Finn picked up the ribbons. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d end up kissing her again. There was no question of doing more than kiss, not out here in the snow even if he wanted it to be otherwise. It was far too cold to start taking off clothes. He called to the horses, setting them in motion, but another idea had been set in motion. His brain wouldn’t let go of a naughty train of thought—tonight, at the ball, perhaps? It wouldn’t be too cold then and there’d be all sorts of places to sneak off to, all sorts of people not paying attention. It would be one time when it would be good not to have people notice him. While Channing was dazzling everyone, he could be whisking Catherine away to a secluded library.
To do what? Seduce her? He might be serious, but he wasn’t a monk. He knew very well from first-hand experience what went on in dimly lit libraries at balls when no one was watching. But seduction was just one step away from marriage. Finn knew very well that seducing Catherine could not happen without the benefit of marriage to follow. She was the daughter of an old family friend, his sisters’ best friend and his own friend as well.
‘Watch out for the tree!’ Catherine called at the last moment, covering his hands with hers and pulling on the reins. The sleigh swerved around a thin birch tree sticking out of the ground just in time.
Catherine laughed. ‘What are you thinking about that has taken all your attention?’ She playfully yanked on the reins. ‘Let me drive home and you go right ahead with your thoughts.’
‘You might think twice if you knew what they were.’ Finn gave her a wry smile and relinquished the ribbons. It wasn’t often a lovely woman drove him around with her hair hanging down her back, snowflakes tickling her nose. In fact, there’d never been a time that he could recall.
Chapter Seven
‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lord Swale.’ Catherine’s mother stroked the brush through her hair and Catherine met her mother’s gaze in the mirror of her dressing table. She wasn’t fooled by the casual tone. Whenever her mother called Finn Lord Swale, something was afoot.
Catherine shrugged, trying to make light of it. It had been hard enough to explain to Meredith today. She couldn’t imagine making sense of it to her mother. ‘He brought me home from shopping, that’s all.’ There was no need to mention the skating expedition. Her parents hadn’t even been there for it.
‘He brought you home considerably later than the other sleighs,’ her mother added.
‘I was late. He was kind enough to have waited for me.’ Definitely no need to say anything about racing the sleigh, their quiet talk in the woods or Finn’s disclosure about his future.
Her mother set aside the brush and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘At the end of the day, he’s a viscount. Some day he’ll be an earl, Catherine, and you’ll still just be you: the daughter of well-respected gentry with a baron for a relative somewhere in the family tree. You’re well born, but not high born, whereas Finn Deverill is both.’ She paused. ‘What I am trying to say is that he can’t marry you. I have it on good authority from the countess herself that they fancy a match between him and Lady Eliza.’
The daughter of the marquess, someone more suitable for a man of Finn’s station, a viscount waiting to be an earl. Her mother was implying something else too—a warning perhaps that a lord might dally and flirt where he liked without making promises. It was hard to imagine Finn as such a man. Then again, Lady Eliza was here. He’d taken the marquess’s daughter into supper, but he’d been kissing her.
Was this what he’d meant by the balance of duty and desire? In the woods, she’d thought he’d been talking of the Caribbean and his work versus the responsibilities of the earldom. In reality, he might have been talking about her balanced against his duty to marry well. Family was important to Finn. He would not let them down with an indiscreet match. He’d indicated as much today. It wasn’t in his nature to pick his heart over his head.
‘He’s a friend, nothing more.’ Catherine managed a smile even though a small piece of her was breaking inside. Maybe not even a small piece. It might very well be a large piece. Catherine had to concede, her mother’s logic made too much sense. Finn had not once alluded to their kisses beyond calling the first a mistake. He’d made no promises, no claims in words and he wouldn’t. No matter how angry he was over Channing kissing her under the mistletoe ball, he was going to court Lady Eliza Dewhurst of the adequate bosom and the more-than-ample pedigree because it was the right thing to do.