‘You’re staring,’ Channing said at her ear. He hadn’t left her side since the kiss. Apparently his test had been passed. But not hers.
‘I was just wondering what could be of such interest to the two of them.’ Catherine shrugged, looking at Channing as if seeing him for the first time. He was unquestionably handsome, but what else was he? He hadn’t sailed the tributaries of the Orinoco, or walked the depths of the rainforest. Tonight, Channing Deverill came up lacking by comparison and by extension—so had the dream.
‘Flowers or crops would be my bet.’ Channing laughed, entirely unaware of her inner thoughts. ‘Not exactly topics of scintillating conversation to the rest of us. I guess it is good they have each other to talk to.’ He smiled, his blue eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. ‘Speaking of conversation, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’ He led them apart from the crowd, over by the window. Finn’s window, although it was silly to think of it that way. It was anyone’s window really. No one owned that space.
‘What is it?’ Catherine asked, a bit breathless, but not for the reasons she’d imagined at the prospect of Channing pulling her aside.
‘Will you save me a waltz tomorrow night at the Yule Ball? I have it on good authority from my mother there will only be three.’ He made an exaggerated moue of disappointment. ‘I told her there should be more; everyone dances the waltz these days. But she’s surprisingly old fashioned when it comes right down to it. Anyway, I wouldn’t want yours to be filled up before I could ask.’
‘Of course I’ll save you one.’ She favoured him with a warm smile. Was that a flicker of relief? Was the handsome and sought-after Channing Deverill relieved that she, Catherine Emerson, daughter of the local gentry, had accepted a dance? It was enough to make her think the world had turned upside down. But she was not na?ve and there was one question she had to ask.
‘What about Lady Alina?’
Channing’s smile faded ever so slightly. ‘There are three waltzes; I couldn’t possibly dance all of them with her, could I?’ he answered with a glibness that didn’t quite match his expression. ‘Besides, I want to dance with you. You left for Paris before we could have a proper dance together.’
Catherine couldn’t argue with that. She’d been fifteen when her great-aunt had sent for her. She’d not been old enough to attend the local assemblies and more grown-up parties. ‘I would be glad to dance with you then, as long as I’m not upsetting Lady Alina.’
‘Don’t worry about her. It’s not what you think.’ Channing paused, appearing to debate something in his mind. ‘She’s been out of society for a while. You could say I’m helping her reintegrate.’ Channing’s voice dropped, his pressure on her hand tightened. ‘She has no claim on me that matters, Catherine, nothing beyond the duties required of being a good host.’
The implied message was staggering. Catherine rummaged her brain for an appropriate response. What was it her friend Vivienne, who had never lacked for male attention, had always used? Ah, she had it. ‘Then I am most honoured,’ Catherine said softly.
Channing raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘It is I who am most honoured.’ His blue eyes held hers for a long moment. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me? I need to see to the guests. Mother will skin me alive if I dominate the prettiest girl in the room while old Mrs Anderson goes languishing for lack of tea.’
Finn was gone when she looked around the room. He was no longer standing with her father when she went to join him and her mother, nor was he with anyone else, although Catherine sensed she wasn’t the only one hoping to spy him. Lady Eliza seemed to be looking for him as well. Catherine sipped her cup of tea, thinking Finn might reappear after running some hosting errand for his mother. Finally, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to come back, she broke down and asked, ‘Was Finn feeling unwell?’
Her father shook his head. ‘He had some things to see to in the library.’ In the library? In the middle of a house party? Only her father would not find such an excuse odd.
Catherine couldn’t help but ask the most obvious of questions. ‘What things? What could be so important Finn had to see to them right now?’
‘Lord Swale,’ her mother corrected softly, but Catherine didn’t miss the insistence in her voice. Catherine stared at her mother, not quite digesting the comment. Who? Oh, Finn.