"Once I marry Brandon, I won't flirt with anyone."
"Flirting's in your nature, Kit. Sometimes I don't even think you know you're doing it. I've been told that Southern women acquire the knack in the womb, and you don't seem to be any exception."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment. You need to look elsewhere for a husband."
"Strange. I don't remember asking your opinion."
"No, but your future bridegroom will have to ask for my permission-that is, if you want to see the money in your trust."
Kit's heart skipped a beat. The stubborn set of Cain's jaw frightened her. "That's only a formality. You'll give your permission to whomever I choose."
"Will I?"
The pie clotted in Kit's stomach. "Don't toy with me about this. When Mr. Parsell asks permission to marry me, you'll grant it."
"I can't fulfill my responsibility as your guardian if I believe you're making a mistake."
She shot to her feet. "Were you fulfilling your responsibility this evening in my room when you… when you touched me?"
A sizzle of electricity coursed between them.
He looked down, then slowly shook his head. "No. No, I wasn't."
The memory of his hands on her breasts was too recent, and she wished she hadn't brought it up. She turned away. "Where Brandon's concerned, I know my mind."
"He doesn't care about you. He doesn't even like you very much."
"You're wrong."
"He desires you, but he doesn't approve of you. Ready cash is hard to come by in the South. What he wants is your trust fund."
"That's not true." She knew Cain was right, but she denied it. She had to make certain he wouldn't stand in the way of her marriage.
"Marrying that stiff-necked bastard would be the biggest mistake of your life," he said finally, "and I'm not going to be part of it."
"Don't say that!"
But as she stared at that implacable face, she felt Risen Glory slipping away from her. The panic that had been nibbling at her all evening clamped down hard. Her plan… her dreams. Everything was slipping away. She couldn't let him do this. "You have to let him marry me. You don't have any choice."
"I sure as hell do."
She heard her voice coming from far away, almost as if it didn't belong to her. "I didn't want to tell you this, but…" She licked her dry lips. "The relationship between Mr. Parsell and myself has progressed… too far. There must be a wedding."
Everything went stilt between them. She watched as he took in her meaning. The planes of his face grew hard and unrelenting. "You've given him your virginity."
Kit managed a slow, unsteady nod.
Cain heard a noise roaring inside his head. A great internal how! of outrage It echoed in his brain, clawed at his skin. At that moment he hated her. Hated her for not being what he'd believed-wild and pure. Pure for him.
The nearly forgotten echo of his mother's scathing laughter rattled in his head as he fled the stifling confines of the kitchen and stormed outside.
12
Magnus drove the buggy home from church with Sophronia at his side and Samuel, Lucy, and Patsy in the back. When they'd first left church, he'd tried to make conversation with Sophronia, but she'd been brusque, and he'd soon given up. Kit's return had upset her, although he didn't understand why. There was something strange about that relationship.
Magnus looked over at her. She sat at his side like a beautiful statue. He was tired of all the mysteries surrounding her. Tired of his love for her, a love that was bringing him more misery than happiness. He thought of Deborah Williams, the daughter of one of the men working on the cotton mill. Deborah had made it clear that she wanted Magnus's attention.
Damn it! He was ready to settle down. The war was behind him, and he had a good job. Risen Glory's small, neat overseer's house situated at the edge of the orchard pleased him. His days of hard drinking and easy women were over. He wanted a wife and children. Deborah Watson was pretty. Sweet-natured, too, unlike the vinegar-tongued Sophronia. She'd make a good wife for him. But instead of cheering him up, the idea made him feel even more unhappy.
Sophronia didn't smile at him often, but when she did, it was like a rainbow unfolding. She read newspapers and books, and she understood things in a way that Deborah never could. Most of all, he'd never heard Deborah sing when she was going about her work the way Sophronia did.
He noticed a crimson-and-black buggy coming toward them. It was too new to belong to any of the locals. Probably a Northerner's. A carpetbagger, most likely.
Sophronia straightened, and he looked more closely at the vehicle. As it drew nearer, he recognized the driver as James Spence, the owner of the new phosphate mine. Magnus hadn't had any contact with the man, but from what he'd heard, he was a good businessman. He paid an honest day's wage and didn't cheat his customers. Still, Magnus didn't like him, probably because Sophronia so obviously did.
Magnus saw? that Spence was a good-looking man. He tipped a biscuit-colored beaver hat, revealing a thick head of black hair, parted neatly in the center, and a set of trim side whiskers. "Good morning, Sophronia," he called out. "Nice day, isn't it?" He didn't even glance at the other occupants.
"Mornin', Mr. Spence," Sophronia replied with a sassy smile that set Magnus's teeth on edge and made him want to shake her.
Spence replaced his hat, the buggy passed, and Magnus remembered this wasn't the first time Spence had shown an interest in Sophronia. He'd seen the two of them talking when he'd driven her into Rutherford to shop.
His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins. It was time they talked.
The opportunity came late that afternoon, when he was sitting with Merlin on the front porch of his house, enjoying his day of leisure. A flicker of blue in the orchard caught his attention. Sophronia, in a pretty blue dress, was walking through the cherry trees, gazing up into the branches and probably trying to decide whether there was enough fruit left to justify another picking.
He rose and sauntered down the steps. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he ambled into the orchard. "Looks like you might as well let the birds enjoy those cherries," he said when he reached her.
She hadn't heard him come up behind her, and she whirled around. "What do you mean, sneakin' up on me like that?"
"Wasn't sneakin'. I guess I'm just naturally light on my feet."
But Sophronia refused to respond to his bantering. "Go away. I don't want to talk to you."
"That's too bad, because I'm talkin' to you anyway."
She turned her back to him and began to walk toward the house. With a few quick steps, he planted himself in front of her. "We can talk here in the orchard"-he kept his voice as pleasant as could be-"or you can take my arm, and we'll walk over there to my house, and you can sit in that big ol' rockin' chair on my front porch while I say what I have to say."
"Let me by."
"You want to talk here? That's fine with me." He took her by the arm and steered her toward the gnarled trunk of the apple tree behind her, using his body to block any chance she had of sliding past him.
"You're makin' a fool of yourself, Magnus Owen." Her eyes burned with bright, golden fires. "Most men would've taken the hint by now. I don't like you. When are you goin' to get that through your thick skull? Don't you have any pride? Doesn't it bother you to be chasin' after a woman who doesn't care anything about you? Don't you know that half the time I'm laughin' at you behind your back?"
Magnus flinched, but he didn't move away. "You just go ahead and laugh at me all you want My feelin's for you are honest, and I'm not ashamed of them." He rested the heel of his hand on the trunk near her head. "Besides, you're the one should be ashamed. You sat üi church this mornin' cryin' out praises to Jesus, and then you walked out the door, and the first thing you did was make eyes at James Spence."