Cain stared in bewilderment at the top of her frilly cap. She bobbed back up, her head barely coming to his middle shirt button. "If there's anything, anything at all, I can do to make you comfortable during your stay here at Risen Glory, General, you need only ask. From this moment, this very instant, consider me your devoted servant."
Miss Dolly's eyelids batted at him with such alarming speed Kit was afraid she'd blind herself.
Cain turned to Kit for enlightenment, but Kit was mystified. He cleared his throat. "I believe-I'm afraid, madam, that you've made a mistake. I'm not entitled to the rank of general. Indeed, I hold no military office at all now, although some still refer to me by my former rank of major."
Miss Dolly gave a trill of girlish laughter. "Oh, my, my! Silly me! You've caught me like a kitten in the cream." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I forget that you're in disguise. And a very good one it is, I might add. No Yankee spy could ever recognize you, although it's a shame you had to shave off your beard. I do admire beards."
Cain's patience snapped and he turned on Kit. "What's she talking about?"
Miss Dolly pressed her fingers to his arm. "Now, now, no need to fret. I promise when we're in company I'll be very discreet, and only address you as Major, dear General."
Cain's voice sounded a warning. "Kit…"
Miss Dolly clucked her tongue. "There, there, General. I don't want you to worry your head for an instant about Katharine Louise. A more loyal daughter of the Confederacy does not exist. She would never betray your true identity to anyone. Isn't that so, darlin'?"
Kit tried to reply. She even opened her mouth. But nothing seemed to come out.
Miss Dolly plucked up the chicken-skin fan that dangled from her bony wrist and tapped Kit's arm.
"Tell the general that's so, darlin', this very instant. We mustn't let him worry unnecessarily about betrayal. The poor man has enough on his mind without adding to his burden. Go on, now. Tell him he can trust you. Tell him."
"You can trust me," Kit croaked.
Cain glared at her.
Miss Dolly smiled and sniffed the air. "If my nose isn't betraying me, I do believe I smell chicken fricassee. I'm more than a little partial to fricassee, 'deed I am, especially if it contains just a tiny dash of nutmeg."
She linked her arm through Cain's and turned toward the dining room. "You know, General, there's a strong possibility that we're distantly related. According to my great-aunt, Phoebe Littlefield Calhoun, her father's branch of the family is connected through marriage to the Virginia Lees."
Cain stopped dead in his tracks. "Are you trying to tell me, madam-Do you actually believe that I am General Robert E. Lee?"
Miss Dolly opened her Cupid's-bow mouth to respond, only to close it with a giggle. "Oh, no, you shan't catch me that easily, General. And it's naughty of you to test me, especially after I informed you that you could rely on my discretion. You're Major Baron Nathaniel Cain. Katharine Louise told me that quite clearly."
And then she favored him with a broad, conspiratorial wink.
Cain scowled throughout dinner, and Kit's normal appetite deserted her. Not only did she have to endure his company and the memory of their kiss, but she knew she'd planted the seed of Miss Dolly's latest madness. Miss Dolly, however, had no difficulty filling the strained silence. She chirped on about fricassees, distant relations, and the medicinal qualities of chamomile until Cain's face looked like a storm cloud. Over dessert, he came to a full state of alert when she suggested an informal poetry recitation in the parlor.
"Worst luck. Miss Calhoun." His gaze traveled down the table. "Katharine Louise has brought along some secret dispatches from New York City. I'm afraid I need to meet with her privately." One tawny brow shot upward. "And immediately!"
Miss Dolly beamed. "Why, of course, dear General. You needn't say another word. You go on. I'll just sit here and enjoy this delicious ginger cake. Why, I haven't-"
"You're a true patriot, madam." He pushed back his chair and gestured toward the door. "The library, Katharine Louise."
"I… uh…"
"Now."
"Hurry along, my dear. The general is a busy man."
"And about to get busier," he said pointedly.
Kit rose and swept past him. Fine. It was time they had a showdown.
The library at Risen Glory was much as Kit remembered. Comfortable chairs with sagging leather seats sat at angles to the old mahogany desk. The generous windows kept everything light and cheerful despite the somber leather-bound books that lined the shelves.
It had always been her favorite room at Risen Glory, and she resented the unfamiliar humidor sitting on the desk as well as the Colt army revolver that rested in a red-lined wooden box next to it. Most of all, she resented the portrait of Abraham Lincoln that hung above the mantelpiece in place of "The Beheading of John the Baptist." a painting that had been there for as long as she could remember.
Cain slouched into the chair behind the desk, propped his heels on the mahogany surface, and crossed his ankles. His posture was deliberately insolent, but she didn't let him see that it annoyed her. Earlier that afternoon when she'd been veiled, he'd treated her as a woman. Now he wanted to treat her as his stable boy. He'd soon see it wouldn't be that easy to ignore the years that had passed.
"i told you to stay in New York," he said.
"So you did." She pretended to study the room. "That portrait of Mr. Lincoln is out of place at Risen Glory. It insults my father's memory."
"From what I hear, your father insulted his own memory."
"True. But he was still my father, and he died bravely."
"There's nothing brave about death." The angular planes of his face grew harsh in the dim lamplight of the room. "Why did you disobey my orders and leave New York?"
"Because your orders were unreasonable."
"I don't have to explain myself."
"So you seem to think. I fulfilled our agreement."
"Did you? Our agreement was for you to conduct yourself properly."
"I completed my time at the Academy."
"It's not your activities at the Academy that concern me." Without taking his feet from the desktop, he leaned forward and extracted a letter from a drawer. Then he slapped it on the desk. "Interesting reading, although I wouldn't want to show it to anyone who's easily shocked."
She picked it up. Her stomach twisted when she saw the signature. Hamilton Woodward.
It is my sad duty to report that last Easter, while a guest in our house, your ward behaved in a manner so shocking, I can barely report it. On the evening of our annual dinner party, Katharine brazenly attempted to seduce one of my partners. Fortunately, I interrupted in time. The poor man was stunned. He has a wife and children, and is prominent in local charities. Her wanton behavior makes me fear that she might be afflicted with the sickness of nymphomania…
She crumpled the letter and threw it on his desk. She had no idea what nymphomania was, but it sounded horrible. "This letter's a lie. You can't believe it."
"I was reserving judgment until I had a chance to travel to New York at the end of the summer and speak with you personally. That was why I told you to stay where you were."
"We had an agreement. You can't set that aside just because Hamilton Woodward is a fool."
"Is he?"
"Yes." She felt the color burning in her cheeks.
"You're telling me you don't make a habit of offering your favors?"
"Of course not."
His eyes drifted to her mouth, forcing her to recall what had happened between them only a few hours earlier.