“You’re the one who assumed I was a boy. I never said any such thing.”
“You never said any different, either.” He picked up the blanket and tossed it to her. “Dry yourself off while I get myself a drink.” He moved toward the hallway door. “I’ll expect some answers when I come back, and don’t even think about running away, because that’d be your biggest mistake yet.”
After he disappeared, she flung down the blanket and raced toward the basket of apples to retrieve the revolver. She sat at the table to hide it in her lap. Only then did she gather her tattered shirttails together and tie them in a clumsy knot at her waist.
Cain stalked back just as she realized how unsatisfactory the result was. He’d ripped her undershirt along with her shirt, and a deep V of exposed flesh extended down to the knot.
Cain took a sip of whiskey and stared at the girl. She was sitting at the wooden table, her hands folded out of sight in her lap, the soft fabric of her shirt clearly outlining a pair of small breasts. How could he have believed for a moment that she was a boy? Those delicate bones should have been a giveaway, along with her eyelashes, which were thick enough to sweep the floor.
The dirt had thrown him off. The dirt and the cussing, not to mention that pugnacious attitude. What a scamp.
He wondered how old she was. Fourteen or so? He knew a lot about women, but not about girls. When did they start growing breasts? One thing for sure . . . she was too young to be on her own.
He set down his whiskey tumbler. “Where’s your family?”
“I told you. They’re dead.”
“You don’t have any relatives at all?”
“No.”
Her composure annoyed him. “Look, a child your age can’t run around New York City alone. It isn’t safe.”
“The only person who’s given me trouble since I got here’s been you.”
She had a point, but he ignored it. “Regardless. Tomorrow I’ll take you to some people who’ll be responsible for you until you’re older. They’ll find a place for you to live.”
“Are you talkin’ ’bout an orphanage, Major?”
It irritated him that she seemed amused. “Yes, I’m talking about an orphanage! You sure as hell—heck—aren’t going to stay here. You need some place to live until you’re old enough to look after yourself.”
“Doesn’t seem to me I’ve had too much trouble up till now. Besides, I’m not exactly a child. I don’t think orphanages take in eighteen-year-olds.”
“Eighteen?”
“You havin’ trouble hearing?”
Once again she’d managed to shock him. He stared down the length of the table at her—ragged boy’s clothing, a grimy face and neck, short black hair that was stiff with dirt. In his experience, eighteen-year-olds were nearly women. They wore dresses and took baths. But then, nothing about her bore the slightest resemblance to a normal eighteen-year-old.
“Sorry to spoil all your nice plans for an orphanage, Major.”
She had the nerve to smirk, and he was suddenly glad he’d spanked her. “Now, you listen to me, Kit—or is your name phony, too?”
“No. It’s my real name, all right. Leastways it’s what most everybody calls me.”
Her amusement faded, and he felt a prickling at the base of his spine, the same sensation he’d felt before a battle. Odd.
He watched her jaw set. “Except my last name’s not Finney,” she said. “It’s Weston. Katharine Louise Weston.”
It was her last surprise. Before Cain could react, she was on her feet, and he was looking down into the barrel of an army revolver.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Without taking her eyes from him, she came around the edge of the table. The gun pointing at his heart was steady in her small hand, and everything fell into place.
“Doesn’t seem to me you’re so particular about cussin’ when you’re the one doin’ it,” she said.
He took a step toward her and was immediately sorry. A bullet whizzed by his head, just missing his temple.
Kit had never fired a gun indoors, and her ears rang. She realized her knees were shaking, and she tightened her grip on the revolver. “Don’t move unless I tell you, Yankee,” she spat out with more bravado than she felt. “Next time it’ll be your ear.”
“Maybe you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
“It’s self-evident.”
“Humor me.”
She hated the faint air of mockery in his voice. “It’s about Risen Glory, you black-hearted son of a bitch! It’s mine! You’ve got no right to it.”
“That’s not what the law says.”
“I don’t care about the law. I don’t care about wills or courts or any of that. What’s right is right. Risen Glory is mine, and no Yankee’s takin’ it from me.”
“If your father’d wanted you to have it, he’d have left it to you instead of Rosemary.”
“That woman made him blind and deaf as well as a fool.”
“Did she?”
She hated the cool, assessing look in his eyes, and she wanted to hurt him as she’d been hurt. “I suppose I should be grateful to her,” she sneered. “Hadn’t of been for Rosemary’s easy ways with men, the Yankees would’ve burned the house as well as the fields. Your mother was well known for sharin’ her favors with anybody who asked.”
Cain’s face was expressionless. “She was a slut.”
“That’s God’s truth, Yankee. And I’m not goin’ to let her get the best of me, even from the grave.”
“So now you’re going to kill me.”
He sounded almost bored, and her palms began to sweat. “Without you standin’ in my way, Risen Glory will be mine, just what should of happened in the first place.”
“I see your point.” He nodded slowly. “All right, I’m ready. How do you want to go about it?”
“What?”
“Killing me. How are you going to do it? Do you want me to turn around so you won’t have to look me in the face when you pull the trigger?”
Outrage overcame her distress. “What kind of fool jackass thing is that to say? You think I could ever respect myself again if I shot a man in the back?”
“Sorry, it was just a suggestion.”
“A damn fool one.” A trickle of sweat slid down her neck.
“I was trying to make it easier for you, that’s all.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Yankee. You worry about your own immortal soul.”
“All right, then. Go to it.”
She swallowed. “I intend to.”
She lifted her arm and sighted down the barrel of her revolver. It felt as heavy as a cannon in her hand.
“You ever killed a man, Kit?”
“You be quiet!” The trembling in her knees had grown worse, and her arm was beginning to shake. Cain, on the other hand, looked as relaxed as if he’d just awakened from a nap.
“Hit me right between the eyes,” he said softly.
“Shut up!”
“It’ll be fast and sure that way. The back of my head will blow off, but you can handle the mess, can’t you, Kit?”
Her stomach roiled. “Shut up! Just shut up!”
“Come on, Kit. Get it over with.”
“Shut up!”
The gun exploded. Once, twice, three times, more. And then the click of an empty chamber.
Cain hit the floor with the first shot. As the kitchen once again fell silent, he looked up. On the wall behind where he’d been standing, five holes formed the outline of a man’s head.
Kit stood with her shoulders slumped, her arms at her sides. The revolver dangled uselessly from her hand.
He eased himself up and walked over to the wall that had received the lead balls originally intended for him. As he studied the perfect arc, he slowly shook his head. “I’ll say this for you, kid. You’re one hell of a shot.”
For Kit, the world had come to an end. She’d lost Risen Glory, and she had no one to blame but herself.
/>
“Coward,” she whispered. “I’m a damn, lily-livered coward of a girl.”
3
Cain made Kit sleep in a small, second-story bedroom that night instead of in her pleasant leather- and dust-scented room above the stalls. His orders were precise. Until he decided what to do with her, she couldn’t work with the horses. And if she tried to run away, he’d bar her from Risen Glory forever.
The next morning, she fled back to the stable and huddled miserably in the corner with a book called The Sybaritic Life of Louis XV, which she’d sneaked out of the library several days earlier. After a while, she dozed off and dreamed of thunderstorms, bonnets, and the King of France romping with his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, across the cotton-laced fields of Risen Glory.
When she awoke, she felt groggy and heavy-limbed. She slumped dejectedly outside Apollo’s stall with her elbows resting on the greasy knees of her britches. In all her planning, she’d never anticipated what it would feel like to look an unarmed man square in the eye and pull the trigger.
The stable door opened, letting in the feeble light of an overcast afternoon. Merlin scampered across the floor and flung himself at Kit, nearly knocking her hat off in his exuberance. Magnus followed at a more leisurely pace, his boots stopping near her own.
She refused to lift her eyes. “I’m not in the mood for conversation right now, Magnus.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. The major told me what happened last night. That was some trick you pulled, Miss Kit.”
It was the form of address she was accustomed to hearing at home, but he made it sound like an insult. “What happened last night was between me and the major. It’s none of your business.”
“I don’t like misjudging people, and as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothin’ about you that’s any of my business anymore.” He picked up an empty bucket and left the stable.
She threw down her book, grabbed a brush, and headed into the stall that housed a russet mare named Saratoga. She didn’t care what Cain’s orders were. If she didn’t keep busy, she’d go crazy.
She was running her hands down Saratoga’s hind legs when she heard the door open. Jumping up, she whirled around to see Cain standing in the center aisle of the stable, regarding her with granite-hard eyes.
“My orders were clear, Kit. No work in the stable.”
“The good Lord gave me two strong arms,” she retorted. “I’m no good at sittin’ idle.”
“Grooming horses isn’t an appropriate activity for a young lady.”
She stared at him hard, trying to see if he was making fun of her, but she couldn’t read his expression. “If there’s work to be done, I believe in doin’ it. A sybaritic life doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Stay away from the stable,” he said tightly.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was too quick for her. “No arguments. I want you cleaned up and in the library after dinner so I can talk to you.” He turned on his heel and strode out the stable door, his powerful, long-legged gait too graceful for a man of his size.
Kit reached the library first that evening. In token obedience to Cain’s orders, she’d scrubbed the middle of her face, but she felt too vulnerable to do any more. She needed to feel strong now, not like a girl.
The door opened, and Cain came into the room. He was dressed in his customary at-home uniform of fawn trousers and white shirt, open at the throat. His eyes flicked over her. “I thought I told you to get cleaned up.”
“I washed my face, didn’t I?”
“It’s going to take a lot more than that. How can you stand to be so filthy?”
“I don’t hold much with baths.”
“Seems to me there are a lot of things you don’t ‘hold much’ with. But you’re taking a bath before you spend another night here. Edith Simmons is threatening to quit, and I’ll be damned if I lose a housekeeper because of you. Besides, you stink up the place.”
“I do not!”
“Hell you don’t. Even if it’s only temporary, I am your guardian, and right now you’re taking orders from me.”
Kit froze. “What you talkin’ about, Yankee? What do you mean, ‘guardian’?”
“And here I thought there wasn’t anything that got past you.”
“Tell me!”
She thought she saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes. It disappeared as he explained the details of the guardianship and the fact that he was also the administrator of her trust fund.
Kit barely remembered the grandmother who’d set aside the money for her. The trust fund had been a constant source of resentment to Rosemary, and she’d forced Garrett to consult one lawyer after another about breaking it, to no avail. Although Kit supposed she should be grateful to her grandmother, the money was useless. She needed it now, not in five years or when she got married, which she wouldn’t ever do.
“The guardianship is Rosemary’s joke from the grave,” Cain concluded.
“That damn lawyer didn’t say anything to me about a guardian. I don’t believe you.”
“I’ve seen your temper firsthand. Did you give him a chance to explain?”
With a sinking heart, she remembered how she’d forced him out of the house as soon as he’d told her about Cain’s inheritance, even though he’d said there was more.
“What did you mean earlier about it bein’ a temporary state?”
“You don’t think I’m going to let myself be saddled with you for the next five years, do you?” The Hero of Missionary Ridge actually shuddered. “Early tomorrow morning, I’m leaving for South Carolina to get this mess straightened out. Mrs. Simmons will watch over you until I get back. It shouldn’t be much more than three or four weeks.”
She clasped her hands behind her back so he couldn’t see that they’d started to tremble. “How’re you plannin’ on straightening things out?”
“I’m going to find you another guardian, that’s how.”
She dug her fingernails into her palms, terrified to ask her next question, yet knowing she had to. “What’s goin’ to happen . . . to Risen Glory?”
He studied the toe of his boot. “I’m going to sell it.”
Something like a growl erupted from Kit’s throat. “No!”
He raised his head and met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Kit. It’s for the best.”
Kit heard the note of steel in his voice, and felt the few fragile remnants of the only world she knew snap. She didn’t even notice when Cain left the room.
Cain needed to get ready for a high-stakes game in one of the Astor House’s private dining rooms. Instead, he wandered to the bedroom window. Not even the prospect of the late-night invitation he’d received from a famous opera singer lifted his spirits. It all seemed like too much trouble.
He thought about the violet-eyed scamp under his roof. Earlier, when he’d told her he was selling Risen Glory, she’d looked as though he’d shot her.
His rumination was interrupted by the shatter of glass and his housekeeper’s scream. He swore and dashed into the hall.
The bathroom was a shambles. Broken glass lay near the copper tub, and clothing was scattered across the floor. A container of talc had spilled over the marble basin and dusted the black walnut wainscoting. Only the water in the tub was undisturbed, pale gold in the light of the gas jets.
Kit was holding Mrs. Simmons at bay with a mirror. She had the handle clenched in one fist like a saber. Her other hand gripped a towel around her naked body as she backed the unfortunate housekeeper to the door. “Nobody’s givin’ me a bath! You get out of here!”
“What the hell’s going on?”
Mrs. Simmons grabbed him. “That hoyden’s trying to murder me! She threw a bottle of witch hazel! It just missed my head.” She fanned her face and moaned. “I can feel an attack of my neuralgia coming on.”
“Go lie down, Edith.” Cain’s flint-hard eyes found Kit. “I’ll take over.”
The housekeeper was too upset to protest the impropriety of leaving him alone
with his naked ward, and she fled down the hallway muttering darkly of neuralgia and hoydens.
For all of Kit’s bravado, he could see that she was frightened. Briefly he considered relenting, but he knew he wouldn’t be doing her a favor. The world was a dangerous place for women, but it was doubly treacherous for naive little girls who believed they were as tough as men. Kit had to learn how to bend or she’d break, and right now he seemed to be the only one who could teach her that lesson.
Slowly, he unfastened the cuffs of his shirt and began rolling them up.
Kit watched the tanned, muscular forearms emerging as he turned up his sleeves. She took a quick step backward, her eyes glued to his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you to take a bath.”
Dry-mouthed, she drew her eyes away. It was hard enough facing down Baron Cain when she was fully clothed. Now, with only a towel wrapped around her, she’d never felt so vulnerable. If he hadn’t locked away her gun, she could have pulled the trigger without a second thought.
She licked her lips. “You’d . . . you’d better stop that right now.”
His eyes drilled into hers. “I told you to take a bath, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
She raised the tortoiseshell mirror. “Don’t come any closer. I mean it. When I threw that witch hazel bottle at Mrs. Simmons, I intended to miss. This time I won’t!”
“It’s time you grew up,” he said too quietly.
Her heart pounded. “I mean it, Yankee! Not a step farther.”
“You’re eighteen—old enough to act like a woman. It’s one thing to go after me, but you went after someone who never did you any harm.”
“She took my clothes away when I wasn’t paying attention! And . . . and then she dragged me in here.”
Kit still didn’t know how Mrs. Simmons had managed to get her to the bathroom, except that after Cain announced that he was selling Risen Glory, she’d gone numb. It was only when the old lady started pulling away her clothes that Kit had come to her senses.
He spoke again, using the calm voice she found more frightening than his roar. “You should have remembered your manners. Since you didn’t, I’ll put you in that tub.”