She found herself lifting her arms to cradle the back of his head in her palms and pull him closer. As his mouth tortured one nipple, he attended to the other with the tough, callused pad of his index finger, teasing the tip and then catching it with his thumb and squeezing it ever so gently.
Not knowing men, she couldn’t understand what a tight rein he was keeping on his own passion as he pleasured her. All she knew was that the pull of his mouth on her breast was firing nerve endings deep inside her.
He pushed the sheet away and lay next to her. Once again his mouth found hers, but this time he didn’t have to coax it open. Her lips were already parted for his pleasure. Still he took his time, letting her become accustomed to the feel of him.
As he played at her lips, Kit’s own hands grew restless. One of her thumbs settled over his hard, flat nipple.
With a groan he plowed his hands into her damp, tangled hair and drew her head up off the pillow. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and took possession of the slippery-hot interior.
The wildness that had always been part of her nature met his passion. She arched beneath him, splaying her fingers over his chest.
The last vestige of his self-control snapped. His hands were no longer content with her breasts. They moved down her body to her belly and then into the dark, silky triangle.
“Open for me, sweet,” he whispered huskily into her mouth. “Let me in.”
She did open. It would have been unthinkable not to. But the access she offered was still not enough for him. He stroked the inner surface of her thighs until she thought she would go mad. Finally her legs were splayed wide enough to satisfy his desire.
“Please,” she gasped.
He touched her then, his wild rose, the center of her. He gently opened her so it wouldn’t be so difficult, taking his time even though he was nearly crazed from needing her as he’d never before needed a woman.
He moved on top of her, kissing her breasts, kissing her sweet young mouth. And then, unable to hold back any longer, he poised himself at the very center of her and slowly entered.
She stiffened. He soothed her with his kisses and then, with one smooth thrust, he broke through her maiden’s veil and put innocence behind her.
She plummeted back to reality at the small, sharp pain. Until now, there had been only pleasure. This felt like a betrayal. His caresses had lied to her. They’d promised something magical, but in the end it had been a devil’s promise.
His hand cupped her chin and turned her face. She glared up at him, too conscious of what was buried deep and massive inside her.
“It’s all right, sweet,” he murmured. “The hurt is over.”
This time she didn’t believe him. “Maybe for you. Get off!”
He smiled a smile that was deep and smoky. His hands returned to her breasts, and she felt the melting begin again.
He began to move inside her, and she no longer wanted him to leave. She dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders and buried her mouth in his neck so she could taste him with her tongue. His skin was sea salt and clean, and the stroking inside her was moving deeper, piercing womb and heart, melting her bones, her flesh, and even her soul.
She arched and strained and let him ride her through day and night, through space itself, clinging to him, to the sweet male of him, the hard shaft of him, driving deeper and deeper into her, carrying her higher, flinging her into the blinding brightness of the sun and moon where she hung for eternity and then shattered into a million slivers of light and darkness, answering his great cry with her own.
PART FOUR
* * *
Katharine Louise
Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
“SELF-RELIANCE”
15
Kit was alone in the great rumpled bed when the noise in the hallway awakened her. She blinked against the sunlight, then bolted upright as she realized where she was. The sudden movement made her wince.
Sophronia rushed in without bothering to knock. “Kit! Honey, are you all right? Magnus wouldn’t let me leave, or I’d have been here earlier.”
Kit couldn’t meet Sophronia’s eyes. “I’m fine.” She pushed back the covers. Her robe lay across the bottom of the bed. Cain must have put it there.
As she slipped into it, Sophronia stiffened. Kit saw her staring at the pale stain on the sheet. “You stayed with Magnus last night?” she said quickly, trying to divert her.
Sophronia pulled her gaze away from the bed and said unsteadily, “The major didn’t give me much choice. Magnus slept on the porch.”
“I see.” Kit headed into her own room, just as if everything were normal. “A nice night for sleeping outdoors.”
Sophronia followed her. Kit began to wash in the water Lucy had left for her. The silence hung heavy between them.
It was Sophronia who broke it. “Did he hurt you? You can tell me.”
“I’m fine,” Kit repeated, too quickly.
Sophronia sat down on the side of the bed that hadn’t been slept in. “I never told you this. I didn’t want to, but now . . .”
Kit turned away from the washstand. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I know what it’s like to be . . . to be hurt by a man.” She twisted her hands in her lap.
“Oh, Sophronia . . .”
“I was fourteen the first time. He—he was a white man. I wanted to die afterward, I felt so dirty. And all that summer he’d find me, no matter how hard I tried to hide. ‘Gal,’ he’d call out. ‘You. Come over here.’ ”
Kit’s eyes filled with tears. She rushed to her friend’s side and knelt beside her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
She drew Sophronia’s hand to her cheek. “Couldn’t you have gone to my father and told him what was happening?”
Sophronia’s nostrils flared, and she snatched her hand away. “He knew what was happening. White men always knew what was happening to the slave women they owned.”
Kit was glad she hadn’t eaten, because she would have vomited. She’d heard stories, but she’d always been able to convince herself that nothing like that could ever happen at Risen Glory.
“I’m not telling you this to make you cry.” Sophronia took her thumb to one of Kit’s tears.
Kit thought of the arguments about states’ rights she’d made over the years to anyone who said the war had been fought over slavery. Now she understood why those arguments had been so important to her. They’d kept her from confronting a truth she hadn’t been able to face. “It’s so evil. So wicked.”
Sophronia rose and moved away. “I’m doing my best to put it in the past. Right now, it’s you I’m worried about.”
Kit didn’t want to talk about herself. She returned to the washstand, acting as if the world were just the same as it had been the day before. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I saw the expression on his face when he carried you into this house. It doesn’t take much imagination to know you had a hard time of it. But listen to me, Kit. You can’t keep all that ugliness stopped up inside you. You have to let it out before it changes you.”
Kit tried to think of what she could say, especially after what Sophronia had revealed about herself. But how could she speak of something she didn’t understand?
“No matter how terrible it was,” Sophronia said, “you can talk to me about it. I understand, honey. You can tell me.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I do. I know what it’s like. I know how—”
“You don’t.” Kit turned. “This wasn’t ugly like what happened to you,” she said softly. “It wasn’t ugly or awful or anything like that.”
“You mean that he didn’t . . .”
Kit swallowed and nodded. “He did.”
Sophronia’s face turned ashen. “I—I guess I shouldn’t have . . .” She ran out of words. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Pat
sy wasn’t feelin’ good yesterday.” Her skirts made a soft whooshing sound as she left the room.
Kit stared after her, feeling sick and guilty. Finally she forced herself to finish dressing. She reached into her wardrobe and pulled out the first thing her fingers touched, a candy-striped dimity. She’d lost her silver comb, so she tied her curls back with a pumpkin-colored ribbon she found in her drawer. It clashed with her dress, but she didn’t notice.
Just as she reached the foyer, the front door opened and Cain walked in with Miss Dolly. Kit was immediately swept into a peppermint-scented embrace.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet precious! This is the happiest day of my life, ’deed it is. To think that you and the major cherish tender feelin’s for each other, and I didn’t suspect a thing.”
This was the first time she’d heard Miss Dolly voluntarily refer to Baron as “the major.” She studied her more closely, which gave her an excuse to avoid looking at Cain.
“I’ve already chastised the major for keeping me in the dark, and I should chastise you, too, but I’m too consumed by happiness.” The older woman clasped her hands to her ruffled bodice. “Just look at her, Major, in her pretty frock with a ribbon in her hair. Although you might want to find another color, Katharine Louise. That little pink satin you have, if it’s not too badly crushed. Now I must go talk to Patsy about a cake.” With a quick peck at Kit’s cheek, she headed for the kitchen. When the clatter of her tiny heels on the wooden floor had receded, Kit was finally forced to look at her husband.
She might have been staring at a stranger. His face was empty of expression, his eyes distant. The passion they’d shared last night might have been something she’d imagined.
She searched for some trace of tenderness, some acknowledgment of the importance of what had passed between them. When she didn’t find it, a chill went through her. She should have known this was how it would be with him. She’d been foolish to expect anything else. Still, she felt betrayed.
“Why is Miss Dolly calling you ‘Major’?” She asked this question instead of the others she couldn’t give voice to. “What did you say to her?”
He tossed his hat onto the hallway table. “I told her we were married. Then I pointed out that if she went on believing I was General Lee, she’d have to reconcile herself to the fact that you were living with a bigamist, since the general has been married for years.”
“How did she react?”
“She accepted it, especially after I reminded her that my own military record was nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Your military record? How could you frighten her like that?” Finally she had a target on which to pin at least a small portion of her pain. “If you bullied her—”
“She wasn’t frightened. She was quite pleased to hear how valiantly I was serving under General Beauregard.”
“Beauregard fought for the Confederacy.”
“Compromise, Kit. Maybe someday you’ll learn the value of it.” He headed for the stairs and then stopped. “I’m leaving for Charleston in an hour. Magnus will be here if you need anything.”
“Charleston? You’re leaving today?”
His eyes mocked her. “Were you expecting a honeymoon?”
“No, of course not. But don’t you think it’s going to look a little strange if you leave so soon after our—our wedding?”
“Since when have you cared what people think?”
“I don’t. I was just thinking about Miss Dolly and her cake.” Her anger ignited. “Go to Charleston. Go to hell for all I care.”
She pushed past him and stalked out the front door. She half expected him to come after her, half hoped he would. She wanted a fight, a raging argument on which to blame her unhappiness. But the door remained shut.
She went to the live oak behind the house and leaned against one of the great drooping branches. How was she to survive being his wife?
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 re
peating 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.”
He turned and stared pointedly at her chest. “The scenery is better in here.”
She realized the sheet had fallen to her waist, and she yanked it to her chin. Then she saw her nightgown lying crumpled on the floor. He chuckled at her sudden intake of breath. She lifted the sheet and stuck her head under it.