Born Wicked

Page 47

I hunch into myself, watching him stride away toward the barn. In fact, I’m still standing there when he emerges on his big bay stallion and canters
across the fields to his house. He waves a hand, and I wave back. I should go inside and tell my sisters about his proposal. Let them hug and congratulate me, let Mrs. O’Hare squeal and Tess bake me an apple pie for after dinner. Pretend for one day that I’m a normal girl, marrying a good man. Tess would be sad, but she’d forgive me. I daresay Maura would be thrilled to have me settled and out of her way.
But what would Elena do? Would she insist on testing me for mind-magic immediately? If she did, she’d find out straightaway that I could do it, and then what? I suspect she’d ship me right off to the Sisters.
I press my hands to my face, willing back tears. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to go to the Sisters. I don’t want to marry Paul. I want—
Finn. I want Finn.
I hesitate, but only for a minute. Then I’m scrambling through the gardens after him, praying he’s still here. It’s hard to see around the hedges; I’m not sure which direction he’s gone. I follow my instincts through the winding paths until I come out into the open.
He hasn’t left. He’s up at the gazebo. In the last few days, he’s erected the railing. His hands are braced against it, and he stares off across the fields toward town. He’s wearing workman’s clothes—brown corduroy trousers, boots, suspenders, and a chocolate-colored shirt that matches his eyes.
My slippers sink into the wet grass. My hems grow damp and heavy; the mud sucks at my skirts. I feel like the earth itself is pulling at me, slowing me down.
I hurry into the gazebo, leaving muddy tracks across the wooden floor. It smells of sawdust and wet earth and worms. There’s a stitch in my side that aches something fierce; I’m panting with the exertion of my chase. The wind rips my hood off and sends my hair cascading down over my shoulders.
“Finn,” I say, shoving my hair behind my ears.
He turns. I wish I were like Tess, I wish I knew how to study people, but I can’t read the expression on his face.
“I wanted to explain what—what you saw—” I stammer.
He picks up a broom and begins to sweep up piles of sawdust. “You don’t owe me any explanations, Miss Cahill.”
Oh. I shrink back from the ice in his voice. I don’t know what I expected, precisely, but I expected him tocare.He just saw me in another man’s arms—and not just any other man, but one I’m fairly certain he dislikes. I kissed someone else! He didn’t see that, but if I saw him with another woman—the thought of it makes me feel hot and sick. He can’t think I go letting men make love to me on a whim.
I shouldn’t be kissing anyone else. I feel it with an aching certainty, like a bruised bone. Something passed between us in that dark room, something a little bit sacred. I blush at the memory of his lips on mine. Of his hands on my waist like feathers. That had to mean something, whether he remembers it or not.
“I wanted to set things right,” I say, flushing.
“If you’d like me to offer my resignation, I will. I won’t hold any hard feelings.” He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps sweeping, the broom scratching furiously against the floor.
I hadn’t thought about his job. Is he afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate to continue working here, after what happened between us? That Father would dismiss him if he found out?
Does that mean he remembers?
“But you need this job,” I point out. Business at the bookshop has slowed to a trickle.
Finn throws the broom to the floor, scattering one of his neat piles. I cough as a cloud of sawdust fills the air. “I don’t need your charity. If having me on the premises bothers your fiancé—” Finn takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, Miss Cahill.”
There are only a few feet separating us, but it feels wide and uncrossable as an ocean. “I have the utmost respect and admiration for you,” Finn continues. “I never meant to imply otherwise. You were obviously in distress, and I certainly didn’t mean to take advantage. It was a—a momentary lapse of judgment. I don’t know what came over me, but I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
I stare at him, my eyes getting wider and wider as the truth sinks in. He remembers kissing me. He isapologizingfor kissing me.
“It won’t?” I choke, feeling oddly crushed.
“No.” Finn swipes a hand through his hair, leaving several strands sticking straight up. “My behavior was unforgivably forward. I assure you that I take all the blame upon myself. I don’t hold you in any less regard. I got carried away and—I should not have—Knowing that you were practically betrothed to another man, it was conduct most unbecoming on my part.”
I step toward him, chin leading the charge. “You gotcarried away? By a momentary lapse of judgment?” I mimic his starched voice.“You kissed me!”
Finn runs a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I—yes. There was no disrespect intended. I hope you don’t feel as though your reputation has been compromised in any way.”
“My reputation?” I fly at him, shoving his chest with both hands. He stumbles back against the railing. “I’m not some fainting flower! I was there, too. I kissed you right back! If there’s blame to be taken, half of it’s mine!”
He grabs my wrists. “Cate,” he says, and I’m pleased that he’s dropped the Miss Cahill nonsense. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, but I don’t quite understand which part of my behavior is the issue.”
I remember the hunger in his hands moving over me, the press of his body against mine. “Apologizing for kissing me! Saying it was a lapse of judgment! You certainly seemed as though you liked it!”
His grip slackens. “You want me to tell you—that—I liked it?”
“Well, it would certainly be better than apologizing for it,” I snap. “How do you suppose that makes me feel?”
He squints at me. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
My head droops, anger fading. I try to back away, but he has a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s mortifying, is what it is. I came chasing after you like a madwoman to tell you that what you saw between Paul and me isn’t what you thought—that I didn’t say yes—and here you go acting as though kissing me was some horrid—”
Finn claps a hand over my mouth. “McLeod proposed to you, and you refused him?”
I nod, feeling suddenly, excruciatingly nervous. “I told him I need time. To think.”
Finn steps away and swears in a very creative fashion. I stand there, twisting my hands together, gnawing on my bottom lip.
“Cate. I’m sorry.” Finn’s voice dips low, velvety. “Kissing you—I liked it.”
I freeze. “You did?”
The space between us feels charged. Finn smiles a slow, deliberate smile, and I wonder how I could ever have been blind to how very handsome he is. “Very much.”
“But you said it was a lapse of judgment.” I need to know.
“I misunderstood your feelings. You did run out of the shop like the hounds of hell were chasing you,” he points out.