He shook his head, easing his foot down on the accelerator. ‘They’d only have wanted to join in and make a big fuss of it.’
And, presumably, turn the day into something it wasn’t.
But repeating her marriage lines after the registrar had made Catherine feel heartbreakingly wistful, and only the stirring flutter in her stomach had kept her voice steady enough to speak in a voice as devoid of emotion as Finn’s.
‘What a lovely couple you make!’ the Registrar had cooed, and then said with a twinkle, ‘You may now kiss your wife.’
Finn had looked down at Catherine, a wry smile touching the corners of his lips as he saw the startled look which widened her green eyes. ‘Mustn’t disappoint, must we?’ he’d murmured, and bent his head to brush his mouth against hers.
As kisses went, it had been almost chaste. Not deep and hungry and greedy, like the kisses they had shared before they had made love. But, in its way, the most poignant kiss of all—gentle and full of false promise. His lips were like honey and just the touch of them had sent little shivers of longing all the way down her spine. And yet it had mocked her with all that it could have been and was not.
Not for them the urgent and giggling drive to the nearest bed to consummate the marriage. Instead she would be delivered to a house which—although it sounded quite lovely—was to be hers alone during the week, while the baby grew inside her belly.
And after that?
Resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his neck, Catherine had pulled away, giving the watching registrar an awkward smile.
They arrived at Greystones late in the afternoon, through sleepy-looking streets and past stone houses. Finn’s cottage stood at the far end of the small town, an unprepossessing low stone building which looked as though it had been there since the beginning of time.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Finn,’ she said, breathing in the sea-air and thinking what a healthy place this was to be when she compared it to her tiny flat in London.
And she was healthy, too—the bloom of pregnancy making her face seem to glo
w from within. She looked both fragile and strong, and on an impulse Finn bent and scooped her up into his arms, his eyes glittering blue fire as he looked down into her face.
‘What the h-hell do you think you’re doing?’ she spluttered.
‘Bowing to tradition, as well as bowing my head,’ he said softly, as he bent his head to carry her through the low door. ‘By carrying you over the threshold.’
He placed her down carefully, seeming reluctant to remove his hands from her waist, and Catherine stared up into his face. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘It’ll soon get round that I’ve married you. We ought to maintain at least a modicum of pretence that it’s the real thing.’
She pulled away. It hurt just as much as it was probably intended to, and Catherine had to remind herself that she had walked into this with her eyes open. She had agreed to marry him for the sake of her baby and her baby alone—but that didn’t stop her from having the occasional foolish fantasy, did it? Didn’t stop her from wishing that they didn’t have to go through a hypocritical stage-managed act just in case anyone happened to be watching them.
In an attempt to distract herself she looked around her instead. The cottage was comfortably furnished with squashy sofas, and paintings of wild and wonderful Wicklow were hung everywhere. But the walls were surprisingly faded—indeed, the whole room looked as though it could do with a coat of paint.
‘Come through here,’ said Finn, looking at the stiff and defensive set of her shoulders. ‘I’ve something to show you.’
The smaller room which led off the sitting room looked similarly tired, but Catherine’s attention was soon drawn from the state of the walls by a desk overlooking the big garden at the back of the house. Because what was on it stood out like a sore thumb. A desk with a high-tech computer, fax and telephone and state-of-the-art printer—all obviously and gleamingly new.
‘For you,’ he said simply.
Catherine looked longingly at the computer, which made her own look as if it had been invented around the same time as the wheel, then lifted her face up to him. ‘Why?’
‘A wedding present.’
‘I’ve bought nothing for you—’
He shook his head. ‘You write, don’t you? I thought that as you were going to be living in a remote place you might as well have the most modern stuff on the market to keep you in touch with the big world outside.’
‘I’ve brought my own computer,’ said Catherine stubbornly.
‘I imagined you would have done—but I doubt it has anything like the speed or the power of this one.’
She turned on him furiously. ‘You don’t have to buy me, you know, Finn!’
‘For God’s sake—do you have to be so damned defensive? You wouldn’t be here if I had been thinking with my head instead—’