Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One

by Jessica Spotswood

  He’s arranged this.

  For all my brave talk of asking him to stay in Chatham, I don’t feel ready.

  “Cate,” he says, like he relishes the taste of my name on his tongue. He stands tall, his shoulders broad, his stance wide. “I know this is your favorite place. That’s why I wanted to say this here.”

  I open my mouth, but he puts up a hand to forestall me, chuckling. “Just listen for a minute. I love you, Cate. I’ve always loved you. Ever since you took that dare and walked that pigpen fence.” He laughs a little. “The sky is just the color of your eyes today, do you know that?”

  “Paul, I—”Stop,I want to say.Don’t do this. Please.

  He plows ahead, heedless. “I know this is unconventional. I haven’t had a chance to speak to your father yet. But I thought it might suit you, asking you first. I can’t imagine he’d object if you were happy. I think Icanmake you happy, Cate. And I would be truly honored—that is to say, you’d make me very happy if—will you be my wife?”

  My eyes fall to the ground in confusion. Paul would be a good husband to me. He would be a partner, not a master. He makes me laugh. He’s handsome. And I do love him.

  I should say yes. I should say yes and then I should ask whether he would consider living in Chatham, at least for the first few years of our marriage. Just until Tess marries. After that, she’d be safer. But I can’t ask Paul to give up his job and rearrange his life for an engagement that I might well be forced to break. It’s not fair to him.

  Or to me. I think back to my conversation in the carriage with Maura. I don’t feel butterflies when Paul says my name, when he touches my hand. I don’t miss him on the days he doesn’t come to call. Whatever being in love is—I don’t think I feel that way toward him.

  I can’t bring myself to say yes. Not yet. Perhaps in a few weeks, I’ll be able to find a way around Elena and the Sisters. Perhaps when I’ve forgotten the way Finn’s kisses made me feel—how tempted I was to tellhimabout the magic—I’ll be able to say yes in good conscience.

  “Paul, I—” How can I put him off in a way that won’t hurt him?

  But the moment I look up, he knows. He sets his jaw in that way he has and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve rushed things. I was afraid I was too late, but you need more time.”

  I feel a great glad swell of relief. “Yes,” I say, finally meeting his eyes.

  “You’re not saying no, though?” His eyes are worried, vulnerable.

  “No,” I assure him. “I’m not saying no.”

  “Good.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Am I allowed to try to convince you?”

  How? Will he suggest setting up an architecture practice in Chatham? My head spins, pragmatism warring against Maura’s ridiculous notions of romance.

  “Certainly.” I smile, tilting my head at him in that coquettish way Sachi has. “What did you have in mind?”

  One of his arms snakes out and pulls me close, wrapping me right up against him. His mouth slants down, moving urgently against mine. My body responds; I feel warm and wanted. My arms lock around his neck; my mouth moves tentatively against his. When he takes my lower lip into his mouth, heat simmers through me. I press closer. Kissing is nice.

  But even as the thought skims across my mind, I’m pushing against his chest. Remembering a kiss that felt more than nice—it feltright.

  Paul steps away. He’s smiling. “Was that all right?” he asks. “You don’t feel the need to slap me for being too forward, do you?”

  “No,” I say, my eyes falling to his boots. “I think I can forgive you.”

  “Good. So. You’re not certain if you want to marry me,” he says. “But you like kissing me well enough?”

  “Do we have to talk about this right now?” I beg, mortified. How is a lady meant to respond to a question like that? He is handsome, and he knows it. In another life—a life where I wasn’t a witch, perhaps, and had no need of Belastras’ bookshop and the secrets hidden there—it might have been my first kiss. It might have been enough.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, cocky as ever. “Is it moving to the city that worries you? I know you’d miss your flowers, but there are grand parks. We could go for walks every evening when I got home from work. I could take you down to the shipyards, too, to watch the ships coming in. I’d love to show you New London, Cate. It’s magnificent.”

  His voice is quick and passionate. He adores it there, that’s clear. He won’t change his mind. And I won’t ask him to.

  “My sisters,” I say, fumbling for excuses. “Things have changed since Mother died. I feel responsible for them. Moving so far away—it’s not just a few hours. If something happened and I wasn’t here—”

  Paul looks puzzled. “But Maura told me she’s planning to join the Sisterhood. If she does, she’ll be right there in New London.”

  She did, did she? “There’s Tess. She’s still so little—and Father’s never home anymore. How could I leave her here with just a governess and a housekeeper to look after her?”

  “She could visit as often as you like.” Paul reaches out and takes my gloved hand in his. “Cate, I love that you’re so devoted to your sisters, but is there something else that’s giving you pause? Tell me the truth.”

  I stare at the rose petals the wind has scattered along the cobblestones. “No,” I lie. “Nothing else.”

  Paul searches my face for the truth. “Are you certain? It’s not—it’s not because of Belastra, is it?”

  “What?” I gasp, tugging my hand away from his. “No!”

  “I know you, Cate. You can deny it all you want, but the way you look at him—”

  “How?” Have I been telegraphing my feelings all over town? Doeseveryoneknow?

  “Like you’re fascinated.”

  “I don’t know what you mean!”

  “Cate. Show me the respect of not lying to my face, at least.”

  I whirl around, turning my back to him. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this entirely mortified. I’m half tempted to try and vanish myself.

  Paul lays a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  I peer up at him quizzically.

  “I had a bit of a failed romance in the city,” he confesses.

  “You fell in love with someone?” I’m not certain of my feelings for him, but I have to admit I don’t relish the idea of him courting anyone else.

  He turns me to face him. “I thought so, at the time. Her name was Penelope. She was very proper and very pretty. I met her at a colleague’s dinner party. After dinner, she played the piano and sang for us. She had the voice of an angel.”

  I picture this Penelope with hair like ripe wheat and giant, innocent blue eyes. The sort of girl who’s never had to worry about anything more pressing than hair ribbons or a torn hem. I hate her.

  I shove a strand of hair back under my hood—perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. “What happened?”

  “I called on her a few times, squired her home from services once or twice, and was nearly ready to propose. Then she announced her intention to marry someone else. I was devastated. Drank myself into a stupor. Truly, though, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  “What? Why?” I want to poke her imaginary eyes out for hurting him.

  “We were too different,” Paul says. “When she wasn’t singing, she was quiet as a mouse. Never a word to say for herself. Her blushes were captivating in theory, but once the newness wore off, she would have driven me insane with boredom.”

  I bite my lip. “How do you know it’s not the same with me?”

  “Because we’re alike, you and I. We want adventures, not quiet nights at home by the fire. I think I could make you happy if you’d let me.” Paul’s voice goes gravelly, and he takes both my hands in his. “Just promise me you won’t go off and marry someone else. Can you do that? For your old friend, at least?”

  I squeeze his
hands, grateful for his understanding. “Yes, of course. I promise.”

  “Good.” Paul pulls me into his arms again, but this time he just holds me. I tuck my head under his chin. He smells like pine trees and horses and leather. It’s very comforting; I let myself sink into his embrace.

  Then there’s a clatter of metal behind us. We spring apart.

  Finn. He’s got a pail of weeds in one hand; he’s picking up his shovel with the other. When our eyes meet, he stumbles away, fast despite his twisted ankle.

  My heart stops for a moment, then gallops on ahead.

  I want to chase right after him. I don’t care how big a fool I’d look.

  But I can’t. I’d be no better than that Penelope. Paul’s just proposed; I can’t go chasing after another man, one who may not even want me.

  Paul wants me; he’s been clear as crystal about it. He loves me, and he’s my best friend. I push aside what I want.

  Paul and I watch Finn’s retreating figure until he disappears behind the hedges. Then I turn to Paul, smiling up at him through the horror in my heart. “Will you walk me back inside, please?”

  CHAPTER 14

  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

  across the fields to his house. He waves a hand, and I wave back.

  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 tocare.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 isapologizingfor 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 gotcarried 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 act
ing 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 utterlyright.

  “No,” I say slowly, raising my eyes to his. “I don’t feel compromised at all.”