Just Imagine

  He glanced over at his desk. His papers didn’t seem to have been disturbed tonight, so she hadn’t slipped in when he’d gone out to the stable to check on the horses. He probably should have locked up the ledgers and bankbooks after he’d found evidence of her snooping, but he’d felt a perverse sense of satisfaction in witnessing her dishonesty.

  Her month was almost up. If tonight was any indication, she’d be marrying that idiot Parsell soon. Before that happened, he had to find a way to free himself from the mysterious hold she had on him.

  If only he knew how.

  He heard a soft sound in the hallway. She was roaming again, and tonight he was in no mood for it. He stalked across the carpet and twisted the doorknob.

  Kit spun around as the library door crashed open. Cain stood on the other side. He looked rough, elegant, and thoroughly untamed.

  She wore only a thin nightdress. It covered her from neck to toe, but after what had passed between them in her bedroom earlier, she felt too exposed.

  “Insomnia?” he drawled.

  Her bare feet and unbound hair made her feel like a hoyden, especially after spending the evening with Veronica Gamble. She wished she’d at least put on her slippers before she’d come downstairs “I—I didn’t eat much at dinner. I was hungry, and I wanted to see if there was any cherry pie left.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a piece myself. We’ll look together.” Even though he spoke casually, she sensed something calculating in his expression, and she wished she could keep him from following her to the kitchen. She should have stayed in her room, but she’d barely eaten anything for dinner, and she’d hoped a late-night snack would fill her stomach enough so she could sleep.

  Patsy, the cook, had left the pie under a towel on the table. Kit cut a small piece she no longer wanted for herself, then handed Cain the pie plate. He grabbed a fork and carried everything over to the kitchen door. As she sat at the table, he opened it to let in the night air, then leaned against the doorframe to eat.

  After only a few bites, he set aside the pie. “Why are you wasting your time with Parsell, Kit? He’s a stiff.”

  “I knew you’d say something unpleasant about him.” She jabbed her fork at the crust. “You were barely civil all evening.”

  “While you, of course, were a model of courtesy to Mrs. Gamble.”

  Kit didn’t want to talk about Veronica Gamble. The woman confused her. Kit disliked her, yet she was also drawn to her. Veronica had traveled everywhere, read everything, and met fascinating people. Kit could have talked to her for hours.

  She felt the same kind of confusion when she was with Cain.

  She toyed with one of the cherries. “I’ve known Mr. Parsell since I was a child. He’s a fine man.”

  “Too fine for you. And I mean that as a compliment, so pull in your claws.”

  “Must be one of those Yankee compliments.”

  He moved away from the door, and the walls of the kitchen seemed as if they were closing in on her. “Do you really think that man would ever let you ride a horse in britches? Or trounce through the woods in your skirts? Do you think he’ll let you curl up on the sofa with Sophronia’s head in your lap, or show Samuel how to shoot marbles, or flirt with every man you see?”

  “Once I marry Brandon, I won’t flirt with anyone.”

  “Flirting’s in your nature, Kit. Sometimes I don’t even think you know you’re doing it. I’ve been told that Southern women acquire the knack in the womb, and you don’t seem to be any exception.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment. You need to look elsewhere for a husband.”

  “Strange. I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

  “No, but your future bridegroom will have to ask for my permission—that is, if you want to see the money in your trust.”

  Kit’s heart skipped a beat. The stubborn set of Cain’s jaw frightened her. “That’s only a formality. You’ll give your permission to whomever I choose.”

  “Will I?”

  The pie clotted in Kit’s stomach. “Don’t toy with me about this. When Mr. Parsell asks permission to marry me, you’ll grant it.”

  “I can’t fulfill my responsibility as your guardian if I believe you’re making a mistake.”

  She shot to her feet. “Were you fulfilling your responsibility this evening in my room when you . . . when you touched me?”

  A sizzle of electricity coursed between them.

  He looked down, then slowly shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t.”

  The memory of his hands on her breasts was too recent, and she wished she hadn’t brought it up. She turned away. “Where Brandon’s concerned, I know my mind.”

  “He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t even like you very much.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “He desires you, but he doesn’t approve of you. Ready cash is hard to come by in the South. What he wants is your trust fund.”

  “That’s not true.” She knew Cain was right, but she denied it. She had to make certain he wouldn’t stand in the way of her marriage.

  “Marrying that stiff-necked bastard would be the biggest mistake of your life,” he said finally, “and I’m not going to be part of it.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  But as she stared at that implacable face, she felt Risen Glory slipping away from her. The panic that had been nibbling at her all evening clamped down hard. Her plan . . . her dreams. Everything was slipping away. She couldn’t let him do this. “You have to let him marry me. You don’t have any choice.”

  “I sure as hell do.”

  She heard her voice coming from far away, almost as if it didn’t belong to her. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but . . .” She licked her dry lips. “The relationship between Mr. Parsell and myself has progressed . . . too far. There must be a wedding.”

  Everything went still between them. She watched as he took in her meaning. The planes of his face grew hard and unrelenting. “You’ve given him your virginity.”

  Kit managed a slow, unsteady nod.

  Cain heard a noise roaring inside his head. A great internal howl of outrage. It echoed in his brain, clawed at his skin. At that moment he hated her. Hated her for not being what he’d believed—wild and pure. Pure for him.

  The nearly forgotten echo of his mother’s scathing laughter rattled in his head as he fled the stifling confines of the kitchen and stormed outside.

  12

  Magnus drove the buggy home from church with Sophronia at his side and Samuel, Lucy, and Patsy in the back. When they’d first left church, he’d tried to make conversation with Sophronia, but she’d been brusque, and he’d soon given up. Kit’s return had upset her, although he didn’t understand why. There was something strange about that relationship.

  Magnus looked over at her. She sat at his side like a beautiful statue. He was tired of all the mysteries surrounding her. Tired of his love for her, a love that was bringing him more misery than happiness. He thought of Deborah Williams, the daughter of one of the men working on the cotton mill. Deborah had made it clear that she wanted Magnus’s attention.

  Damn it! He was ready to settle down. The war was behind him, and he had a good job. Risen Glory’s small, neat overseer’s house situated at the edge of the orchard pleased him. His days of hard drinking and easy women were over. He wanted a wife and children. Deborah Watson was pretty. Sweet-natured, too, unlike the vinegar-tongued Sophronia. She’d make a good wife for him. But instead of cheering him up, the idea made him feel even more unhappy.

  Sophronia didn’t smile at him often, but when she did, it was like a rainbow unfolding. She read newspapers and books, and she understood things in a way that Deborah never could. Most of all, he’d never heard Deborah sing when she was going about her work the way Sophronia did.

  He noticed a crimson-and-black buggy coming toward them. It was too new to belong to any of the locals. Probably a Northerner’s. A carpetbagger, most likely.
br />   Sophronia straightened, and he looked more closely at the vehicle. As it drew nearer, he recognized the driver as James Spence, the owner of the new phosphate mine. Magnus hadn’t had any contact with the man, but from what he’d heard, he was a good businessman. He paid an honest day’s wage and didn’t cheat his customers. Still, Magnus didn’t like him, probably because Sophronia so obviously did.

  Magnus saw that Spence was a good-looking man. He tipped a biscuit-colored beaver hat, revealing a thick head of black hair, parted neatly in the center, and a set of trim side whiskers. “Good morning, Sophronia,” he called out. “Nice day, isn’t it?” He didn’t even glance at the other occupants.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Spence,” Sophronia replied with a sassy smile that set Magnus’s teeth on edge and made him want to shake her.

  Spence replaced his hat, the buggy passed, and Magnus remembered this wasn’t the first time Spence had shown an interest in Sophronia. He’d seen the two of them talking when he’d driven her into Rutherford to shop.

  His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins. It was time they talked.

  The opportunity came late that afternoon, when he was sitting with Merlin on the front porch of his house, enjoying his day of leisure. A flicker of blue in the orchard caught his attention. Sophronia, in a pretty blue dress, was walking through the cherry trees, gazing up into the branches and probably trying to decide whether there was enough fruit left to justify another picking.

  He rose and sauntered down the steps. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he ambled into the orchard. “Looks like you might as well let the birds enjoy those cherries,” he said when he reached her.

  She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, and she whirled around. “What do you mean, sneakin’ up on me like that?”

  “Wasn’t sneakin’. I guess I’m just naturally light on my feet.”

  But Sophronia refused to respond to his bantering. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “That’s too bad, because I’m talkin’ to you anyway.”

  She turned her back to him and began to walk toward the house. With a few quick steps, he planted himself in front of her. “We can talk here in the orchard”— he kept his voice as pleasant as could be— “or you can take my arm, and we’ll walk over there to my house, and you can sit in that big ol’ rockin’ chair on my front porch while I say what I have to say.”

  “Let me by.”

  “You want to talk here? That’s fine with me.” He took her by the arm and steered her toward the gnarled trunk of the apple tree behind her, using his body to block any chance she had of sliding past him.

  “You’re makin’ a fool of yourself, Magnus Owen.” Her eyes burned with bright, golden fires. “Most men would’ve taken the hint by now. I don’t like you. When are you goin’ to get that through your thick skull? Don’t you have any pride? Doesn’t it bother you to be chasin’ after a woman who doesn’t care anything about you? Don’t you know that half the time I’m laughin’ at you behind your back?”

  Magnus flinched, but he didn’t move away. “You just go ahead and laugh at me all you want. My feelin’s for you are honest, and I’m not ashamed of them.” He rested the heel of his hand on the trunk near her head. “Besides, you’re the one should be ashamed. You sat in church this mornin’ cryin’ out praises to Jesus, and then you walked out the door, and the first thing you did was make eyes at James Spence.”

  “Don’t you judge me, Magnus Owen.”

  “That Northerner may be rich and good-lookin’, but he’s not your kind. When are you goin’ stop fightin’ what you are?”

  Magnus’s words made Sophronia ache, but not for anything would she let him see that. Instead, she tilted her head provocatively and rested it against the tree trunk. At the same time, she pushed her breasts ever so slightly forward.

  A stab of triumph shot through her at his quick intake of breath and the way his eyes drank her in. It was time she punished him for trying to interfere with her life, and she was going to punish him in the way that would hurt the most. A little ache spread inside her at the thought of causing him pain. The same ache she felt whenever he looked at her, spoke to her, or turned those soft dark eyes in her direction. She fought her weakness.

  “You jealous, Magnus?” She placed her hand on his arm and kneaded the warm, hard flesh beneath his sleeve. Touching a man usually gave her an ugly clawing feeling inside, especially if it was a white man she had to touch, but this was only Magnus, and he didn’t scare her a bit. “You wishin’ it was you instead of him I was smilin’ at? Is that what’s botherin’ you, Mistuh Overseer?”

  “What’s bothering me is watching all those wars goin’ on inside you and not being able to do anythin’ about it,” he said huskily.

  “There aren’t any wars goin’ on inside me.”

  “There’s no reason to lie to me. Don’t you understand? Lyin’ to me is just like lyin’ to yourself.”

  His gentle words cracked the chrysalis of her self-protection. He saw it happening just as he could see through the sham of her seduction to the vulnerability behind it. He saw it all, and he still knew he had to kiss her. He damned himself as a fool for not having done it sooner.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, determined not to frighten her, just as determined to have what he wanted.

  The knowledge of what was to come flickered in her golden eyes. He saw a tremor of uneasiness, a hint of defiance.

  He came nearer, then paused at the point of illusion, where his lips first sensed the warmth of hers. Instead of touching them, he feathered her skin with his warm breath.

  She waited, whether as a challenge or in resignation, he didn’t know.

  Slowly, the illusion became reality. His lips brushed hers. Tenderly, he kissed her, yearning to heal with his mouth her hidden wounds, to destroy devils, tame demons, and show her a gentle world of love and softness where evil didn’t exist. A world where tomorrow held laughter and hope that knew no color. A world where forever lived inside two loving hearts wedded in joy as one.

  Sophronia’s lips trembled under his. She felt like a trapped bird, frightened yet somehow knowing her captor wouldn’t harm her. Slowly his healing magic seeped through her pores like warm summer sun.

  He gently lifted her away from the tree and enfolded her in his arms. The maleness that had frightened her for so long didn’t seem terrifying now. How soft his mouth was. Soft and clean.

  Much too soon, he drew away from her. Her mouth felt abandoned, her skin cold despite the heat of the June afternoon. It was a mistake to meet his eyes, but she did it anyway.

  She drew a deep, shattering breath at the love and tenderness she saw there. “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please, leave me alone.”

  And then she fled, tearing across the orchard as if an army of devils were at her heels. But all the devils were inside her, and she couldn’t outrun a single one of them.

  Kit had forgotten how hot it could be in South Carolina, even in June. Heat haze shimmered in the air above the cotton fields, which were covered now with creamy white four-petal blossoms. Even Merlin had deserted her this afternoon, preferring to nap in the shadows of the hydrangeas that grew near the kitchen door.

  Kit should have done the same thing. Her bedroom was shuttered like the rest of the house to keep out the afternoon heat, but she hadn’t been able to rest there. Two days had passed since the Saturday night dinner party, but her encounter with Cain kept coming back to her.

  She hated the lie she’d told him, but even now she couldn’t think of anything else she might have said that would have guaranteed he’d give the permission she needed to marry. As for Brandon . . . She’d received a note asking her to accompany him to the Wednesday evening church social, and she was reasonably certain he’d propose to her then. No wonder she was in a fitful mood. Impulsively she turned Temptation into the trees.

  The pond lay like a small, glimmering jewel in the center of the woods, where it was safel
y tucked away from the bustle of the plantation. It had always been one of her favorite places. Even on the hottest August days, its spring-fed water was cold and clear, and the thick barrier of trees and underbrush acted like a fence around it. The spot was quiet and private, perfect for secret thoughts.

  She led Temptation to the water’s edge so he could drink his fill, then wandered around the pond’s perimeter. The willows there had always reminded her of women who’d tossed their hair forward over their heads and let the ends dip into the water. She tugged at a switch and stripped the leaves into neat stacks in her fingers.

  The lure of the water was irresistible. The workers never came near here, and Cain and Magnus had gone into town, so no one could disturb her. She threw her hat aside and tugged at her boots, then tossed off the rest of her clothes. When she was naked, she made a shallow dive from a rock at the edge and cut into the water like a silverfish. She came to the surface gasping at the cold, laughed, and dived under again.

  Eventually she settled onto her back and let her hair unfold like a fan around her head. As she floated, she closed her eyes against the flaming copper ball of sun balanced on the treetops. She felt suspended in time, part of the water, the air, the land. The sun touched the hills of her body. The water lapped at the valleys. She felt almost content.

  A bullfrog croaked. She rolled onto her stomach and swam in lazy circles. When she began to feel chilled, she headed into the shallower water at the edge and lowered her feet to the sandy bottom.

  Just as she was about to step out, she heard Temptation nicker. From the border of the woods came the answering whistle of another horse. With a curse, she scrambled up the bank and dashed toward her clothes. There was no time for undergarments. She grabbed her khaki breeches and tugged them on over her dripping legs.