Miss Mistletoe (4 page)

Of course not—how could it be untoward when he didn’t consider her to be a lady? “Just let me pass, please.” She hated that his nearness did strange things to her belly, even as she tried to tell herself he was no gentleman.

He put his hands to his hips and shook his head. “Not until you listen to me. I was merely going to propose that we cancel out that last distasteful memory with a good one. Of the
innocent
variety.”

She paused, daring to look up into his eyes. Among the many plants around them, his eyes were as green as she had ever seen them. They were also sincere, holding not even the smallest hint of nefariousness.

Heat licked up her neck, and she pressed her hand over her eyes. What he must think of her!

“I’m sorry. I should have been more clear.” His voice was quiet, barely rising above the sound of the rain. When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Miss McCrea? Are you quite all right?”

At the concern in his voice, she sighed and dropped her hand. “I think,” she said wryly, “that I am destined to always make a cake of myself in your presence.”

He smiled, tilting his head to the side. “If you’re a cake, you’re a rather charming one. So do you accept my proposal?”

Though her first instinct was to give him an unqualified yes, she hesitated. Every time she was in his presence, she seemed to do or say something that she regretted. Perhaps it was best if she made her exit while they were still on good terms. She took a step back, distancing herself from his almost magnetic appeal. “So much has changed in five years, Lord Edgerton. I’m not sure that we have a single thing in common anymore.”

“Then perhaps we should get to know each other as we are now. And I must say, it feels odd hearing you call me Lord Edgerton. I was always Finn to you, and I hope you won’t mind if I call you Cece once more.”

Cece.
She drew a slow breath, savoring the sound of her name on his lips like fine wine. He seemed to know exactly how to cut through her defenses. “No, of course not.”

“Excellent. And it’s only right that we both have the opportunity to redeem ourselves in each other’s eyes. That night at the Christmas ball, I had been so surprised, I reacted in a less than gentlemanly manner. I could have made things easier for us both if I had possessed the wherewithal to diffuse the situation.”

He was being so sweet, the chances of her being able to walk away from him were waning by the second. She sighed and said, “So what is it you have in mind? How do you propose that we proceed?”

“I thought perhaps we could spend the afternoon together, so that from now on, when I think of Cecelia McCrea, I can reminisce about the pleasant afternoon we spent at the Hall, at which time absolutely nothing of note took place.”

The idea had merit. Anything that could erase the embarrassment of the mistletoe mishap from the forefront of his memory—and hers—sounded like a good plan to her. She smiled and extended her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Instead of the businesslike handshake as she expected, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her ungloved knuckles. Her pulse leapt at the gesture, and when he released her hand, it took her a moment to remember to drop her hand.

Finn’s smile was easy, much like the carefree grins of his youth. “Well, Cece. Where shall we begin?”

Chapter Four

As ridiculous as Richard’s accusation was that Finn harbored some sort of
tendre
for Cece, the comment had given him something to think about last night. The truth was, before the incident, he had rather liked the shy, amiable young girl who was always getting underfoot. She had been surprisingly smart, sweet natured, and undemanding in a way that few of the privileged class were.

And he was an unequivocal arse for letting the mistletoe incident supercede all that for the past five years.

All this time, he’d never spared a thought about the continuing teasing she may be getting over the incident—only for his own. When it happened, he was older, wiser, and supposedly more mature than she. He should have taken the initiative back then to alleviate her embarrassment.

He owed it to her to make up for that.

His suggestion wasn’t just for his benefit—it was for her. Though it was impossible to erase the memory of that night, he could at least give her a
new
memory. One that reminded her of the fun summers they used to share, when there was no awkwardness or resentment between them.

Beside him, Cece pursed her lips, looking around the conservatory. “How about here? I’m never more comfortable than when I’m around plants.”

A vision of her as an adolescent, walking through the blooming meadows around Hertford Hall, teased his memory. “Yes, I know. I remember how you used to point out wildflowers and rattle off their Latin names. After your response yesterday at the recital, I can see that at least some things haven’t changed.”

He guided her along the curving pathway, where rows upon rows of plants were arranged to create an indoor promenade. She trailed her fingers along the flat, glossy leaves of one of the tropical looking plants they passed. “You can blame my father for that. He was teaching me Latin even before I could walk. In his opinion, no horticulturist worth his salt would raise a child to call a
Rosa rugosa
a flower and a
Quercus
a tree.”

“Now see? Already I am learning something different about you. And your father, for that matter—I thought he was a squire.”

She nodded, the movement causing the honey curls framing her face to sway. “He is. But his passion is plants. He actually is quite respected in the field. In fact, he spent years helping Uncle Granville design this conservatory.”

She paused to admire a large, exotic looking bloom, bending to inhale its fragrance. “
Cattleya
Aclatulice
. Isn’t it glorious? It takes near perfect conditions to get this plant to bloom, but when it does, the results are spectacular.”

“Lovely,” he murmured, his eyes trained on her silhouette. She had changed so much—matured in both body and mind. She was still the sweet girl he remembered from summers long ago, but, somehow, she was more. More intriguing. More confident. More enticing.

“It is said that in the jungles of South America, they are so abundant, they could almost be considered to be weeds. Can you imagine?”

That something beautiful could be thought by some to be common? He could, actually. Even now, watching the golden fan of her lashes nearly kiss her cheeks as she looked down at the plant, he could hardly believe he used to think her rather ordinary.

“Do you ever dream of visiting them?”

She looked up. “Whom?”

“The plants. Do you ever think of seeing them in their native lands, where they grow in the ground instead of in clay pots and impermanent planters?”

She nibbled her lip as she considered the question. “It would be lovely, but it will never happen. Some dreams are never meant to be any more than that: figments of our wishful thinking.”

“But wouldn’t your father like to see them in person? I know of a few botanist and horticulture societies in London that go on expeditions to exotic locals for just such a purpose.”

An unexpected sadness dulled her beautiful eyes. “He’d love it more than anything, Finn. Unfortunately, such a thing will never happen.”

He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. He certainly didn’t want to distress her. Still, he couldn’t deny he was curious to know what had caused the reaction. Did her father think her too delicate for such a journey? Was he the type to keep his thumb on her? Richard did say that she would be leaving tomorrow, after only having arrived the day before the wedding.

For some reason, he felt oddly defensive on her behalf. “Why not? It is not unheard of for a gentleman to bring along his family on such an expedition.”

“It’s not that. My father would take me in a heartbeat, if he could. But it’s simply not possible. Papa can no longer see.”

Finn couldn’t help his sharp intake of air. “Your father is blind? When did this happen?”

“His vision began deteriorating several years ago. It wasn’t until this last year that it left him completely.”

Bloody hell. What was one supposed to say to such a thing? Finn cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s little wonder he didn’t escort you here.”

She lifted her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “I can’t blame him. He is comfortable in our home, where he knows where every piece of furniture is, and he knows no one will be watching with pity if he stumbles.” She looked up at him, this time with a genuine smile. “But he is as clever and smart as ever. He may not be able to read or write on his own any more, but he still maintains a rather lively correspondence with many of his fellow plant lovers. And as a respected horticulturist, he regularly receives letters from people all over the British Isles, seeking his advice.”

The pride in her voice was unmistakable, and he smiled approvingly. “That’s remarkable. I admire a man who does not crumple in the face of adversity. Many a man has given up under must less trying circumstances.” That was something Finn knew from firsthand experience. His father’s decline before his death had been tragic, but only because he more or less gave up on life. Apparently, he hadn’t cared that his unresolved troubles would soon fall squarely on Finn’s shoulders.

“He couldn’t have given up if he wanted to. Not only would I not have allowed it, but he’s terrified of our housekeeper, Mrs. Kelly. Heaven help the soul that messes with her schedules.”

Finn chuckled. “I can sympathize. Mrs. Hollingsworth runs my home with the efficiency of an Army general. I wouldn’t dare cross her.”

“Well, after doing without me for a week, I’m sure Papa is anxious to have me back. Besides the fact that he’ll be eager to tackle his correspondence once I’m home, I’m certain he’ll be keen to be free of Mrs. Kelly’s tyranny.”

“Does his man not see to his correspondence while you’re away?”

“Well, technically
I
am his man.”

He didn’t know why it surprised him, but it did. “
You
are his secretary?” He couldn’t picture her stuffed away in an office, taking diction and dutifully reading aloud letters on soil chemistry and proper fertilization. How many women would willingly dedicate so much of themselves to making another’s life better?

Her gaze snapped back at him, her brow slightly wrinkled. “I am perfectly capable of handling my father’s correspondence.”

“Yes, I’m sure you—”

“And without the ability to see a secretary’s work for himself, one can little blame him for entrusting the task to his own daughter. I, at least, have his best interests at heart.”

“Of course you do. I was merely—”

“Going to say that my faculties are ill-equipped to handle such intellectual matters? I was raised at my father’s knee in the conservatory, Lord Edgerton, and—”

“Cece!” That at least got her attention. For God’s sake, she’d have him painted the devil before he could get a word in edgewise. “If you’d let me finish my sentence, I was merely going to point out that I’m sure you have many interests which hold your attention, and it is admirable that you make yourself available to your father in such a manner. I was attempting to compliment you.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He sighed and extended his elbow. “Let us take a proper turn about the room. If we are to talk in circles, we might as well walk in them, too.”

Smiling ruefully, she nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I think perhaps it’s best that you tell me something about you. I don’t think I can get myself in trouble that way.”

“Hmm, let me see.” He focused on the soggy grounds beyond the fogged windows, trying to think of something interesting about himself. “Did you know that I spoke German?”

She looked up in surprise. “No, I had no idea. How did you choose that particular language?”

“It chose me, actually.” Even before his mother died, she had not had much of a hand in Finn’s childhood, but her mother, Finn’s dear Oma, had always showered him with love. “My grandmother was from Northern Germany, and she delighted in hearing her native tongue from the mouth of her young grandson.”

“How lovely! Would you say something in German for me? If you don’t mind, of course.”

He slowed his pace as he thought of something to say. “
Du bist schöner als jeder blume wagt zu sein.
”

“Oh, how very different,” she said, admiration lighting her eyes. “What does it mean?”

You are more lovely than any flower dares to be.
“That the flowers are so lovely in here.” It was his secret, and he rather liked having it.

“What is the German word for flower?”

“Blume.”

“Blume,”
she repeated with a grin. “That is certainly easy enough to remember. I can’t wait to repeat it to my father.”

“Does he speak other languages?”

“Latin and French, and he recently began taking Italian lessons.”

“Really?” Finn paused, turning to face her. “That’s an admiral undertaking. But if he doesn’t wish to travel to Alyesbury, surely he is not considering a trip to Italy?”

“No, sadly, that is not on his agenda. He has always wanted to see the vast olive groves that thrive in the Mediterranean climate. He’s learning it because it is something he can do that has no need of vision. It’s a way to keep his mind engaged and doesn’t require someone reading to him, or directing him, or taking diction. Senor Pascucci comes several times a week and simply talks to him.”

New respect welled in Finn’s chest. His own father had been whole, with no impediments to his physical person, and all he had ever done was indulge his own weaknesses. “I should like to meet a man as accomplished and motivated as your father,” he said, his voice barely carrying above the tinkling rain. Squire McCrea sounded like exactly the sort of man Finn would like to emulate.

* * *

Cece looked up in surprise, her eyes colliding with Finn’s in a way that made her feel as though she were falling. He wanted to meet her father? Was it an innocent observation, or did she really hear the note of something more, something somehow intense in his voice? The thought of Finn coming to the manor was more thrilling than she wanted to admit.

“If you’d ever like to visit, I am certain you would be welcome. Papa takes great pleasure in showing off the conservatory. He started working on it shortly after my mother died, and has scarcely spent a day away from it since.”

His smile was slow and genuine. “Perhaps I shall do just that, someday. Provided the invitation is issued, of course.”

The last was said as an afterthought, as if he already read the invitation in her eyes. She licked her lips, wondering what to say, trying to find just the right way to respond that wouldn’t make her seem as though she wanted him to come as badly as she did.

A sharp scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they sprang apart as if caught in some compromising position, instead of merely standing a touch too close. Although, being in here alone together at all was bad enough. Her heart in her throat, she watched as the door opened and her cousin Beatrice appeared, sketchbook in hand.

She came up short when she saw them, letting out a soft, “Oh!”

Cece started forward as if pushed, rushing to put distance between her and Finn. “Good morning, Bea! How are you this rainy morning?”

Her cousin’s blue eyes were huge as she looked back and forth between them. “Er, fine. How are you?”

“Lovely!” Everything she said seemed to come out entirely too forced, as if she were a character in an under-rehearsed play. “Though I do think I’ll head to the library. Wouldn’t want to be in your hair while you are, erm, sketching.”

Cece paused at the doorway, turning toward where Finn still stood, rooted in the same spot like one of the plants around him. “Good day, Lord Edgerton.”

She didn’t wait for his response before dashing through the doorway and into the relative safety of the cool, quiet corridor. She ducked into the first room she came to and pressed herself against the wall. Sucking in a deep breath, she held it a moment before blowing it out in a long, steadying stream. What had she been thinking, allowing herself to be alone with him like that? What if Aunt Vivian or Uncle Granville had been the one to discover them, tucked away in the conservatory, arm and arm with the door shut?

She was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. If she didn’t leave this place soon, leave
him
soon, she was likely to lose herself to him all over again.

And the problem was, that thought didn’t upset her nearly as much as it should have.