Page 61 of Just Imagine
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.
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.
