Catherine felt herself start to relax. Decorations were a safe topic and they conjured up a host of memories. The countess used to let the children have a sneak peek at the ballroom every year before the guests arrived and they were shooed up to the nursery. ‘I remember the year your mother had the poinsettia theme.’ The columns had been draped in white swathes of fabric and the niches throughout the room had been filled with vases of the imported plant. The effect had been simple and stunning.
‘Euphorbia pulcherrima.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘That’s the Latin name for poinsettia. It means the most beautiful of the euphorbiae. It has other names, too, like lobster flower, the flame flower.’ The low timbre of Finn’s voice, private, intimate even though they were in a crowd, created the impression the flower wasn’t all he was discussing in terms of beauty. A delightful shiver went through her, although she knew better than to allow such a reaction. Her mother’s warning haunted the recesses of her mind. But she had no time for warnings as Finn ushered her inside the ballroom. A little gasp of awe escaped her as she took in the decorations of white and silver—and was that ice? It was. They perfectly mirrored the weather outside and created the ideal winter scene inside.
‘It’s a winter fantasy,’ Catherine breathed.
‘That’s exactly what my mother calls it—her winter-fantasy ball.’ Finn chuckled. ‘I’ll tell her you approve.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ And it was. She could hardly take it all in. White gauzy fabric spangled in silver wrapped the columns, white hothouse roses adorned the niches in tall, elegant gold-and-silver urns. Even the ceiling was decorated, hung with giant glittery silver snowflakes and long crystals that simulated icicles. But the pièce de résistance was the orchestra dais set up at the top of the ballroom, where bunting held with navy-blue bows denoted the orchestra and two giant-swan ice sculptures graced each end like bookends. The effect was stunning and drew the eye down the length of the ballroom.
She and Finn took their place at the head of their set with three other couples and the dance began. ‘Our first dance together,’ Finn whispered with a smile as they began the opening figure. ‘Le pantalon.’
‘The trousers,’ she said, trying to keep her mind on the dance. They were the lead couple so they danced the pattern first. It was difficult though when her eyes wanted to watch Finn and trousers was the very last thing she should be thinking of, especially his.
‘You seem distracted,’ Finn said when their portion of the set came to an end, his voice low, his presence potent beside her. She could smell the spicy, cinnamon scent of him, warm and welcoming, and yet the spice was a reminder of danger lurking beneath the surface for the unsuspecting.
‘You’ve surprised me.’ Catherine kept her eyes on the other dancers. He had surprised her. He was proving very good at flirtation with those dark eyes of his that knew just how to skim a woman’s body with their gaze and his casual touches that conveyed confidence, offered provocative suggestion of other touches, more private touches that might be had under different circumstances. It was common wisdom in the Paris salons that a man who knew how to touch a woman in public would not disappoint in a more intimate setting. Catherine flushed; the thought of sharing such a setting with Finn heated her cheeks, the forbidden question rising to the fore: what would Finn be like as a lover?
It was a hypothetical question at best. She knew women in Paris who took lovers, but Paris was a far different society than England. Here, she should not even think of such a deed and yet the very thought would not leave her. Throughout the second figure, through La poule and La pastourelle movements of the quadrille and into the finale, the thought persisted: the image of Finn naked in the candlelight, his body covering hers, his hands clasping hers as they reached over her head.
She had to stop. These wanderings of the mind were precisely the dangers her mother had warned her of. Finn bowed to her, the quadrille over and thankfully so. Lord Richard claimed her for the next set and Finn moved off, hopefully unaware of her imaginings. She wouldn’t see Finn again until the third waltz, the dance that would close the evening hours away. She had her reprieve.
Chapter Eight
Before she knew it, Channing had claimed his waltz, the first one of the night while Lady Alina glowered a little further down the floor in the arms of the squire who looked positively thrilled at his good luck. To their left, Finn took up a position with Lady Eliza. On the sidelines, Catherine noted, his parents looked on with smiles.