Page 79 of Just Imagine
For the next few days, she stayed away from the house as much as she could. At first light, she donned her britches and rode Temptation from one corner of the plantation to the next, everywhere but the spinning mill. She talked to the women about their gardens, the men about the cotton crop, and walked between the long rows of plants until the afternoon sun drove her into the refuge of the woods or to the banks of the pond.
But the pond was no longer a sanctuary. He’d spoiled that, too. As she sat beneath the willows, she thought about how he’d managed to take everything from her: home, money, and finally her body. Except she’d given that freely.
Sometimes the memory filled her with rage. Other times she’d feel edgy and restless. When that happened, she’d jump on Temptation and ride him until she was exhausted.
One day slid into another. Kit had never been a coward, but she couldn’t find the courage to face her callers, so she left them to Miss Dolly. Although she didn’t think the Cogdells would ever reveal the details of that awful wedding, the rest was bad enough. She’d married the enemy in a hurry-up affair that would leave them all counting on their fingers for months to come. Just as embarrassing was the fact that her husband had abandoned her the morning after their marriage, and she had no idea when he’d return.
Only once did she agree to receive company, and that was early Saturday afternoon, when Lucy announced that Mr. Parsell had come to call. Brandon knew how she felt about Cain, so he must realize that she’d been forced into the marriage. Maybe he’d thought of a way to help her.
She quickly changed from her britches into the dress she’d worn the day before and hurried downstairs. He rose from the settee to greet her.
“Mrs. Cain.” He bowed formally. “I came to extend my felicitations as well as the best wishes of my mother and my sisters. I’m certain that you and Major Cain will be very happy.”
Kit felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rising inside her. How like him it was to behave as if there’d never been anything between them but the most distant of friendships.
“Thank you, Mr. Parsell,” she replied, somehow managing to match his tone. Propelled by her pride, she flawlessly played the role for which the Templeton Academy had trained her. For the next twenty minutes, she spoke of the condition of the roses that grew near the front of the house, the health of the president of the Planters and Citizens Bank, and the possibility of purchasing a new carpet for the church.
He responded to each topic and never once attempted to refer to any of the events that had transpired between them less than a week before. As he took his leave of her, precisely twenty minutes after his arrival, she wondered why it had taken her so long to admit to herself what an idiot he was.
She spent the evening curled in a chair in the rear sitting room, her old, battered copy of Emerson’s Essays on her lap. Across from her was the mahogany desk where Sophronia worked on the housekeeper’s records. Cain would expect her to take over now, but Sophronia wouldn’t appreciate her interference, and Kit had no interest in counting linens. She didn’t want to be mistress of the house. She wanted to be mistress of the land.
As night settled in, Kit sank deeper into despair. He could do anything he wanted to her plantation, and she couldn’t stop him. He cared much more about the mill than the fields. Maybe he’d decide to slice up the fields to make way for a road. And he was a gambler. What if he squandered the money from her trust? What if he decided to sell off the land for ready cash?
The clock in the hallway chimed midnight and her thoughts grew darker. Cain had always been a wanderer. He’d already lived here for three years. How long would it be before he decided to sell Risen Glory and set off for someplace new?
She tried to tell herself Risen Glory was safe for now. Cain was preoccupied with the spinning mill, so he wasn’t likely to do anything drastic right away. Even though it went against her nature, she had to bide her time.
Yes, Risen Glory was safe, but what about her? What about that hot pounding in her blood when he touched her? Or the heightened awareness that shot through her every time she saw him? Was history repeating itself? Was Weston blood calling out to Cain blood as it had done once before in the union that had nearly destroyed Risen Glory?
“Katharine Louise, why aren’t you in bed?” Miss Dolly stood in the doorway, her frilly nightcap askew, her face puckered with worry.
“Just restless. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Let me give you some laudanum, dear, so you can sleep.”
“I don’t need any.”
“You need your rest, Katharine. Now, don’t be stubborn.”
“I’ll be fine.” She led Miss Dolly upstairs, but the older woman refused to leave her alone until Kit forced down several teaspoons of the laudanum.
She fell asleep, only to have her rest disturbed by opium-induced shadow-images. Toward dawn, a great tawny lion came to her. She smelled his male, jungle scent, but instead of feeling fear, she wove her fingers through his mane and pulled him closer.
Gradually, he changed into her husband. He whispered love words and began to caress her. Through the fabric of her dream, she felt his skin. It was warm and as moist as her own.
“I’ll fill you now,” her dream-husband whispered.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”
He entered her then, and her body caught fire. She moved with him, and climbed with him, and just before the flames exploded, she called out his name.
The laudanum dream was still with her when she awakened the next morning. She gazed up at the pink-and-green silk bed hangings, trying to shake off the groggy aftereffects of the medicine. How real it had seemed . . . the lion who’d changed beneath her hands into—
She shot up in bed.
Cain stood at her washstand shaving before the mirror that hung above it. He wore only a white towel draped around his hips. “Good morning.”
She glared at him. “Go into your own room to shave.”
