Just Imagine aka Risen Glory

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

She wished she'd never started this, and she couldn't even blame her behavior on Veronica Gamble. She'd wanted to taste him, to touch him, to experience the mystery of lovemaking again. Veronica had merely given her the excuse.

  She realized he'd moved away from her, and she looked up to see him leaning against the mantel of the fireplace.

  "Go ahead," he said. "I'll wait for you to start."

  "Start what?"

  "A man can't perform on command. I'm afraid you'll have to arouse my interest."

  Had she thought to drop her eyes, she would have seen that his interest was already well aroused, but she was too busy trying to fight down the queer jumble of feelings twisting about inside her. "I don't know how to do that."

  He rested his shoulders against the mantelpiece and crossed his ankles indolently. "Experiment. I'm all yours."

  She couldn't bear having him making fun of her. Her throat constricted, and she moved back to the door. "I've changed my mind."

  "Coward," he said softly.

  She turned in time to see the mockery fade from his expression and something different take its place, something both seductive and challenging. "I dare you, Kit Weston."

  A wild pounding reverberated deep inside her. Follow your instincts, Veronica had advised. But how would she know what to do?

  He lifted a brow in silent acknowledgment of her dilemma, and a rush of courage that defied logic surged through her. Slowly she raised her fingers to the single button that held the peignoir together. The garment slid to the floor in a cascade of black lace.

  His eyes drank in her body. "You've never been one to refuse a dare, have you?" he said huskily.

  Her mouth curved into a smile. She walked toward him slowly, feeling a sudden, unreasonable surge of self-confidence. As she moved, she let her hips sway ever so slightly so that the slim skirt of the gown clung even more revealingly. She stopped in front of him and stared into the smoky depths of his eyes. Without dropping her gaze, she reached up and rested the palms of her hands lightly on his shoulders.

  She sensed his tension beneath her fingers, and it gave her a feeling of power she'd never known in his presence. She lifted herself on her toes and pressed her lips to the dancing pulse at the base of his throat.

  He groaned softly and buried his face in her hair, but otherwise he kept his arms at his sides. Excitement at his uncharacteristic passivity quivered through her. She parted her lips and flicked at the pulse with the tip of her tongue until its rhythm beat faster and faster.

  Greedy for more of him, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. When it was open, she pushed the fabric out of her way and slipped her hands beneath. She splayed her fingers over the mat of hair on his chest and then touched her lips to the hard, flat nipple that she'd exposed.

  With a strangled sound, he caught her in his arms and pulled her body against his. But it was her game now, and she'd make him play by her rules. With the soft, wicked laugh of a vixen, she eased out of his grasp and backed across the room.

  Lifting her eyes to his, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Then she slid the palms of her hands over her ribs, her waist, and the curve of her hips in deliberate provocation.

  His nostrils flared. She heard his quickening breath. Slowly she slid her hands back up again, this time over the front of her. Thighs… stomach… ribs… A woman seduces a man by following her instincts without giving the slightest thought to what she's heard is proper or improper. She cupped her breasts in her palms.

  A muffled exclamation escaped his lips. The word was unintelligible, but he uttered it with a sense of wonder that made it seem a tribute.

  Confident now of her power, she moved so that the bed was between them. She lifted her gown and climbed up onto the mattress. With a shake of her head, her hair tumbled forward over her shoulder. She smiled a smile that had been passed down from Eve and let her sleeve fall down on her arm. Beneath the veil of her hair lay one exposed breast.

  It took all of Cain's self-control not to rush to the bed and devour her as she was meant to be devoured.

  He'd vowed to himself he wouldn't let this happen, but now he couldn't hold back. She was his.

  But she wasn't done with him yet. Resting on her heels with the skirt of her gown puddled over her knees, she played with her tousled hair so the raven locks fell open and closed in an erotic game of peekaboo.

  The last thread of Cain's self-restraint snapped. He had to touch her or die. He came to the edge of the bed and reached out with his scarred hand to push the dark curtain of her hair behind her shoulder. He gazed down at the perfectly formed breast with its taut crest. "You learn fast," he said thickly.

  He reached for her breast, but once again she eluded him. She glided back against the pillows so that she was resting on one elbow, the black silk skirt of her gown loose across her thighs. "You wear too many clothes," she whispered.

  His bottom lip curved. With a few deft motions, he unfastened the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled the garment off. She watched him undress. Her heart pounded with a wild, savage rhythm.

  Finally he stood before her fiercely naked. "Now who's wearing too many clothes?" he murmured.

  He knelt on the bed and placed his hand on her knee, just under the hem of her gown. But she sensed the gown excited him, and she wasn't surprised when he didn't remove it. Instead, he slid his hand beneath it and moved along the inner flesh of her thigh until he found what he was seeking. He touched her lightly once,, then again, then once again, going deeper.

  This time she was the one who moaned. As she arched her back, the black silk fell free from her other breast. He dipped his head to claim first one and then the other of her nipples. The double caress at her breasts and beneath her gown was more than she could bear. With a moan that came from her very soul, she shattered beneath his touch.

  It could have been seconds or hours later before she came back to herself. He was stretched beside her, staring intently into her face. As she opened her eyes, he dipped his mouth to hers and kissed her lips.

  "Fire and honey," he whispered.

  She looked at him questioningly, but he only smiled and kissed her again. She returned his passion in full measure.

  His mouth traveled to her breasts. Finally he pushed her gown high above her waist and moved on to her stomach.

  She sensed what was to happen even before she felt the brush of his lips against the soft inner surface of her thigh. At first she thought she must be mistaken. The idea was too shocking. Surely she must be wrong. It couldn't be… He couldn't…

  But he did. And she thought she would die from the pleasure he gave her.

  After it was over, she felt as if she would never be the same again. He held her close and stroked her hair, idly curling the tendrils around his finger, giving her the time she needed to recover. Finally, when he could be patient no longer, he pressed himself over her.

  She settled the heels of her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  Now the question was in his eyes as he lay back against the pillows, and she rose to her knees beside him. He watched her cross her arms modestly in front of her kneeling body, pick up the hem of her gown, and pull it off.

  He took in her naked beauty for only a moment before she lay upon him. The curtain of her hair fell across them as she clasped his head between her small, strong hands.

  She explored his mouth aggressively. She was boldly female, using her tongue to plunder and ravish, to take pleasure for herself and return it in abundance. Then she caressed the rest of him, touching her mouth to scars and muscles and hard, male flesh until there was only sensation between them. They came together, soared together… then fell apart.

  Throughout the night they held each other, making love when they awakened, then dozing with their bodies still joined. Sometimes they talked, speaking of the pleasure of their bodies, but never once mentioning the things that held them apart Even in their intimacy, they established limits that couldn't be crossed.

  You may
touch me here… You may touch me there… Oh, yes, oh, yes, and there… But do not expect more. Do not expect daylight to bring a change in me. There will be no changes. You will only hurt me… Take from me… Destroy me… I will give you ray body, but do not, dare not, expect more.

  In the morning, Cain growled at her when she crumpled the newspaper he wanted to read. Kit lashed out at him for setting a chair in her way.

  The daytime barriers snapped back into place.

  18

  Sophronia made up her mind just before Christmas. James Spence met her beside the road that led to Rutherford and showed her a deed to a house in Charleston that had her name on it.

  "It's a pretty pink stucco, Miz Sophronia, with a fig tree in the front and a trellis all covered with wisteria in the back."

  She took the deed, studied it carefully, and said she'd go with him.

  As she gazed out the kitchen window at the wet, dreary December day that lay over the dormant fields of Risen Glory, she reminded herself that she was twenty-four years old. Her life had been standing still long enough. James Spence could give her everything she'd wanted for so long. He treated her politely, and he was handsome for a white man. He'd take good care of her, and in return, she'd take care of him. It wouldn't be all that much different from what she was doing now… except that she'd have to lie with him.

  She shivered, then asked herself what difference it made. It wasn't as if she were a virgin. The house in Charleston would be hers-that was what was important-and she'd finally be safe. Besides, it was time to get away. Between Magnus, Kit, and the major, she'd go crazy if she had to stay at Risen Glory much longer.

  Magnus watched her with those soft brown eyes of his. She hated the pity she saw in them, yet sometimes she found herself daydreaming about that Sunday afternoon when he'd kissed her in the orchard. She wanted to forget that kiss, but she couldn't. He hadn't tried to touch her again, not even the night Kit and the major had gotten married and she'd slept at his house. Why wouldn't he go away and leave her in peace?

  She wished they'd all go away, even Kit. Ever since she'd gone back to the major's bed, there was something frantic about her. She rushed from one thing to another, never giving herself time to think. In the morning when Sophronia went to the henhouse to gather eggs, she could see Kit in the distance, riding Temptation as if there weren't any tomorrow, taking him over jumps that were too high, pushing them both to the limit. Even if was cold or rainy, she rode. It was almost as if she was afraid the land might have disappeared during the night while she and the major were carrying on in that big bedroom upstairs.

  During the daytime, the air between them shimmered with tension. Sophronia hadn't heard Kit speak a civil word to him in weeks, and when the major talked to her, his voice sounded like it was frozen inside a block of ice. Still, at least he seemed to be trying. He'd given in on the matter of putting a road to the mill through those acres of scrub to the east, when everybody but Kit could see the land was useless and the road would save miles of traveling time.

  This morning Sophronia had been afraid they'd come to blows. The major had been warning Kit for weeks to stop riding Temptation so recklessly. He'd finally put his foot down and told her she couldn't ride Temptation at all. Kit had called him names and threatened a few things no woman should even know about, much less mention. He'd stood there like a statue, not saying a word, just watching her with that stone-cold expression that sent shivers down Sophronia's spine.

  But no matter how bad things were between them during the day, when nightfall came, the door of that big front bedroom would slam shut and not open again until morning.

  Through the window, Sophronia saw Kit, dressed in those shameful britches, coming back from a walk. Sophronia's stomach coiled in dread. She couldn't put it off any longer. Her satchel was packed, and Mr. Spence would be waiting for her at the end of the drive in less than an hour.

  She'd told no one of her plans, although she wondered if Magnus suspected something. He'd looked at her strangely when he'd come to the kitchen for breakfast that morning. Sometimes she had the feeling he could read her mind.

  She told herself she was glad he'd gone into Rutherford for the day so he wouldn't be here when she left. But some part of her wanted one last glimpse of that kind, handsome face.

  She left her apron on the peg next to the sink where she'd been hanging aprons since she was a child. Then she walked through the house for the last time.

  A chilly gust of air accompanied Kit as she came in through the front door. "That wind has some bite to it. I'm going to make chowder for dinner tonight."

  Sophronia forgot that such things were no longer her responsibility. "It's nearly five o'clock," she scolded. "If you wanted chowder, you should have told me earlier. Patsy already made a nice okra pilau."

  Kit jerked off her woolen jacket and shoved it irritably onto the newel-post. "I'm sure she won't mind if I add chowder to the menu." She began to stomp up the stairs.

  "People in this house would appreciate it if you smiled once in a while."

  Kit paused and looked down at Sophronia. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that you've been grouchy for months now, and it's getting contagious. You've even got me snapping at Patsy."

  It wasn't the first time Sophronia had reprimanded Kit for her behavior, but today Kit couldn't muster the energy to come to her own defense. She'd been feeling edgy and listless, not sick exactly, but not entirely well, either. She sighed wearily. "If Patsy doesn't want chowder on the menu tonight, I'll make it tomorrow."

  "You'll have to tell her yourself."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because I won't be here."

  "Oh? Where are you going?"

  Sophronia faltered. Kit had asked the question so innocently. "Let's go into the sittin' room for a few minutes so we can talk."

  Kit looked at her curiously, then followed her down the hallway. Once inside, she sat on the settee. "Is something wrong?"

  Sophronia remained standing. "I-I'm going away to Charleston."

  "You should have told me earlier. I have some shopping to do, too. I could have gone with you."

  "No, it's not a shopping trip." Sophronia clasped her hands in front of her butternut wool skirt. "I-I'm goin' for good. I won't be coming back to Risen Glory."

  Kit stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Not coming back? Of course you're coming back. You live here."

  "James Spence bought me a house."

  Kit's forehead knitted. "Why would he do that? Are you going to be his housekeeper? Sophronia, how could you even think of leaving here?"

  Sophronia shook her head. "I'm not goin' to be his housekeeper I'm goin' to be his mistress."

  Kit gripped the arm of the settee. "I don't believe you. You'd never do anything so horrible."

  Sophronia's chin shot up. "Don't you dare judge me!"

  "But this is wrong! What you're talking about is wicked, plain and simple. How could you even consider such a thing?"

  "I'm doin' what I have to," Sophronia said stubbornly.

  "You don't have to do this!"

  "That's easy for you to say. But did you ever think I might want some of the same things you want-a house, pretty clothes, being able to wake up in the morning knowing nobody can hurt me?"

  "But nobody can hurt you here. The war's been over for three years. Nobody's bothered you."

  "That's just because everybody assumed I was sharing your husband's bed." At Kit's sharp look, she added, "I wasn't. Still, nobody except Magnus knew that." The sculptured lines of her face set into bitter planes. "Now that you're married, everything's different. It's just a matter of time before somebody decides I'm free for the picking. That's the way it is for any black woman doesn't have a white man lookin' out for her. I can't go through the rest of my life like that."

  "But what about Magnus?" Kit argued. "He's a good man. Anybody with eyes can see that he loves you. And no matter how much you pretend otherwise, I know you have tend
er feelings for him. How can you do this to him?"

  Sophronia's mouth formed a straight, stubborn line. "I have to look out for myself."

  Kit jumped up from the settee. "I don't see what's so wonderful about having a white man watching out for you. When you were a slave, my father was supposed to be watching out for you, and look what happened. Maybe Mr. Spence won't be able to protect you any more than my father could. Maybe he'll look the other way the same as my father. Did you ever think about that, Sophronia? Did you?"

  "Your father didn't try to protect me!" Sophronia cried. "He didn't try, do you understand what I'm telling you? It wasn't just a matter of not seeing what was happenin'. He was the one who was giving me away for the night to his friends."

  Kit felt a stabbing deep in the walls of her stomach.

  Now that the truth was out, Sophronia couldn't stop herself. "Sometimes he'd let them throw dice for me. Sometimes they'd race their horses. I was the prize in the games they played."

  Kit ran to Sophronia and took her in her arms. "I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so very, very sorry."

  Sophronia's back was rigid under her hands. Kit stroked her, blinked away tears, muttered apologies that weren't hers to make, and tried to find the argument that would convince Sophronia not to leave the only home she'd ever known. "Don't let what happened ruin the rest of your life. As awful as it was, it happened a long time ago. You're young. Lots of slave women-"

  "Don't you tell me about slave women!" Sophronia jerked away, her expression ferocious. "Don't you dare tell me about slave women! You don't know nothin' about it!" She took a deep gulp of air, as if she were strangling. "He was my father, too!"

  Kit froze. Slowly, she shook her head. "No. It's not true. You're lying to me. Even he wouldn't give away his own daughter. Damn you! Damn you for lying to me!"

  Sophronia didn't flinch. "I'm his daughter, no different from you. He took my mama when she was only your mama's nose. Kept her there until he found out she was carryin' a baby, then he tossed her back to the slave cabins like a piece of trash. At first, when his friends came sniffin' after me, I thought maybe he might have forgotten I was his. But he hadn't forgotten. He just didn't attach any significance to it. Blood had no meaning because I wasn't human. I was property. Just another nigger gal."