation, then. It’s very sweet of you to offer.” Finn reaches over and twines his fingers through mine. He brings my hand to his lips and breathes warm air onto my palm. “I meant everything I said. I want you, Cate. But I can’t give you what you need.”
“What if I needyou?” I whisper. I feel us tilting toward each other like trees in a strong breeze. I’ve been craving the sight of him for days, but now it’s not enough. I’m not sure who moves first. The inches between us are erased until I’m in his arms and my mouth finds his.
His lips are soft and fierce all at once. They taste like tea and rain. His hands go inside my cloak; one curls around my waist, the other around the nape of my neck, anchoring my mouth to his. My hands rove over his chest, feeling the muscles bunch beneath my fingertips. His lips trace a path along my jaw, stopping just below my ear. When he catches the lobe in his teeth, I gasp. My hand clenches on his collar, and he claims my lips in another searing kiss.
When I finally draw back, gasping for breath, my lips feel swollen, my chin raw from the sandpaper stubble of his. We’re still wrapped up together, his arms around my waist beneath my cloak. “I ought to be more of a gentleman, but I’m afraid I lose my head around you,” he says, his cherry lips inches from mine.