Page 99 of Just Imagine
Cain ground his teeth in frustration. There was no way he could remove Kit now. He watched a much too handsome Italian eagerly step forward and kiss Kit’s hand. Then, with a soulful look, he turned it over and pressed his lips intimately to her palm.
Cain moved quickly, but Veronica was even quicker. “My dearest Baron,” she cooed softly as she dug her fingers into his arm, “you’re behaving like the most boring sort of husband. Escort me into the dining room before you do something that will only make you look foolish.”
Veronica was right. Nevertheless, it took all his will to turn his back on his wife and the Italian.
Dinner lasted for nearly three hours, and at least a dozen times during the meal, Kit’s laughter rang out as she divided her attention between Sergio and the other men who sat near her. They all flattered her outrageously and showered her with attention. Sergio seemed to be teaching her Italian. When she spilled a drop of wine, he dipped his index finger into the spot and then touched it to his lips. Only Veronica’s viselike grip kept Cain from leaping across the table.
Kit was waging a battle of her own. She’d perversely asked Lucy to pack the crystal-and-silver dress after Cain had told her he disliked it. But she hadn’t really intended to wear it. Yet when the time came to don the more appropriate jade-green velvet, Cain’s words had haunted her.
I can’t imagine anything worse than bringing some unwanted brat into this sordid mess we call a marriage . . .
She heard Cain’s laughter echo from the other end of the table and observed the attentive way he listened to Veronica. The ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars and brandy. Then it was time for the dancing to begin.
Brandon abandoned Eleanora to her father and asked Kit for the first dance. Kit gazed into his handsome, weak face. Brandon, who talked of honor, was willing to sell himself to the highest bidder. First to her for a plantation, then to Eleanora Baird for a bank. Cain would never sell himself for anything, not even his cotton mill. His marriage to her had been retribution and nothing less.
As she and Brandon moved out onto the dance floor, she saw Eleanora at the side of the room looking unhappy, and she regretted her earlier flirtatiousness. She’d drunk just enough champagne to decide she needed to settle a score for all unhappy women.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered as the music began.
“I’ve missed you, too, Kit. Oh, Lord, you’re so beautiful. It’s nearly killed me to think of you with Cain.”
She pushed closer to him and whispered mischievously, “Dearest Brandon, run away with me tonight. Let’s leave it all, Risen Glory and the bank. It will only be the two of us. We won’t have money or a home, but we’ll have our love.”
She concealed her amusement as she felt him stiffen beneath the cloth of his coat.
“Really, Kit, I—I don’t think that would be—would be wise.”
“But why not? Are you worried about my husband? He’ll come after us, but I’m certain you can take care of him.”
Brandon stumbled. “Let’s not—that is to say, I think, perhaps—too much haste—”
She hadn’t wanted to let him off the hook so easily, but a bubble of rueful laughter escaped her.
“You’re making fun of me,” he said stiffly.
“You deserve it, Brandon. You’re an engaged man, and you should have asked Eleanora for the first dance.”
He looked confused and a bit pathetic as he tried to regain his dignity. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“That’s because you don’t really like me very much, and you certainly don’t approve of me. It would be easier for you if you could just admit that all you feel for me is a most ungentlemanly lust.”
“Kit!” Such unvarnished honesty was more than he could accept. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended you,” he said tightly. His eyes caught on the crystal-spangled bodice of Kit’s gown. With great effort, he tore his gaze away and, smarting with humiliation, went in search of his fiancée.
With Brandon’s departure, Kit was quickly claimed by Sergio. As she took his hand, she glanced toward the far end of the room, where her husband and Veronica had been standing a moment before. Now only Veronica was there.
Her husband’s indifference prodded Kit to the limits of what even she considered acceptable behavior. She whirled from one partner to the next, dancing with Rebel and Yankee alike, complimenting each one extravagantly and letting several hold her too closely. She didn’t care what any of them thought. Let them talk! She drank champagne, danced every dance, and laughed her intoxicating laugh. Only Veronica Gamble sensed the edge of desperation behind it.
A few of the women were secretly envious of Kit’s bold behavior, but most were shocked. They looked around anxiously for the dangerous Mr. Cain, but he was nowhere in sight. Someone whispered that he was playing poker in the library and losing badly.
There was open speculation about the state of the Cain marriage. The couple had not once danced together. There’d been rumors that it was a marriage of necessity, but Katharine Cain’s waistline was as slim as ever, so that couldn’t be.
The poker game folded shortly before two. Cain had lost several hundred dollars, but his black mood had little to do with money. He stood in the doorway of the ballroom, watching his wife sail across the floor in the arms of the Italian. Some of her hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled in disarray around her shoulders. Her cheekbones still held their high color, and her lips were rosy smudges, as if someone had just kissed her. The baritone couldn’t seem to look away from her.
A muscle twitched in the corner of Cain’s jaw. He pushed past the couple in front of him and was about to stride onto the ballroom floor when John Hughes caught at his arm.
“Mr. Cain, Will Bonnett over there claims there wasn’t a bluecoat in the whole Union army could outshoot a Reb. What d’ya think? You ever meet a Reb you couldn’t pick off if you set your mind to it?”
This was dangerous talk. Cain tore his eyes away from his wife and turned his attention to Hughes. Even though nearly four years had passed since Appomattox, social interaction between Northerners and Southerners was still tenuous, with talk of the war pointedly avoided when they were pushed together.
