Page 60 of Just Imagine
Baron had observed it all, a bewildered, lonely child. In the months after his mother’s departure, he stood by helplessly, watching his father being consumed by his unhealthy obsession for his faithless wife. Filthy, unshaven, drowning in alcohol, Nathaniel Cain sealed himself inside the lonely, decaying mansion and constructed elaborate fantasies of everything his wife had not been.
Only once had the boy rebelled. In a fit of anger, he’d spewed out all his resentment against the mother who’d abandoned them both. Nathaniel Cain had beaten him until his nose streamed with blood and his eyes had swollen shut. Afterward, he didn’t seem to remember what had happened.
The lesson Cain had learned from his parents had been a hard one, and he’d never forgotten it. He’d learned that love was a weakness that twists and perverts.
Hard-earned lessons were the best-remembered. He gave away books when he finished them, traded horses before he could grow too fond of them, and stood by the window of the library at Risen Glory staring out at the hot, still night thinking about his father, his mother . . . and Kit Weston.
He found little comfort in the fact that so many of the emotions she aroused in him were angry ones. It bothered him that she made him feel anything at all. But since the afternoon she’d invaded his house, veiled, mysterious, and wildly beautiful, he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. And today, when he’d touched her breasts, he’d known there’d never been a woman he’d wanted more.
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.”
