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
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
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