she'd take me seriously.' Kit explained what had happened when she went to Miss Dolly's room.
'And now you expect me to go along with this charade?'
'It won't be hard,' Kit pointed out reasonably. 'She does most of the talking.'
'That's not good enough.'
'It'll have to be.' She hated pleading with him, and the words nearly stuck in her throat. 'Please. She doesn't have anyplace else to go.'
'Damn it, Kit! I don't want her here.'
'You don't want me here, either, but you're letting me stay. What difference does one more person make?'
'A big difference.' His expression turned calculating. 'You want a lot from me, but I haven't heard you offer anything in return.'
'I'll exercise your horses,' she said quickly.
'I was thinking of something more personal.'
She swallowed. 'I'll mend your clothes.'
'You were more imaginative three years ago. Of course, you weren't as… experienced then as you are now. Do you remember the night you offered to be my mistress?'
She slid the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. 'I was desperate.'
'How desperate are you now?'
'This discussion is highly improper,' she managed to reply with all the starch of Elvira Templeton.
'Not as improper as that kiss this afternoon.' He came closer, and his voice was low, slightly husky. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, his lips curled into a smile full of mockery. 'Miss Dolly can stay for now. I'll make up my mind later how you can repay me.'
As he left the room, she stared at the door and tried to decide whether she'd won or lost.
That night, Cain lay motionless in the dark, one arm crooked behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. What kind of game had he been playing with her this evening? Or was she the one playing the game?
Her kiss this afternoon had made it clear she was no innocent, but was she as wanton as Woodward's letter would have him believe? He didn't know. For now, he would simply have to wait and watch.
In his mind he saw a wild-rose mouth with bruised, petal-soft lips, and desire rushed through him, hot and thick.
One thing he knew for certain. The time when he could regard her as a child was gone forever.
9
Kit was up early the next morning despite her restless night. She pulled on khaki britches that would have scandalized Elsbeth, then shrugged into a boy's shirt and drew it closed over her lace-edged chemise. She regretted the shirt's long sleeves, but her arms would be brown as a butternut if she left them exposed to the sun. She consoled herself that the white material was as thin and fine as the fabric of her undergarments and would undoubtedly be cool.
She tucked her shirttails into her britches and fastened the short row of buttons snugly over the front. As she drew on her boots, she enjoyed the way the soft brown leather molded to her feet and calves. They were the first pair of good riding boots she'd ever owned, and she couldn't wait to try them out.
She arranged her hair in a single long braid at the back. Tendrils curled at her temples and in front of the tiny silver ear studs she'd fastened in her lobes. To shade her face, she'd bought a boy's black felt hat with a flat brim and a thin leather cord that fastened beneath her chin.
When she finished dressing, she frowned at her reflection in the cheval glass. Despite her masculine dress, no one could mistake her for a boy. The soft material of the shirt outlined her breasts with more definition than she'd anticipated, and the slim cut of the boy's britches clung to womanly hips.
What did it matter? She intended to wear her unorthodox outfit only when she rode on Risen Glory land. Anyplace else, she'd wear her new riding habit no matter how much she detested its confinement. She grimaced as she remembered that she'd also have to ride sidesaddle then, something she'd done only on occasional outings in Central Park. How she'd hated it. The sidesaddle had robbed her of the sense of power she loved and left her feeling awkward and unbalanced.
She let herself out of the house quietly, passing up breakfast and a morning chat with Sophronia. Her old friend had come to her room last night. Although Sophronia listened politely to Kit's stories, she'd volunteered little about the changes in her own life. When Kit had pressed her for details, she'd relayed neighborhood gossip that revealed nothing of herself. Only when Kit had asked her about Magnus Owen did she seem to be the Sophronia of old, haughty and snappish.
Sophronia had always been an enigma, but now she seemed even more so. It wasn't just the outward changes produced by pretty clothes and a good diet. Sophronia seemed to resent her. Maybe the feeling had always been there, but Kit had been too young to understand it. What made it even more puzzling was that, beneath that resentment, Kit felt the old, familiar force of Sophronia's love.
She delicately sniffed the air as she walked across the open yard behind the house. It smelled exactly as she remembered it, of good, rich earth and fresh manure. She even caught the faint scent of skunk, not altogether unpleasant at a distance. Merlin came out to greet her, and she stopped to scratch his ears and throw a stick for him to fetch.
The horses weren't yet in the paddock, so she let herself into the stable, a new building erected on the foundation of the one the Yankees had burned. The heels of her boots clicked on the stone floor, which was swept as cleanly as when Kit had attended to it.
There were ten stalls, four of which were currently filled, two with carriage horses. She inspected the other horses and dismissed one immediately, an old sorrel mare who was obviously gentle but had no sparkle. She'd be a good mount for a timid rider, but Kit wasn't timid.
The other horse excited her. He was a midnight-black gelding with a white blaze running down the center of his head. He was a large, powerful-looking animal, nearly eighteen hands, and his eyes were alert and lively.
She reached out a hand to stroke the long, elegant neck. 'What's your name, boy?'
The animal whinnied softly and tossed his powerful head.
Kit smiled. 'I have an idea we're going to be good friends.'
Just then the stable door opened, and she turned to see a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, come in.
'Are you Miz Kit?'
'Yes. Who are you?'
'I'm Samuel. The major told me if you came to the stable today, I'm's'posed to tell you he wants you to ride Lady.'
Kit looked suspiciously toward the old sorrel mare. 'Lady?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Sorry, Samuel.' She stroked the gelding's silky mane. 'We'll saddle this one instead.'
'That's Temptation, ma'am. And the major was most particular. He said for you to leave Temptation alone and ride Lady, and he said if I let you leave this stable on Temptation, he was goin' to have my hide, and then you'd have to live with that on your conscience.'
Kit fumed at Cain's blatant manipulation. She doubted he'd see through on his threat to hurt Samuel, but the man still had the heart of a marauding Yankee, so she couldn't take the chance. She gazed longingly at Temptation. Never had a horse been better named.
'Saddle Lady.' She sighed. 'I'll talk to Mr. Cain.'
As she'd suspected, Lady was more interested in grazing than racing. Kit soon gave up trying to urge the mare beyond a sedate trot and turned her attention to the changes around her.
All but a few of the old slave cabins had been destroyed. That was the part of Risen Glory she didn't let herself think about, and she was glad to see them gone. The cabins that were left had been painted and repaired. Each had its own garden, and flowers grew near the front doors. She waved at the children playing in the shade of the same buckthorns where she'd once played.
