The thought made him feel young and foolishly happy.
The clock chimed midnight when Kit heard Cain go to his room. On Saturday she would have to leave Risen Glory. It was a blow so devastating, so unexpected, she couldn’t comprehend how to deal with it. This time there would be no schemes to sustain her as there’d been during her three years at the Academy. He’d won. He’d finally beaten her.
Rage at her powerlessness overcame her pain. She wanted vengeance. She wanted to destroy something he cared about, to ruin him as he’d just ruined her.
But there was nothing he cared about, not even Risen Glory itself. Hadn’t he turned the plantation over to Magnus while he completed his cotton mill?
The mill . . . She stopped her pacing. The mill was important to him, more important than the plantation, because it was his alone.
Devils of rage and hurt whispered to her what she could do. So simple. So perfect. So very wrong.
But no more wrong than what he’d done to her.
She found the slippers she’d kicked off hours earlier and stole from the room on bare feet. Noiselessly, she crept down the back hallways and staircases of the great house and out through the rear.
The night was clear, with just enough moonlight for her to see where she was going. She put on her slippers and made her way through the fringe of trees that surrounded the yard toward the outbuildings beyond the house.
The storage shed was dark inside. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the candle stub and matches she’d gathered from the kitchen. Once the candle was lit, she saw what she wanted and picked it up.
Even half full, the kerosene can was heavy. She couldn’t risk saddling a horse, so she’d have to carry it on foot for almost two miles. She wrapped a rag around the handle so it wouldn’t cut into her palm and let herself out of the shed.
The deep quiet of the Carolina night amplified the sound of the kerosene sloshing in the can as she walked along the dark road that led to the cotton mill. Tears slipped down her cheeks. He knew how she felt about Risen Glory. How he must hate her to banish her from her home.
She loved only three things in her life: Sophronia, Elsbeth, and Risen Glory. Her whole life had been marked by people trying to separate her from that home. What she planned to do was evil, but maybe so was she. Why else would so many people hate her so much? Cain. Her stepmother. Even her father hadn’t cared enough to defend her.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The kerosene sloshing in the can told her to turn back. Instead of listening, she clung to her despair. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A dream for a dream.
There wasn’t anything inside the cotton mill to steal, so the building wasn’t locked. She hauled the can to the second floor. With her petticoat, she gathered up the sawdust lying around and piled it at the base of a supporting post. The outer walls were brick, but a fire set here would destroy the roof and the interior walls.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress and saturated the area with kerosene. With a sob of agony, she stepped back and threw in a lighted match.
It ignited in a quick, noisy explosion. She stumbled backward toward the stairs. Great tongues of flame lashed at the wooden post. Here was the vengeance that would comfort her when she left Risen Glory.
But the destruction she’d wrought appalled her. This was ugly and hateful. It only proved that she could inflict pain as well as Cain.
She grabbed an empty burlap sack and began beating at the flames, but the fire was burning too fast. A shower of deadly sparks rained on her. Her lungs burned. She stumbled down the stairs, gulping for air. At the bottom, she fell.
Billows of smoke swept down after her. The hem of her muslin dress began to smolder. She smothered out the embers with her hands and crawled to the door.
The great bell at Risen Glory began to ring just as she felt the clean air on her face. She pushed herself up from the ground and stumbled into the trees.
The men had the fire out before it could destroy the mill, but it had damaged the second floor and much of the roof. In the predawn light, Cain stood wearily off to the side, his face streaked with soot, his clothing scorched and smoke-blackened. At his feet lay what was left of a kerosene can.
Magnus came up beside him and silently surveyed the damage. “We were lucky,” he finally said. “The rain we had yesterday kept it from spreading too fast.”
Cain stabbed at the can with the toe of his boot. “Another week and we’d have been installing the machinery. The fire would have gotten that, too.”
Magnus looked down at the can. “Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He looked up at the gaping roof. “I’m hardly the most popular man in town, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that someone decided to get back at me. But why did they wait so long?”
“Hard to say.”
“They couldn’t have found a better way to hurt me. I sure as hell don’t have the money to rebuild.”
“Why don’t you go back to the house and get some rest? Maybe things’ll look better in the morning.”
“In a minute. I want to take another look around first. You go ahead.”
Magnus squeezed his shoulder and headed for the house.
Twenty minutes later Cain spotted it. He bent down on one knee at the bottom of the burned staircase and picked it up in his fingers.
At first he didn’t recognize the piece of tarnished metal. The heat of the fire had melted the prongs together, and the delicate silverwork across the top had folded in on itself. But then, with a sudden wrenching in his gut, he knew it for what it was.
A silver filigree comb. One of a pair that he’d so often seen caught up in a wild tangle of black hair.
The twisting inside him turned to agony. The last time he’d seen her, both combs had been tucked into her hair.
He was crushed by a vise of raw emotion. He, of all men, should have known better than to let down the barriers he’d so carefully erected. As he stared at the misshapen piece of metal in his hand, something tender and fragile shattered inside him like a crystal teardrop. In its place was left cynicism, hatred, and self-loathing. What a weak, stupid fool he’d been.
He stood to pocket the comb, and as he walked out of his ruined mill, his face twisted with a vicious, deadly sense of purpose.
She’d had her revenge. Now it was his turn.
14
It was midafternoon before he found her. She was huddled beneath an old wagon that had been abandoned during the war in some brush at the northern edge of the plantation. He saw the soot streaks on her face and arms, the scorched places on her blue dress. Incredibly, she was asleep. He prodded her hip with the toe of his boot.
Her eyes flew open, but he was standing against the sun, and all she could see was a great menacing shape looming above her. Still, she didn’t need to see more to know who he was. She tried to scramble to her feet, but he settled his boot on her skirt, pinning her to the ground.
“You’re not going anyplace.”
Something dropped in front of her. She looked down to see the melted silver hair comb.
“Next time you decide to burn something down, don’t leave a calling card.”
Her stomach churned. She managed a hoarse whisper. “Let me explain.” It was a stupid thing to say. How could she explain? He already understood too well.
His head shifted slightly, blocking the sun for an instant. She winced as she glimpsed his eyes. They were hard, cold, and empty. Mercifully, he moved and the sun blinded her again.
“Did Parsell help you?”
“No! Brandon wouldn’t do such a—” Brandon wouldn’t, but she would. She wiped the back of her hand over her dry lips and tried to get up, but he wouldn’t move his foot.
“I’m sorry.” The words were so inadequate.
“I’m sure you’re sorry that the fire didn’t get it all.”
“No, that’s not— Risen Glory is
my life.” Her throat was raw from the smoke, and she needed water, but first she had to try to explain. “This plantation is all I ever wanted. I . . . needed to marry Brandon so I’d have control of the money in my trust fund. I was going to use it to buy Risen Glory from you.”
“And how were you going to make me sell? Another fire?”
“No. What happened last night . . . it was . . .” She tried to breathe. “I saw the ledgers, so I knew you were overextended. All it would have taken was a bad season, and you’d have gone under. I wanted to be ready. I wasn’t out to cheat you. I’d have given you a fair price for the land. And I didn’t want the mill.”
“So that’s why you were so determined to get married. I guess even a Parsell isn’t above marrying for money.”
“It wasn’t like that. We’re fond of each other. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off. What was the use? He was right.
He lifted his foot from her skirt and walked over to Vandal. There was nothing he could do to her that was worse than what he’d already planned. Sending her back to New York would be like dying.
He came toward her again, a canteen in his hand. “Drink.”
She took it from him and tilted the rim to her lips. The water was warm and metallic, but she drank her fill. Only when she handed the canteen back did she see what dangled from his fingers.
A long, thin cord.
Before she could move, he caught up her wrists and wrapped the cord around them.
“Baron! Don’t do this.”
He tied the ends to the axle of the old wagon and headed back to his horse without responding.
“Stop it. What are you doing?”
He vaulted into the saddle and spun the horse out. As suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.
The afternoon passed with agonizing slowness. He hadn’t fastened the cord so tightly that it cut into her wrists, but he’d done the job well enough that she couldn’t free herself. Her shoulders ached from the strain of her position. Mosquitoes buzzed around her, and her stomach rumbled with hunger, but the thought of food made her nauseous. She was too filled with self-hatred.
He returned at dusk and dismounted with the slow, easy grace that no longer deceived her. He’d changed into a clean white shirt and fawn trousers, all of it at odds with her filthy condition. He pulled something from his saddlebags and moved toward her, the brim of his tan hat shadowing his face.
For a moment he gazed down; then he squatted beside her. With a few deft motions, the cords she’d struggled to untie came loose. As he released her wrists, she sagged against the wagon wheel.
He tossed her the canteen he’d brought with him, then opened the bundle he’d taken from his saddlebags. Inside was a soft roll, a chunk of cheese, and a slab of cold ham. “Eat,” he said roughly.
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Do it anyway.”
Her body had a more pressing demand than food. “I need some privacy.”
He pulled a cheroot from his pocket and lit it. The blaze of the match cast a jagged, blood-red shadow across his face. The match went out. There was only the glowing ember at the tip and the ruthless slash of his mouth.
He jerked his head toward a clump of bushes barely six feet away. “Right there. No farther.”
It was too close for privacy, but she’d lost the luxury of freedom when she’d piled the sawdust around the supporting post at the mill.
Her legs were stiff. She climbed awkwardly to her feet and stumbled toward the bushes. She prayed he’d move farther away, but he stayed where he was, and she added humiliation to all the other painful emotions she was feeling.
When she was done, she returned to the wagon and the food he’d brought. She had a hard time forcing it down, and she ate slowly. He made no attempt to hurry her, but leaned against the trunk as if he had all the time in the world.
It was dark when she was done. All she could see of him was the massive outline of his body and the burning tip of the cheroot.
He walked toward his horse. The moon came out from behind a cloud and washed them in silver light. It glittered on his brass belt buckle as he turned back to her. “Climb up. You and I have an appointment.”
The flat, deadly tone of his voice chilled her. “What kind of appointment?”
“With a minister. We’re getting married.”
The world came to a thundering stop. “Married! Have you lost your mind?”
“You might say.”
“I’d marry the devil first.”
“We’re one and the same. But then, you’ll find that out.”
The night was warm, but the cold certainty in his voice made her blood chill.
“You burned down my mill,” he said, “and now you’re going to pay to rebuild it. Parsell isn’t the only one who’ll marry you for the money in your trust.”
“You’re insane. I won’t do it.”
“You’re not going to have any choice. Mount up. Cogdell’s waiting for us.”
Kit’s knees went weak with relief. Reverend Cogdell was a friend. Once she told him what Cain had in mind, he’d never go along with this. She walked over to Vandal and began to mount.
“In front of me,” he growled. “I’ve learned the hard way not to turn my back on you.”
He swung her up, then mounted himself. He didn’t speak until they’d left the clearing behind. “You’ll get no help from Cogdell, if that’s what you’re hoping. I confirmed all his worst fears, and nothing will keep him from marrying us now.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What fears are you talking about?”
“I told him you were pregnant with my child.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’ll deny it! You’ll never get away with this. “
“You can deny it all you want. I already told him you would. I explained everything to him. Since you found out you were pregnant, you haven’t been acting rationally. You even tried to kill yourself last night in the fire. That’s why I couldn’t let you have your way any longer.”
“No.”
“I told him I’d been begging you for weeks to marry me so our child wouldn’t be a bastard, but you wouldn’t agree. He said he’d do the job tonight, no matter how much you protested. You can fight all you want, Kit, but in the end it won’t do you any good.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
There was the barest softening in his voice. “He cares for you, Kit. You’ll spare him and yourself a lot of pain if you do what you’re told.”
“You go to hell!”
“Have it your way.”
But even as she cursed him, she knew she’d lost. There was an awful kind of justice in it. She’d done something evil, and now she would pay for it.
Still, she made one last effort when she saw the minister and his wife waiting for them at the old slave church. She pulled away from Cain and ran to Mary Cogdell.
“Please . . . What Cain said isn’t true. I’m not going to have a baby. We never—”
“There, there, dear. You’re upset.” Her kind brown eyes clouded with tears as she patted Kit’s shoulder. “You need to calm down for the baby’s sake.”
That was when Kit knew she couldn’t escape her fate.
The ceremony was mercifully brief. Afterward, Mary Cogdell kissed her cheek, and the minister urged her to obey her husband in all things. She dully listened to them tell Cain that Miss Dolly had settled in with them for the night, and she understood that Cain had gotten her out of the way.
He led her back outside to Vandal, and they set off for Risen Glory. The closer they got, the more her panic grew. What would he do to her when they were alone?
They reached the house. Cain dismounted and handed Vandal over to Samuel. Then he clasped Kit around the waist and lifted her to the ground. For a moment her knees threatened to buckle, and he steadied her. She recovered and pulled away.
“You have my money,” she said as Samuel disappeared. “Leave me alone.” br />
“And deny myself the pleasure of our wedding night? I don’t think so.”
Her stomach constricted. “There’s not going to be a wedding night.”
“We’re married, Kit. And tonight I’m going to bed you.”
Eve’s Shame. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she might have argued with him, but she had no words left. All she could think about was running.
Lights shone in the darkness from Magnus’s house at the edge of the orchard. She picked up her skirts and began to run toward it.
“Kit! Come back here!”
She ran faster. Trying to outrace him. Trying to outrace her own vindictiveness.
“Magnus!” she screamed.
“Kit, stop! It’s dark. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
She raced into the orchard, jumping over the jutting roots that were as familiar to her as her own palm. Behind her, he cursed as he tripped over one of those same roots. Nevertheless, he gained on her.
“Magnus!” Again she screamed.
And then it was all over. From the corner of her eye she saw Cain hurl himself through the air. He tackled her from behind.
She cried out as they both fell to the ground.
He pinioned her with his body.
She lifted her head and sank her teeth into the muscled flesh of his shoulder.
“Damn it!” He pulled her to her feet with a growl.
“What’s going on here?”
Kit gave a sob of relief at the sound of Magnus’s voice. She broke away and ran toward him. “Magnus! Let me stay at your house tonight.”
He put his hand gently on her arm and turned to Cain. “What are you doin’ to her?”
“Trying to keep her from killing herself. Or me. Right now, I don’t know which one of us is in more danger.”
Magnus looked at her questioningly.
“She’s my wife,” Cain said. “I married her not an hour ago.”
“He forced me into it!” Kit exclaimed. “I want to stay at your house tonight.”