Miss Mistletoe (5 page)

Chapter Five

“What do you mean, I can’t go home?”

Cece stared at her uncle in disbelief. She was packed, she was wearing her best traveling costume, and she had somehow managed to make it from yesterday morning until today without encountering Finn alone again. Staying even an hour later was tempting fate.

Uncle Granville’s blue eyes softened, and he patted her shoulder. “I know you are anxious to return to your father, and you will, soon enough. But it isn’t safe to travel on the roads after the heavy rains last night and this morning. It’s lightening up now, so hopefully conditions will improve tomorrow.”

She nodded, knowing there was no argument in this sort of thing. “Very well. Thank you for letting me know.” The eggs on her plate suddenly lost their appeal, and she set down her fork and sighed.

He offered her a small smile. “You are welcome. And I know your cousins will love having you to themselves for another day. The twins were thrilled that you joined them yesterday. According to Jocelyn, learning botany from you was surprisingly interesting. High praise, indeed.”

With that, her uncle gave her a wink and departed for the stables, leaving Cece alone in the breakfast room. As far as she knew, they were the only ones up and about yet this morning. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, not caring a whit if anyone saw her slumped like an ill-mannered child.

Drat. What was she to do know? Perhaps if she claimed a headache, she could spend the rest of her day in her chambers. Her nose immediately wrinkled at the thought. No, she’d wilt like an uprooted
Tulipa clusiana
if she had to stay shut away in her room for the rest of her day.

Perhaps—

“Good morning.”

Cece immediately pressed her eyes closed against the flood of butterflies that took flight in her stomach at the mere sound of Finn’s voice. She could do this. She was not a silly girl, prone to hysterics.

At least she hoped she wasn’t.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder. “Good morning.”

No one had a right to look that good that early in the morning. Especially when his hair was still damp, curling where it touched his collar. Seeing a man so soon after his toilette somehow seemed unduly intimate.

“I was afraid I might not see you again before you left.” His tone was conversational, but she still caught the hint of censure, as if he knew she had been avoiding him yesterday.

“You need not have worried. My travels have been delayed thanks to this dreadful rain.”

He paused in pulling out his chair. “Oh? Well, I’m sorry for your ruined plans, but happy for myself. We never had the opportunity to revisit our conversation yesterday. There is much I feel that I still do not know about you.”

Cece didn’t know how to respond. If she agreed, then she would be obligated to spend more time with him. Which, as inviting as such a thing sounded, clearly was not a good idea. She had no defenses against the man she had fancied herself in love with for so many years.

However if she disagreed, then she felt that he would somehow just inherently know that she was affected by him, by mere sound of his voice and the almost physical force of his presence. And really, who would believe that he knew all there was to know about her after spending one morning together?

“I’m sure there is nothing of interest left to learn about me.” There—that sounded reasonable. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interfere with one of the few opportunities you and Richard have to enjoy each other’s company.”

He grinned, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I always know where to find Richard. London isn’t too far from my estate, after all. Whereas my time with you is all the more precious for its rarity.”

How on earth did one deny so clever a turn of phrase? Simple: one didn’t. Cece took a bite of her eggs, though they could have been dirt for all she tasted them. Why was it, the more time she spent in his presence, the more she felt like that lovesick little girl she was determined to leave behind? One would think she could somehow build up immunity to him the more she was in his presence.

When she didn’t answer him, he said, “I have an idea. A project I thought you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“Yesterday morning was so lovely, it really opened my eyes to the true beauty of plants. I happen to have a rather large conservatory at my estate, but it has been left to ruin since my grandfather’s death nearly twenty years ago.” He looked down for a moment, surely knowing that her interest was piqued. “I was wondering if you’d like to show me what I could do with such a space.”

“I’d love to!” The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back, announcing her enthusiasm and sealing her fate for the day all at once.

The smile he gave her was worth whatever hell the day would bring. “Wonderful. Granted, it will be a while before I’ll be able to act on any plans we make, but since I have a willing expert in my clutches, I’m going to make good use of her.” He paused before adding, “Her
mind
, that is.”

* * *

Waiting in the library some two hours later, the irony of the situation was not lost on him. Two days ago, Finn had expected
her
to be the pursuer, and was fully prepared to spend much energy in dodging her efforts. Somehow, the tables had turned and he found himself in the exact opposite situation. The truth was, he had felt oddly cheated when Cece left, fleeing like a spooked rabbit when Beatrice interrupted them. He’d later thought of his conservatory, and knew it would be the perfect thing to bring the smile back to her face. Unfortunately, she’d somehow avoided giving him the chance to suggest it.

Now he was beginning to wonder if she would show up. As it was, she was almost ten minutes late, and he was pacing the library like a caged lion. Though the rain had slackened to a near drizzle, it was still gloomy and dim outside, and he’d thrown open the curtains as wide as possible in an effort to harvest more of the dreary light.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her voice soothed his agitation immediately, and he ceased pacing at once. “Think nothing of it. Shall we begin?”

She nodded, and he directed her to the table where he had already drawn out the rough dimensions of the conservatory. Sitting in the chair he pulled out for her, she picked up the drawing. He dragged the other chair closer to her so that they could both see the drawing at once, and settled into it.

“Which direction do the windows face?”

“East. It’s flooded with morning light, since there are no trees or outbuildings near that part of the house.”

She murmured her acknowledgement, not taking her eyes from the paper. After another minute, she looked up and smiled. “Tell me about the space.”

Even in the gray light, her eyes somehow seemed to sparkle. Settling back in his chair and meeting her gaze with a warm, slightly inviting one of his own, he began. “The house itself is situated on one of the most glorious plots of land on earth. The rich, fertile soil means that the fields surrounding the estate are filled to bursting during the harvest, at least when they have been properly tended.

“The house itself is made of limestone block, and sits just at the top of the ridge, so we have endless, rolling views from nearly any room of the house. The conservatory was built after the house, so one entire side of the room is lined with the limestone. The area is filled with windows, and with the east facing orientation, the morning sun heats the limestone, helping to keep the place warm even without the furnace lit.”

He went on, describing the bones of the place in a way he never had before. For some reason he wanted her to be impressed by his home. As he spoke, an image came unbidden to his mind, of her wandering through his restored conservatory, her fingers dirty and her eyes sparkling in the morning sun. It was so vivid he paused, causing her to look up in question.

He cleared his throat and picked up where he left off.

She listened, a soft smile on her beautiful lips, nodding from time to time, and enhancing the rudimentary drawing he had provided her. When he finished, she sat back, examining her handiwork as she trailed the tip of the quill back and forth beneath her chin. He found himself watching the feather, mesmerized by the whisper soft path it made across her smooth skin.

Finally, she turned to him. “What do you envision in your space? Do you wish for flowers, or plants, or tropical fruits, perhaps?”

“I hadn’t thought of it, really. The usual things, I suppose.”

Judging by the look on her face, he had somehow managed to insult her, if only just mildly. “The usual things? There is no such thing. Each conservatory is a living, breathing entity. No two are exactly alike, each one unique and special unto itself. They have personality, and purpose, and should reflect the owner himself.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering her words. A conservatory should reflect its owner? “Tell me, Cece. What would be your perfect conservatory?”

Her coffee-colored eyes widened, and she shook her head. “I don’t know. My father’s suits me well enough. Over the years, it has grown into a merger of our tastes and preferences.”

“Don’t think merger; think
yours.
If this space were gifted to you and arrived wrapped in a giant red ribbon, how would you design it?”

It was the perfect thing to say. Pleasure and anticipation flitted across her features, and she bit her lip and turned back to the paper drawing on the desk. “If I could do anything I wished?”

“My conservatory is your oyster.”

* * *

It was the oddest and most wonderful statement anyone had ever said to her. Cece rolled her eyes at his overly dramatic words, but turned back to the plans with delight. If she could do anything she wanted? No consulting with Papa, no listening patiently to what the owner desired, but instead free reign to make the space exactly what she wished it to be? The possibilities were endless.

For the next few hours, she poured over all of her choices, cutting up bits of paper and marking them with the initials of all the plants she would have in her perfect space. She moved them this way and that on the paper, explaining the virtues of each species to Finn, and how much light, humidity, and water it preferred.

In the center, she drew a huge water feature, only a foot deep but which would serve as the perfect home for the
Nymphaeaceaes
she had always loved. Most women thought of frogs or stagnant ponds when they thought of water lilies—she was always put to mind of the magic of their ingenious root system, and the glorious flowers of the giant Amazon variety.

The paths she drew extended like spokes from the center fountain, and were connected with two concentric circular paths. She organized the plantings by color, bloom time, and size, so that no matter where one stood, they would observe a plethora of colors, heights, leaf size, and origins.

Finn never left her side, asking questions, pointing out sections he particularly liked, and letting her have her fun. When she had tweaked and fine-tuned the plant positions until they were exactly where she wanted, she carefully transcribed the little slips of paper onto the final drawing, numbering each and writing out a legend on a separate piece of foolscap. It was tedious work, but she couldn’t remember ever enjoying herself more, particularly with Finn’s easy presence beside her.

Finally, hours after they had begun, Cece leaned back and smiled. “I do believe we have my perfect conservatory.”

Finn stood and came behind her, leaning over her shoulder to see the drawing from her perspective. She went very still, shocked at his closeness. The subtle scent of his warm skin seemed to wrap around her, filling her senses and making her mouth go dry.

For several moments, he didn’t say anything. He studied the page as if it held the secret to life, and she sat frozen, unable to pull herself away from his spell.

“Phenomenal,” he breathed, the hint of reverence in his voice warming her from the inside out. He turned his head toward her, meeting her gaze at a distance far too close for her mind to properly function. “It is an absolute work of art . . . just like you.”

Heavens above, did he truly mean it? Is that what he thought of her? Her heart pounded in her ears as she struggled to think, to find something to say, even as her eyes slowly dropped to his lips. He was so close, so incredibly close, if she leaned forward just the slightest amount, her lips could touch his once more. Only this time, it would be a real kiss—one that they both wanted. As her pulse raced, her breathing became faster, more shallow, each one seeming to draw him the tiniest bit closer.

She’d thought she moved past her childhood
tendre
, thought that it had been destroyed in the wake of The Incident, but as all the old feelings came rushing back within her, she knew they had never left. She may have pushed them back, deep into the recesses of her heart, but they were still there.

She licked her lips, not daring to move otherwise. No matter how much she wished to fall into him, to give into the rioting desire coursing through her veins, she wouldn’t be the one to make the move. She had made a fool of herself last time. If he wanted to kiss her as desperately as she did him, then let him be the one to lean forward, to close the scant inches that separated them and press his mouth to hers.

He reached a finger out, trailing it slowly from the hollow of her throat up to just beneath her chin, where he paused, his gaze settled on her lips. In the next moment she would learn if, at long last, he felt the same way about her as she always had about him.

Unable to stand the suspense, she closed her eyes, waiting, listening to the hammering of her heart, swearing she could hear his as well.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Chapter Six

At long last, Finn tipped her chin up with the slightest touch and pressed his mouth to hers.

In that moment, Cece knew exactly what heaven tasted like. She breathed in deep, reveling in the velvet heat of his lips. His hand slipped along her jaw, cupping the side of her face and pulling her more fully against him. She went eagerly, rising up as far as she could from her seated position. It wasn’t enough—she wanted to feel his chest pressed against her, to be wrapped in his arms and lost in his kiss.

With a growl of frustration, he pulled away. She started to protest—he couldn’t stop now!—but in one smooth motion he yanked back her chair and lifted her to her feet. His lips crashed down on hers, and she groaned with satisfaction. There was no mistletoe, no eyes watching them, and certainly not even a hint of reluctance from him. This was real, honest, the perfect explosion of when mutual attraction ignites.

She didn’t even know they were moving until they bumped into something, and he dropped onto the sofa with her landing neatly on his lap. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and she tentatively followed suit, slipping her arms around his neck. The cool silk of his hair tickled her forearms, and she couldn’t resist sliding her fingers through the thick tresses as she reveled in the glory of his kiss.

Her heart pounded as his tongue dipped into her mouth, sliding along hers in a way that sent pleasure coursing through her. His woodsy scent surrounded her every bit as much as his arms embraced her, holding her to him in more ways than one. The heat of his body seeped through her clothes, warming her skin. She could hardly believe this was happening, that he—Finn!—was kissing her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. It was better than any of her dreams, better than anything she had ever imagined.

A low rumble of thunder shook the house, penetrating though her clouded mind. She realized all at once that they were tangled together on the sofa in her uncle’s library. The door was ajar, and at any moment someone could walk in.

Even knowing this, it still took every ounce of willpower she possessed to break the kiss. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes as if from a dream, his pupils wide. He blinked several times, looking around the room as if only just comprehending where they were. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, then snapped his gaze to her. “Beg pardon, I just can’t believe how thoroughly I lost myself just now.”

He gently lifted her from his lap and set her down beside him. His lips were curved into the perfect picture of male satisfaction, and she couldn’t help the answering smile that came to her lips. “I think it is safe to say we both lost ourselves.” She should probably be embarrassed, even mortified by what they had just done, but all she felt was happiness filling her from the inside out. This was Finn—she had dreamed of a kiss like that, with him, for nearly a decade.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, wishing that she could somehow preserve the taste of him on her skin for the rest of her life. Years from now, when she was toiling in the conservatory, or writing a letter for Papa, or quietly reading by the fire on a winter night, she wanted to be able to relive this moment, to remember the perfect kiss from a perfect man during a perfect moment in time.

He sighed and came to his feet, extending a hand down to her. She allowed him to pull her up, and didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around her.

“I never imagined . . . .” He trailed off, dropping a kiss to her neck. “I would have never thought we’d suit, but clearly I was wrong.”

She curled against him, basking in the warmth of his arms hugging her against the hard wall of his chest. Her head fit just beneath his chin, and she felt utterly warm and protected. “I always knew we would,” she murmured, though this was
much
better than anything her imagination had ever put forth.

He kissed the top of her head and pulled away, looking her in the eye and smiling. “I’m so glad I decided to come to Evie and Hastings’s wedding.”

Satisfaction slipped through her, a warm silken ribbon caressing her in ways she’d never felt before. “Me, too.”

Raising an eyebrow, he said, “ ‘Me, too,’ what? Are you glad that I decided to come, or that you did?”

“Both.”

He grinned and stepped back so they could almost be considered a respectable distance apart. “We have so much to discuss, I scarcely know where to start.”

The silken haze of happiness parted the smallest amount, and she frowned at him, confused. “What do you mean? What have we to discuss?”

“Well, I mentioned before the less than ideal state of the estate, but I want to be absolutely clear about where things stand, so that you have all the facts.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to work out the meaning of his words. “But . . . why would I need to know that? You are free to use the plan we came up with whenever you wish.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, silly, I don’t mean for the conservatory. I mean for our betrothal.”

* * *

One moment all was well with the world, and the next Cece was yanking away from him, staring at him as though he had just announced he was king of England.

“What are you talking about? I can’t marry you,” she exclaimed, fire coming to her cheeks.

Finn reared back as if slapped. “What are
you
talking about? You don’t kiss a man like that and act as though marriage to him is an impossibility.” His mind was reeling—what had just happened? She
couldn’t
marry him? Apparently she meant she
wouldn’t
.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, backing away from him as if he were a beggar on the street. “You make it sound as if I . . . as if I
laid
with you. It was a kiss—our
second
kiss, if you recall. I certainly don’t remember any talk of betrothal after the first one.”

She couldn’t be serious. “You cannot possibly think there were any similarities between an impromptu,
chaste
kiss under the mistletoe and, and,” he struggled to describe the kiss they just shared, making vague hand motions to try to encompass the enormity of it, “
that
,” he finished lamely.

She’d have to be mad to think such a thing. Moments earlier, he had been struck by the perfection of their situations. She’d adored him for years, and based on her kiss just now, that adoration was alive and well. He liked and respected her, appreciated her intelligence and beauty, and could make her a viscountess while her dowry enriched the estate. Best of all, he could offer her the conservatory with which she could do whatever she wished. And, of course, with passion like that between them, he had no doubt their marriage would be very pleasurable indeed.

It made perfect sense—even if she didn’t realize it just yet.

Crossing her arms, she looked to him with pleading in her eyes. “It was a kiss. A lovely, wonderful, unforgettable kiss, but a kiss just the same.”

He stood up straighter, disbelief at her words cooling his blood. “So is it marriage, or marriage to me that you have no interest in?”

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head with an expression so full of regret, he wanted to take her by the shoulders and try to shake it loose from her. “Finn, even if I wished to marry, I cannot. My father needs me too much. I’m all he has.”

The words should have soothed his upset, but instead it just inflamed him. “Is that why you are unmarried? Does he know this? I can’t imagine any parent would willfully condemn his daughter to such a fate.”

He knew at once it was the wrong thing to say. The color leached from her face, and she stared at him with open-mouthed horror. “How dare you say such a thing? I’ve not been ‘condemned,’ as you so callously put it. I am happy to help him with whatever he needs. I am his daughter, there is no one better suited to looking after his needs than I.”

Finn shoved his hands through his hair. Why did he have to say such a damn fool thing? He knew how protective she was of her father. “I said that wrong. I only meant that I’m sure that your father would wish for you to be happy. And I’m not suggesting we leave him to the wolves. Of course he would be welcome to live with us. My estate is plenty big enough for him, and even your servants, if you wish.”

She shook her head, dropping her hands to the back of the wooden chair beside her and leaning on if as if needing support. “Hampshire is his home, Finn. As squire, his life is vitally tied to the land and the people there, and he is happy and respected. He would never leave the manor, and I would never ask him.”

So there were no options? He felt as though she was shutting a door between them, invisible and see-through, but impenetrable nonetheless. Still, she roused feeling within him that he’d never felt before; emotions that he was desperate to experience more of. “Cece, I care for you. I think that we would make an excellent match. I’m sure there is a solution that would suit us all.”

She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the blond curls that had sprung free during their kiss. “There is a solution. Remember me fondly, as I will always remember you.” She started to walk for the door, but hesitated before leaving. “While I think it’s best that we don’t see each other again, I want you to know that I will never, ever forget that kiss. It was absolutely perfect, and I thank you for sharing it with me.”

And just like that, she was gone. He sank back onto the sofa, stunned by the turn of events. She wanted to thank him?
Thank him
? Bloody, bloody hell.

He’d let her go, let her return home and stew on their encounter for a while. He would wait. And when the moment was right, he planned to remind her of
exactly
how well they suited.