Page 32 of Savage Blooms (Unearthly Delights #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Finley

The Americans were more than happy to sample the wine while they waited for Eileen to make her entrance at dinner, so Finley met her in the hallway to steal a private moment.

Old habits died hard, and they had been brought up sharing kisses in secret, careful not to rouse the ire of Eileen’s parents.

James and Jennifer Kirkfoyle loved Finley desperately, but everyone knew well enough that there was no future for the clan heir and the groundskeeper’s son.

Eileen was supposed to marry someone better born, definitely a boy and not a girl, and probably a friend of her mother’s family to bring in more English money to pad the dwindling Kirkfoyle coffers.

Those had always been the parameters. A family-approved match had always been a foregone conclusion, even when Eileen and Finley began spending a concerning amount of time together.

Their puppy-dog romance had been discouraged, and then, when they had gotten older and their love had deepened and grown thorns, Eileen’s father had reminded her that it was a selfish dereliction of duty to be running around with the hired help.

She needed to marry well, at the very least someone with enough money to shore up Craigmar against bankruptcy and dissolution.

Eileen was deep in Finley’s heart by that point, like a sticky burr in a wool sweater, and there was no extracting her.

So they had learned to lie. Eileen had made up a story about breaking things off, and they had gotten very good at pretending they barely knew each other in mixed company.

Even now, with no one alive to judge them, they still lived separate lives, carried on their respective duties.

Often, their lovemaking had a rushed, illicit tinge to it, as though they might be caught out at any moment.

Some days, it was thrilling, an elaborate game of fantasy and fulfillment that would never end. Other days, like today, it only made Finley sad.

“You decided to stick around to eat with us,” Eileen said, stopping a few inches shy of Finley. She was still wearing that tight pencil skirt and the nylons with the line up the back, but she had changed into a silk shirt and let down her hair.

“I’m not going to skip out on a dinner I helped prepare,” Finley said.

Eileen was used to getting her way and she was certainly getting that, as far as Adam was concerned.

Finley had no illusions that his position with Eileen was becoming more precarious the longer Adam was at Craigmar, and he knew it may be further jeopardized if Eileen’s vision for them all came to fruition.

Finley still had his pride, though. He wasn’t going to beg, and he wasn’t going to simper.

He was going to conduct himself with decorum. “I’ve got to eat some time.”

“Ah yes,” she said. “Wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea about you wanting to spend time with me.”

“I saw you yesterday,” Finley said, exasperated.

“So tell me you aren’t jealous.”

“You know I am.”

“Then tell me you forgive me.”

Finley cupped the base of her skull in his hand and rubbed his thumb across Eileen’s lower lip.

“Your games are going to be the death of us both,” he said. “When are you going to tell that American boy what you actually want with him? I’m asking you to get it over with.”

“In time, my love. I swear it.”

Finley pressed his thumb into Eileen’s mouth, hooking it over her straight, white bottom teeth like she was a horse to be bridled. She closed her lips around him and sucked obediently, letting him hold her captive.

“Then I don’t forgive you,” he said, almost sweetly.

He removed his finger from her mouth, leaving her empty and fuming.

“We should get in there,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and turning to walk into the dining room. Eileen caught him by the wrist.

“Be mine tonight,” she said, voice suddenly urgent, suddenly honest. There was no artifice in her right now and that, on its own, was enough to give Finley pause. “Let them see. I don’t care.”

Finley furrowed his brows. He had always had the most to lose in this arrangement and he had always been the more careful one, reining in Eileen’s devil-may-care streak.

“We’re discreet for a reason, Eileen. They’ve seen more than enough already.”

“Hang discretion and fuck reason. I want to be yours, in our way. Adam and Nicola have no power over us. Besides, I can act how I please in my own house.”

Finley examined her for a moment, searching for the tiniest hint of a lie or the whisper of a scheme. Finding none, he put his mouth close to her ear, lowering his voice.

“You’ve always been excited by the idea of an audience, anyway.”

She laced her fingers through his, and warmth bloomed in Finley’s chest. This was a pleasure he was almost always denied, carrying on with Eileen, his Isla, in broad daylight, in full view of God and all the saints.

“I love you,” she said, the words slipping from her mouth like smooth river stones. They were words she sometimes had a hard time forming, but they were all the more precious when she managed them.

“And I love you,” Finley replied, squeezing her fingers.

Without another word, they strolled into the dining room hand in hand.

Adam did a double take when they walked into the room (a very small one, to his credit), but Nicola outright stared. Like a tiny display of tenderness between groundskeeper and lord was more shocking than the wildest carnal imaginings.

“Hey,” Adam said. “We already made a dent in the wine.”

“Fine as long as I get a glass,” Eileen said.

“I’m cutting you off after two,” Finley said, slipping easily into the weathered role of dominant. It thrilled him every time Eileen yielded to him, even if he wished she would do it a little more often without the trappings of kink. “You can have one with dinner and one afterwards.”

Finley poured Eileen a generous portion from the bottle, knowing she would get bratty if he skimped. He passed her the glass, leaned over to kiss her cheek, then took his seat at the head of the table.

Eileen, with a practiced grace, sank down to sit at his feet. Finley settled a possessive hand on the back of her neck, and Eileen smiled up at him, perfectly content.

This did feel good, he had to admit. Having her as his own not only in private, but in full view of Adam and Nicola.

Adam may have a connection to Eileen Finley couldn’t compete with, but Finley had been in her veins since they were children, and entrusted with her care and keeping for nearly a decade. That counted for something too.

Nicola was staring at Finley with a wild shine in her eyes and a strawberry hue in the tips of her ears.

Even with Eileen’s skin warm beneath his hand, he couldn’t help but marvel at Nicola, how openly she wore her heart on her sleeve.

It was as though she had never learned to be embarrassed of wanting things, like she had never even heard of shame.

“Have you been able to get much work done, Adam?” Finley asked, scooping a slice of duck from the platter in the center of the table and depositing it onto a bone china plate.

There was a puerile delight in making Adam and Nicola squirm, but he didn’t want to make them outright uncomfortable.

Best to keep conversation light and familiar. “The wifi can be spotty out here.”

It was all Adam could do to nod. Finley deftly buttered a small piece of bread and handed it to Eileen, who took a delicate, ladylike bite. Even sitting on the ground, her table manners were impeccable.

Finley speared a bit of duck onto his fork and held it out for Eileen, who ate from his hand as though she were a kitten.

Finley wiped a droplet of sauce from her lip with his thumb, then brought his thumb up to his mouth and sucked it off.

Maybe it was overkill. Finley didn’t much care.

It felt good to show the Americans exactly who Eileen belonged to, even if such a display was a little mean-spirited.

The more time Finley spent with Eileen, the meaner she made him, and the more pleasure she took in his cruelty. Finley was sometimes worried about that, but most days it felt too good to question.

Adam shifted in his seat, draping his napkin across his lap.

“Um, we’ve been having a very nice time,” Nicola said, doing her damnedest to bridge over the awkward silence. “I’ve been able to get some writing done.”

“That’s lovely,” Finley said, as though he were the host instead of Eileen. “Are you still working on your goblin book?”

Nicola began chatting amiably about the illustrations she was working on, which thawed Adam enough for him to eventually share more about the website he was building.

Dinner passed more smoothly after that. Finley allowed Eileen to retrieve herself a pillow to sit on after it became apparent they would linger over the meal – her submission tonight was supposed to be pleasurable, cozy even, and he wasn’t trying to punish her with an uncomfortable position – and he let her speak of her own accord as well.

But she mostly listened, pacing herself with her wine, and Finley was pleased with her on both counts.

Like a rare and precious metal, Eileen was at her brightest when Finley applied heat and force.

“I thought we might play a game, after dinner,” Eileen said, taking a prim sip of her wine as she stood to help clear the dishes.

Finley had loosened the reins on the scene once the final bite was finished, leaning down to murmur that she could stand whenever she wished, but she still lingered close at his side, glancing over for his approval before picking up the sauce dish.

“A game?” Nicola asked, gathering up the silverware.

“Yes,” Eileen said with a smirk. Finley knew that look. She had mischief brewing inside her. “A game called Confession.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever played that one,” Adam said as he appeared from the kitchen.

“It’s one of Eileen’s favorites,” Finley said, a little apologetically. When he had agreed to power exchange with her tonight with an audience, he hadn’t thought she would want to play that game. He should probably nip this in the bud, or at least warn Adam that—

“It’s very easy to play,” Eileen said brightly, swirling her wine in her glass. “And, if played correctly, very illuminating.”

“I want to play,” Nicola chirped.

“Adam?” Eileen asked, pinning Adam to the spot with her eyes in that way that always made Finley feel breathless and panicked and so, so excited. Did Adam feel the same way, being looked at by her like that?

He should say something. He should tell them. But if he put up any fight at all, he would look prudish and boring and Eileen would win. And if there was one thing that Finley would rather die than allow, it was to let Eileen Kirkfoyle beat him at anything.

“I’m down if everybody else is,” Adam said, totally oblivious.

“Great,” Finley said, tossing back the rest of his wine.

Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.