Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (19 page)

PAUL AND I WALK BACK TO THE house in silence. At the kitchen door, he stops, leaning against the white clapboard wall. He’s the picture of a handsome city gentleman in his gray frock coat, his blond hair trimmed neatly. He studies the white clematis crawling up the lattice, and then he turns to me, frowning.

“I think I’ve made my feelings clear. I don’t know what more I can do.”
I reach out, put a tentative hand on his arm. “Nothing,” I murmur. “You’ve been—you’re amazing. I just need time to think.” Paul twines my fingers with his. “I’ll give you time, but the Brothers won’t.”
I hunch into myself, watching him stride away toward the barn. In fact, I’m still standing there when he emerges on his big bay stallion and canters

I should go inside and tell my sisters about his proposal. Let them hug and congratulate me, let Mrs. O’Hare squeal and Tess bake me an apple pie for after dinner. Pretend for one day that I’m a normal girl, marrying a good man. Tess would be sad, but she’d forgive me. I daresay Maura would be thrilled to have me settled and out of her way.

But what would Elena do? Would she insist on testing me for mind-magic immediately? If she did, she’d find out straightaway that I could do it, and then what? I suspect she’d ship me right off to the Sisters.
I press my hands to my face, willing back tears. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to go to the Sisters. I don’t want to marry Paul. I want—
Finn. I want Finn.
I hesitate, but only for a minute. Then I’m scrambling through the gardens after him, praying he’s still here. It’s hard to see around the hedges; I’m not sure which direction he’s gone. I follow my instincts through the winding paths until I come out into the open.
He hasn’t left. He’s up at the gazebo. In the last few days, he’s erected the railing. His hands are braced against it, and he stares off across the fields toward town. He’s wearing workman’s clothes—brown corduroy trousers, boots, suspenders, and a chocolate-colored shirt that matches his eyes.
My slippers sink into the wet grass. My hems grow damp and heavy; the mud sucks at my skirts. I feel like the earth itself is pulling at me, slowing me down.
I hurry into the gazebo, leaving muddy tracks across the wooden floor. It smells of sawdust and wet earth and worms. There’s a stitch in my side that aches something fierce; I’m panting with the exertion of my chase. The wind rips my hood off and sends my hair cascading down over my shoulders.
“Finn,” I say, shoving my hair behind my ears.
He turns. I wish I were like Tess, I wish I knew how to study people, but I can’t read the expression on his face.
“I wanted to explain what—what you saw—” I stammer.
He picks up a broom and begins to sweep up piles of sawdust. “You don’t owe me any explanations, Miss Cahill.”
Oh. I shrink back from the ice in his voice. I don’t know what I expected, precisely, but I expected him to
care.
He just saw me in another man’s arms—and not just any other man, but one I’m fairly certain he dislikes. I kissed someone else! He didn’t see that, but if I saw him with another woman—the thought of it makes me feel hot and sick. He can’t think I go letting men make love to me on a whim.
I shouldn’t be kissing anyone else. I feel it with an aching certainty, like a bruised bone. Something passed between us in that dark room, something a little bit sacred. I blush at the memory of his lips on mine. Of his hands on my waist like feathers. That had to mean something, whether he remembers it or not.
“I wanted to set things right,” I say, flushing.
“If you’d like me to offer my resignation, I will. I won’t hold any hard feelings.” He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps sweeping, the broom scratching furiously against the floor.
I hadn’t thought about his job. Is he afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate to continue working here, after what happened between us? That Father would dismiss him if he found out?
Does that mean he remembers?
“But you need this job,” I point out. Business at the bookshop has slowed to a trickle.
Finn throws the broom to the floor, scattering one of his neat piles. I cough as a cloud of sawdust fills the air. “I don’t need your charity. If having me on the premises bothers your fiancé—” Finn takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, Miss Cahill.”
There are only a few feet separating us, but it feels wide and uncrossable as an ocean. “I have the utmost respect and admiration for you,” Finn continues. “I never meant to imply otherwise. You were obviously in distress, and I certainly didn’t mean to take advantage. It was a—a momentary lapse of judgment. I don’t know what came over me, but I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
I stare at him, my eyes getting wider and wider as the truth sinks in. He remembers kissing me. He is
apologizing
for kissing me.
“It won’t?” I choke, feeling oddly crushed.
“No.” Finn swipes a hand through his hair, leaving several strands sticking straight up. “My behavior was unforgivably forward. I assure you that I take all the blame upon myself. I don’t hold you in any less regard. I got carried away and—I should not have—Knowing that you were practically betrothed to another man, it was conduct most unbecoming on my part.”
I step toward him, chin leading the charge. “You got
carried away
? By a momentary lapse of judgment?” I mimic his starched voice.
“You kissed me!”
Finn runs a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I—yes. There was no disrespect intended. I hope you don’t feel as though your reputation has been compromised in any way.”
“My reputation?” I fly at him, shoving his chest with both hands. He stumbles back against the railing. “I’m not some fainting flower! I was there, too. I kissed you right back! If there’s blame to be taken, half of it’s mine!”
He grabs my wrists. “Cate,” he says, and I’m pleased that he’s dropped the Miss Cahill nonsense. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, but I don’t quite understand which part of my behavior is the issue.”
I remember the hunger in his hands moving over me, the press of his body against mine. “Apologizing for kissing me! Saying it was a lapse of judgment! You certainly seemed as though you liked it!”
His grip slackens. “You want me to tell you—that—I liked it?”
“Well, it would certainly be better than apologizing for it,” I snap. “How do you suppose that makes me feel?”
He squints at me. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
My head droops, anger fading. I try to back away, but he has a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s mortifying, is what it is. I came chasing after you like a madwoman to tell you that what you saw between Paul and me isn’t what you thought—that I didn’t say yes—and here you go acting as though kissing me was some horrid—”
Finn claps a hand over my mouth. “McLeod proposed to you, and you refused him?”
I nod, feeling suddenly, excruciatingly nervous. “I told him I need time. To think.”
Finn steps away and swears in a very creative fashion. I stand there, twisting my hands together, gnawing on my bottom lip.
“Cate. I’m sorry.” Finn’s voice dips low, velvety. “Kissing you—I liked it.”
I freeze. “You did?”
The space between us feels charged. Finn smiles a slow, deliberate smile, and I wonder how I could ever have been blind to how very handsome he is. “Very much.”
“But you said it was a lapse of judgment.” I need to know.
“I misunderstood your feelings. You did run out of the shop like the hounds of hell were chasing you,” he points out.
Because I wasn’t certain if he remembered. My happiness wavers. If he knew, what would he think of me?
“Your mother was there. And the Brothers were watching,” I say.
His chocolate eyes are fixed on mine. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You’ve hardly come outside.”
“You didn’t call on me.” Hurt slices through me. “You were right here and you didn’t come to the house. You didn’t even say hello at church.”
Finn shakes his head. “It seems we’ve been at cross-purposes. I saw you and McLeod together at services and I thought—I’ve been dunderheaded about it. Will you let me take responsibility for that?”
My lips twitch. “You may have full credit for dunder-headedness.”
“Thank you. So. Just to be quite clear—you don’t feel compromised?”
The Brothers teach us that lust and wickedness go hand in hand. A lack of modesty is a horrid thing in a woman. Women are meant to be chaste, just as we are meant to be subservient.
We are not supposed to enjoy kisses.
But I don’t feel it was wrong. On the contrary, letting Finn kiss me—kissing him back—it feels as though it was utterly
right
.
“No,” I say slowly, raising my eyes to his. “I don’t feel compromised at all.”
Finn only looks at me, but it’s such a look. It tickles over my skin like a touch.
“McLeod. You didn’t tell him no.”
“I didn’t tell him yes, either,” I point out.
He reaches out to trace the curve of my cheek. Can he feel my pulse pounding? His eyes never leave mine. He’s barely touching me, but my breath catches, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips.
It’s all I can do not to grab him by the collar and pull his mouth to mine.
He laughs, a little hoarse. “Do you want me to compromise you further?”
“I do.” Is that too honest? “I don’t see the point of pretending that I don’t like”—I hesitate, my face burning—“being kissed. By you. I do like it.”
He grins, but takes a small step backward. “That’s quite convenient, as I’d like to kiss you again. Not now. Not here, where anyone could see us. But soon. At great length.”
I look around, half surprised to find us still in the gazebo, in the middle of my father’s land. I’ve forgotten myself entirely. “I suppose we are being rather scandalous.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I’d say so—the lady of the house flirting with the gardener. I imagine your father would have some choice words for me.”
My lips curve into a slow smile. “Don’t worry about that. I can handle Father.”
“I’m sure you can. You’re ferocious.” Finn chuckles, but then his face falls into serious lines. “I can’t—my family—I’m responsible for Mother and Clara now. The bookshop is barely afloat. No one wants to come inside with the Brothers watching us day and night. I don’t think they’ll give up until they find an excuse to close us down. I’m not able to make you any promises, Cate.”
I lift my chin. “I didn’t ask for any, did I?”
“No. But you’ll need them, and soon. If not from me, from—someone else.” Finn’s eyes fall to his scuffed brown boots. “I can barely support the three of us, much less—hell, I’ll put it plainly. I can’t afford a wife. I would understand if you accepted McLeod. I’d hate it—but we can still pretend this conversation never happened. I wouldn’t think less of you.”
“I would,” I snap. “I’d think a good deal less of me, marrying a man for his money when it’s someone else I want.”
I want Finn. Staggeringly. More than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself in my life.
But it’s impossible. What am I going to
do
? Now that I understand how I feel, how can I reconcile myself to anything else?
“I can’t ask you to wait for me. I don’t know when—if—my circumstances will improve. Even if they did—life with me would be very different from what you’re used to. Mother and Clara make their own dresses. They don’t have maids; they cook our suppers and keep house themselves.” Finn’s face is serious, his brow furrowed. “You’d be a shopkeeper’s wife, not a gentleman’s daughter. Mother and Clara aren’t invited to take tea with Mrs. Ishida.”
As if I care what Mrs. Ishida thinks! If that were the only thing standing between us—but it’s not. Allying myself with the Belastras would draw the Brothers’ keen eyes on our entire family. And if they realized what we could do—what
I
could do—
The prophecy said that if I fell into the wrong hands, it would create a second Terror. How many innocent girls would be murdered? I don’t know if the Sisterhood itself would be safe from a second onslaught. Would any witches survive it? Would witches become extinct?
I slump back against the railing. No matter how much I want Finn, it’s impossible.
My silence doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sorry.” Finn’s handsome face twists in anguish. “I’d give you more if I could. I’d give you the moon.”
“It’s all right,” I say softly, blinking back tears. Time to change the subject to something less perilous. “Speaking of tea—Maura and I are hosting our first tea tomorrow afternoon. Your mother and Clara ought to come, if they’re not otherwise engaged.”
Finn hesitates, his brown eyes intent on mine. “Mother and Clara aren’t usually invited out.”
I lean back against the gazebo. “Neither were we, until recently.”
“That’s different. You must know that.” I’m silent, staring out over the pond and the cemetery on the other side. Finn sighs. “I’m not too proud to say it. Your father’s a businessman, yes, but a gentleman and a scholar first. Mother’s a bookseller and a bluestocking. The Brothers’ wives don’t consider her their equal because she’s a shopkeeper. The shopkeepers’ wives believe she thinks she’s too good for them.”
“I’m the hostess now. Your mother and Clara are perfectly welcome here.”
“I’ll extend the invitation, then. It’s very sweet of you to offer.” Finn reaches over and twines his fingers through mine. He brings my hand to his lips and breathes warm air onto my palm. “I meant everything I said. I want you, Cate. But I can’t give you what you need.”
“What if I need
you
?” I whisper. I feel us tilting toward each other like trees in a strong breeze. I’ve been craving the sight of him for days, but now it’s not enough. I’m not sure who moves first. The inches between us are erased until I’m in his arms and my mouth finds his.
His lips are soft and fierce all at once. They taste like tea and rain. His hands go inside my cloak; one curls around my waist, the other around the nape of my neck, anchoring my mouth to his. My hands rove over his chest, feeling the muscles bunch beneath my fingertips. His lips trace a path along my jaw, stopping just below my ear. When he catches the lobe in his teeth, I gasp. My hand clenches on his collar, and he claims my lips in another searing kiss.
When I finally draw back, gasping for breath, my lips feel swollen, my chin raw from the sandpaper stubble of his. We’re still wrapped up together, his arms around my waist beneath my cloak. “I ought to be more of a gentleman, but I’m afraid I lose my head around you,” he says, his cherry lips inches from mine.
“I don’t mind,” I assure him, my arms still looped around his neck.
“I got that impression, yes.” He grins. “But you should go in now, truly. If you stay here, I’ll have to kiss you senseless and someone will see us eventually. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to let you go.”
“I don’t want to go.” But he’s right. I press a quick kiss to his lips, surprising us both with my boldness. Then, laughing, I back out of the gazebo.
I hurry back through the gardens, full up with joy. The wind is fall-brisk; the sky overhead is a soggy gray. Chilly raindrops scatter across my face. It doesn’t feel right. There should be robins building nests, not geese scurrying south. The spiky dahlias should be just poking their green noses through the soil. Normally I love the bittersweet brilliance of fall, but today—for the first time in ages, there’s no room in me for mourning.
I want springtime and sunshine.
“Poor lovelies.” I catch myself cooing foolishly at the flowers. Has love turned me into a dreamy, muddleheaded girl already?
Panic blares through me, and I stop abruptly, clutching at the half wall. I love him, but I can’t have him. It’s irresponsible to pretend I can. It will only end in heartbreak for the both of us.