That afternoon, on her way back from the Conjure Woman's, she'd caught a glimpse of him in the distance. Since it was Sunday, he'd been working alone at the mill. He was stripped to the waist, unloading lumber he'd brought back from Charleston.
"Kit!"
The light from the library window had given her away, and from the sound of his bellow, he wasn't in a good mood.
The library door flew back on its hinges. His shirt was stained with sweat and his dirty nankeen trousers were tucked into boots that had undoubtedly left muddy tracks down the hallway. Sophronia wouldn't be happy about that.
"When I call you, I want you right away," he growled.
"If only I had wings," she said sweetly, but the man had no sense of humor.
"I don't appreciate having to look all over the house for you when I come home."
He was being so outrageous that she nearly laughed. "Perhaps I should wear a bell. Would you like something?"
"You're damn right I would. A bath, for one thing, and clean clothes. Then I want dinner. In my room."
"I'll get Sophronia." Even as she said it, she had a fairly good idea he'd take issue.
"Sophronia isn't my wife. She isn't the one who made me spend the last six hours unloading lumber I wouldn't have needed if you weren't so handy with a match." He leaned against the doorframe, blatantly daring her to defy him. "You'll take care of me."
She did her best to prod his ill humor by smiling. "My pleasure. I'll see about your bath."
"And dinner."
"But of course." As she swept past him and headed for the kitchen, she played with a fantasy of jumping on Temptation and riding away forever, but it would take more than an evil-tempered husband to make her leave Risen Glory.
Sophronia was nowhere in sight, so she had Lucy get Cain's bath ready, then looked for something to feed him. She considered rat poison, but finally settled on the plate of food Patsy had kept warm on the back of the stove. She removed the towel so everything would be as cold as possible when he ate it.
Lucy appeared somewhat breathlessly at the door. "Mr. Cain says he wants you upstairs right now."
"Thank you, Lucy." As she carried the plate upstairs, she blew on the warm roast and potatoes, hoping to cool them off even more. She thought of dumping extra salt on top, but she didn't have the heart for it. He might be the devil incarnate, but he'd worked hard today. Lukewarm food was as far as she was prepared to go.
When she entered the room, she saw Cain sprawled in a chair, still fully dressed. He looked as grouchy as a lion with a thorn in its paw. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Seeing to your dinner, dearest."
He narrowed his eyes. "Help me off with my damned boots."
Even though his boots were mud-encrusted, he could have easily taken them off by himself, but he was spoiling for a fight. Normally she'd have been happy to oblige him, but since a fight was what he wanted, she chose to be perverse. "Of course, my lamb." She crossed over to him, turned her back, and straddled his leg. "If you brace yourself, it'll come off easier."
The only way he could brace himself would be to put his other muddy boot on her bottom. As she suspected, that was too much, even for him.
"Never mind, I'll take the damned things off myself."
"Are you sure? I live to be helpful."
He shot her a dark look, muttered something under his breath, and jerked off the boots. When he rose to take off his clothes, she busied herself by straightening the items on the top of the bureau.
She heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, then a splash as he lowered himself into the tub. "Come over here and scrub my back."
He knew he'd gotten the short end of their previous exchange, and now he intended to make up for it. She turned and saw him slouched low in the tub, his arm propped on the side, one wet calf dangling over the edge. "Take off your dress first so you don't get it wet."
This time he was certain she'd defy him, which would give him an excuse to be even more unpleasant. But he wasn't going to win that easily, especially when she wore a modestly cut chemise beneath, along with several petticoats. She avoided looking into the tub water as she unfastened her dress. "How considerate you are."
The water must have soothed him, because his eyes lost their hard look and developed an evil gleam. "Thank you for noticing. Now scrub my back."
She's scrub it, all right. She's scrub the skin off.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry," she said innocently from her position behind him. "I thought you were tougher."
"Don't forget my chest," he said by way of retaliation.
This would be awkward, and he knew it. She'd deliberately kept herself behind him, but it would be hard to wash his chest like that. She gingerly reached around him.
"You can't do a good job like that." He caught her wrist and pulled her to the side of the tub, soaking the front of her chemise in the process.
Avoiding looking down, she put the sponge to his chest and began soaping the mat of hair that stretched across it. She did her best not to linger over the white, lathery circles she made, but the swirling patterns icing those solid muscles enticed her. She wanted to paint in them.
One of her hairpins came out, and a lock of hair dipped into the water. Cain reached up to tuck it behind her ear. She sat back on her heels. His eyes drifted from her face to her breasts. She knew without looking that the water had made her chemise transparent.
"I'll-I'll set your plate on the table so you can eat after you've dried off."
"You do that," he said huskily.
She turned her back to him and took her time clearing off a small table by the fireplace. She could hear him drying off. When the sound stopped, she glanced cautiously at him.
He was dressed only in a pair of trousers, his hair damp and combed free of curl. She licked her lips nervously. The game had subtly shifted. "I'm afraid the food might be a little cold, but I'm sure it's delicious." She moved toward the door.
"Sit down, Kit. I don't like to eat alone."
She reluctantly took a seat across from him. He began to eat, and as she watched him, the four-poster bed in the corner of the room seemed to grow bigger in her imagination until it filled the room. She had to distract herself.
"I'm sure you're expecting me to take over Sophronia's responsibilities now, but-"
"Why would you want to do that?"
"I didn't say I wanted to. I can cook, but I'm terrible at the rest."
"Then let Sophronia do it."
She'd been prepared to rail at him for being unreasonable, but just like that, he'd knocked the wind out of her sails.
"There's only one household matter I want you to attend to, in addition to tending to me, of course."
She stiffened. Here it came. Something he knew she'd hate.
"A fox got one of the chickens last night. See if you can track it down. I'm sure you're a better shot than most of the men around here."
She simply stared at him.
"And if we want any game on the table, you'll have to put it there. I can't spare time from the mill right now to do it myself."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing, and she hated him for understanding her so well. She'd never have had this kind of freedom as Brandon's wife. But then, Brandon would never have looked at her as Cain was now doing.
The bed loomed larger. Her shoulders knotted with tension. She studied the sparkling prisms hanging from the lamp globe on the table, then ran her eyes over the books he kept near the bed.
The bed.
Her eyes settled on his hands. Broad-palmed, with lean, blunt-tipped fingers. Hands that had stroked her body and cupped every curve. Fingers that had explored her…
"Bread?"
She jumped. He held out a piece of bread he hadn't eaten.
"No. No, thank you." She struggled to hold onto her composure. "Miss Dolly was upset today. Now that I don't need a chaperone, she's afraid you'll send her away." She regarded him stubbornly. "I told her you'd do no such thing. I said she could stay here as long as she likes."