To Love A Wild Irishman

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Three

Cassandra was amazed each and every time she stepped into one of her mother's parties. They were always so elegant and grand. Each and every decoration was flawlessly placed down to the very last candlestick and soup spoon. The dance hall had been transformed into a palace--or at least it resembled one with draping white fabric hanging from the ceiling and crystal chandeliers sparkling in the candle light.

Every guest was dressed like royalty. Silk dresses, full petticoats and dapper suits. Their hair was styled nicely and the low din of polite conversations filled the large room.

Cassandra glanced around for Finnegan but didn't see him anywhere. As a matter of fact her father seemed to have disappeared as well. Cassandra prayed murder was not involved in their sudden disappearance. She and Finnegan hadn't yet told her parents of their plans but perhaps her father had learned to read minds?

Cassandra had done her very best to avoid the limelight this evening. Her mother, ever the gracious host, had kept all the guests quite entertained with stories, laughter and the full band she had hired.

Cassandra had had just about all she could take of the grandness. What was wrong with simple dresses, split skirts, trousers and chambray shirts, dancing out under the stars with the dirt as your dance floor and a few men with banjos, guitars and fiddles as your musical guide? She tried to imagine her mother at a dance such as that and the image was laughable. Her mother would probably die before she'd let herself be seen acting like such a heathen.

It was time to find Finnegan, spill the beans about their plans, get herself disowned and get the hell out of this so-called good time. But where was her husband?

Cassandra slipped down a back hall and up the staircase without being noticed. Truly for a party that was supposed to be about her and Finnegan, no one seemed to care one way or the other if they were there.

She walked past closed door after closed door listening for any sound that might indicate her father was cleaning up a murder scene. She was about to turn down yet another hall when a door opened behind her. "Psst.. Little Cass?"

Cassandra turned and saw Finnegan poking his head out the doorway. He looked quite sheepish and she knew he was up to something. "Finnegan, what are you doing?"

"Can ya come here and talk to me, Cass?" Finnegan whispered, casting a furtive glance back down the hall.

Cassandra frowned and walked to the door. When she saw Finnegan's appearance below the neck her jaw dropped and she stopped instantly. "Where are your clothes?"

A flush covered his skin, from his cheeks, to his neck and clear down to her toes. Cassandra knew because she could see every inch of him as she stood there buck naked.

"My clothes are with the gent that won them off me," Finnegan replied. "Can we talk about it in here?" he urged, waving her in the room.

Cassandra frowned. "I better not find a woman in there."

"The lass already jumped out the window." Finnegan winked. "She was a bit daft and forgot that we were three stories off the ground."

"Finnegan...."

"There's not a lass, Cassandra, and ya damn well know that or you'd be floggin' me by now. Now get in here!"

Cassandra stepped into the room and stole a glance at Finnegan's round and toned backside. "I'm not complaining about the view..."

"It is a nice one, isn't it?" Finnegan agreed.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and refused to stroke his ego any further by responding. "But where are your clothes and how did someone win them off of you?"