Kit drew up her chin and met his gaze. "Don't judge others by your own standards."
It she'd only known, her unspoken challenge stirred him more than anything else could have. Were those eyes behind the honeycombed veil blue or a darker, more exotic color? Everything about this woman intrigued him. She was no simpering coquette or hothouse orchid. Rather, she reminded him of a wild rose, growing tangled and unruly in the deepest part of the woods, a wild rose with prickly thorns ready to draw blood from any man who touched her.
The untamed part of him responded to the same quality he sensed in her. What would it be like to work his way past those thorns and pluck this wild rose of the deep wood?
Even before he moved, Kit understood that something was about to happen. She wanted to break away, but her legs wouldn't respond. As she gazed up into that chiseled face, she tried to remember this man was her deadly enemy. He controlled everything that was dear to her: her home, her future, her very freedom. But she'd always been a creature of instinct, and her blood had begun to roar so loudly in her head that it was blotting out her reason.
Slowly Cain lifted his scarred hand and cupped the side of her neck. His touch was surprisingly gentle and maddeningly exciting. She knew she had to pull back, but her legs, along with her will, refused to obey.
He lifted his thumb and slid it upward along the curve of her jaw and under the edge of the honeycombed veil. It dipped into the valley behind the lobe of her ear. He caressed the silky hollow, sending quivers coursing through her.
He brushed the delicate shells of her ears and the tendrils of curl that feathered around her small jet ear-bob. His quiet breathing rippled the bottom edge of her veil. She tried to move away, but she was paralyzed. Then he lowered his lips.
His kiss was gentle and persuading, nothing at all like the wet, grinding assault from Hamilton Woodward's friend. Her hands lifted of their own accord and clasped his sides. The feel of warm-muscled flesh through the thin material of his shirt became part of the kiss. She lost herself in a swelling sea of sensation.
His lips opened and began to move over her closed ones. He curved his hand along the delicate line of her spine to the small of her back. The narrow space between their bodies disappeared.
Her head swam as his chest pressed her breasts, and his hips settled against the flatness of her stomach. The moist tip of his tongue began its gentle sorcery, sliding leisurely between her lips.
The shocking intimacy inflamed her. A wild rush of hot sensation poured through every part of her body.
And through his.
They lost their identities. For Kit, Cain no longer had a name. He was the quintessential man, fierce and demanding. And for Cain, the mysterious veiled creature in his arms was everything that a woman should be… but never was.
He grew impatient. His tongue began to probe more deeply, determined to slip past the barrier of her teeth and gain full access to the sweet interior of her mouth.
The unaccustomed aggression brought a flicker of sanity to Kit's fevered mind. Something was wrong…
He brushed the side of her breast, and reality returned in a cold, condemning rush. She made a muffled sound and sprang back.
Cain was more shaken than he cared to admit. He'd found the thorns of his wild rose much too soon.
She stood before him, breasts heaving, hands balled into fists. With a pessimistic certainty that the rest of her face could never live up to the promise of her mouth, he reached out and pushed the veil up onto the brim of her hat.
Recognition didn't come instantly. Maybe it was because he took in the separate features of her face instead of the whole. He saw the smooth, intelligent forehead, the thick, dark slashes of eyebrows, the heavily lashed violet eyes, the determined chin. All of it, together with that wild-rose mouth from which he'd drunk so deeply, spoke of a vivid, unconventional beauty.
Then he felt an uneasiness, a nagging sense of familiarity, a hint of something unpleasant lurking on the other side of his memory. He watched the nostrils of her small, straight nose quiver like the wings of a hummingbird. She set her jaw and lifted her chin.
In that instant, he knew her.
Kit saw his pale gray irises rim with black, but she was too stricken by what had passed between them to step away. What had happened to her? This man was her mortal enemy. How could she have forgotten that? She felt sick, angry, and more confused than she'd ever been.
A disturbance came from the hallway-a series of rapid clicks, as if a sack of parched corn was being spilled on the wooden floor. A streak of black-and-white fur darted into the room, then skidded to a stop. Merlin.
The dog cocked his head to study her, but it didn't take him nearly as long to guess her identity as it had Cain. With three barks of recognition, he raced over to greet his old friend.
Kit fell to her knees. Oblivious to the damage his dusty paws were inflicting on her dove-gray traveling dress, she hugged him and let him lap her face. Her hat fell to the carpet, loosening her carefully arranged hair, but she didn't care.
Cain's voice intruded on their reunion like a polar wind over a glacier. "I see finishing school hasn't improved you. You're still the same headstrong little brat you were three years ago."
Kit looked up at him and said the first thing that came to mind. "You're just mad because the dog's smarter than you are."
8
Not long after Cain had stalked out of the sitting room, Kit heard a familiar voice. "Lucy, did you let that dog in the house again?"
"He slipped past me, Miz Sophronia."
"Well, he won't slip past me!"
Kit smiled as she heard the approach of brisk, efficient footsteps. She hugged Merlin and whispered, "I won't let her get you."
Sophronia swept into the room, then drew to a sudden halt. "Oh, I'm sorry. Lucy didn't say we had a visitor."
Kit looked up and gave her a mischievous grin.
"Kit!" Sophronia's hand flew to her mouth. "Lord! Is it really you?"
With a laugh, Kit sprang to her feet and raced toward her. "It's me, all right."
The women hugged each other while Merlin circled them, barking at their skirts.
"It's so good to see you. Oh, Sophronia, you're even more beautiful than I remember."
"Me! Look at you. You look like you just stepped out of Godey's Lady's Book."
"It's all Elsbeth's doing." Kit laughed again and grabbed Sophronia's hand. They sank down on the settee, where they tried to catch up on three years of separation.
Kit knew it was her fault their correspondence had been so infrequent. Sophronia didn't like to write letters, and the few she'd sent were so full of praise for what Cain was doing at Risen Glory that Kit's replies had been scathing. Finally Sophronia had stopped writing.
Kit remembered her earlier agitation over all the improvements Sophronia had made to the house. Now that seemed petty, and she praised her for everything she'd done.
Sophronia drank in Kit's words. She knew the old house was shining under her care, and she was proud of her accomplishments. At the same time, she began to feel the familiar combination of love and resentment that always plagued her where Kit was concerned.
For so long, Sophronia had been the only one watching out for Kit. Now Kit was a woman with friendships and experiences Sophronia couldn't share. She was also beautiful, poised, and at home in a world Sophronia would never enter.
The old hurts began to throb.
"Don't think because you're home now you can start stickin' your nose in my business and tellin' me how to run this house."
Kit merely chuckled. "I wouldn't think of it. All I care about is the land. The fields. I can't wait to see everything."
Sophronia's resentment faded and worry took its place. Putting the major and Kit under the same roof was going to lead to trouble.