Page 52 of Just Imagine
“The Yankees laugh at us, you know,” he went on. “They laugh because we believe in chivalry and honor. But look what happens when there’s no chivalry and when honor’s turned into a joke. They take away our land, tax us until we can’t buy bread. Radical Reconstruction is the Almighty’s curse on us.” He shook his head. “What have we done to deserve so much evil?”
Kit stared up at the twin chimneys, like great ghostly fingers. “It was the slaves,” she heard herself saying. “We’re being punished for keeping human beings in slavery.”
“Poppycock! You lived with the Yankees too long, Kit. Slavery is God’s plan. You know what the Bible says.”
She did know. She’d heard it preached often enough from the pulpit of the slave church by white ministers the plantation owners sent to remind their people that God approved of their enslavement. God had even issued instructions regarding a slave’s obligations to his master. Kit remembered Sophronia sitting by her side during these sermons, stiff and pale, unable to reconcile what she was hearing with the loving Jesus she knew.
Brandon took her arm and led her back along the overgrown path, away from the house. Their mounts were peacefully grazing in the clearing near the smokehouse. Kit walked over to a tree that had fallen long ago in a storm and sat on the trunk.
“It was a mistake bringing you here,” Brandon said as he came up beside her.
“Why?”
He stared off toward the blackened chimneys in the distance. “This makes the differences between us all the more apparent.”
“Does it? Neither of us has a home. Remember that Risen Glory’s not mine. Not yet, anyway.”
He gave her a searching look. She plucked at a piece of tree bark. “I only have a month, and then Cain’s going to force me to go back to New York.”
“I can’t tolerate the idea of your living in the same house with that man,” he said, sitting next to her on the tree trunk. “Everybody who came into the bank today was talking about it. They say Miss Calhoun’s not a fit chaperone. You watch yourself with Cain, you hear? He’s not a gentleman. I don’t like him. Don’t like him at all.”
She was warmed by Brandon’s concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
And then she deliberately tilted her face up to him, slightly parting her lips. She couldn’t let this excursion end without kissing him. It was something she had to do so she could erase Cain’s brand on her mouth.
And on your senses, a small voice whispered.
It was true. Cain’s kiss had set fires in her blood, and she needed to prove to herself that Brandon Parsell could spark those same fires.
His eyes were partially shadowed by the brushed beaver brim of his gray hat, but she could see him looking at her mouth. She waited for him to come closer, but he didn’t move. “I want you to kiss me,” she finally said.
He was shocked by her forwardness. She saw it in his frown. His attitude irritated her even as it endeared him to her.
She reached up and gently lifted off his hat, noticing as she laid it aside that there was a small red line across the upper part of his forehead from the band. “Brandon,” she said quietly, “I only have a month. There isn’t time for me to be coy.”
Even a gentleman couldn’t ignore so bold an invitation. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.
Kit noticed that his lips were fleshier than Cain’s. They were also sweeter, she decided, since they remained politely closed. This was a tender kiss compared with Cain’s. A pleasant kiss. His lips were dry, but his mustache seemed a little rough.
Her mind was wandering, and she brought her attention back to what she was doing by lifting her arms and throwing them enthusiastically around his neck.
Were his shoulders a little narrow? It must be her imagination, because they were very solid. He began trailing kisses across her cheek and the line of her jaw. His mustache scratched the sensitive skin, and she winced.
He pulled back from her. “I’m sorry. Have I frightened you?”
“No, of course not.” She swallowed her disappointment. The kiss hadn’t proved anything. Why couldn’t he set aside his scruples and do the job right?
No sooner had she thought this than she admonished herself. Brandon Parsell was a gentleman, not a Yankee barbarian.
He dropped his head. “Kit, you must know that I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world. I apologize for my lack of restraint. Women like you are to be cherished and shielded from the more sordid aspects of life.”
She felt another prickle of irritation. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I know that. But I also want you to know that if anything . . . permanent were to happen between us, I would never debase you. I’d bother you as little as possible with my own needs.”
This was something she understood. When Mrs. Templeton had spoken about Eve’s Shame, she’d told them there were husbands who were most considerate of their wives, and they should pray to marry such a man.
She was suddenly glad Brandon’s sweet kisses hadn’t stirred a raging fire in her. Her response to Cain had been nothing more than a reaction to the strange emotions of being home again.
