“I want to marry you,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I love you, Ford.”
He believed her because she believed it. She had all the brazen desire of a young girl completely in love when she didn’t even know what love was. He knew he had to stop this.
“Ruby, both our families are for this marriage. Pernetta wants the marriage, and so do I. You must see reason. This was nothing but a childhood fantasy of yours,” he said, trying to soften the blow.
Ruby looked shocked and then hurt. Her eyes teared up as she looked at him. Ford couldn’t deny that she was a lovely girl with her blond hair that normally glistened in the sunlight and her gray eyes, so expressive they hid nothing.
“You want the marriage too?” She repeated the words in a whisper.
“Yes,” he said, though it was a lie.
“A childhood fantasy?”
“Yes, Ruby. You’re a child. A fifteen-year-old girl.”
“I’m not a child, Ford. And I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything?” she whispered to him.
Then, without warning, she broke free from his hold and wound her slim arms around his neck, pressing her naked breasts to his chest.
Ford was shocked. His hands skimmed her back and then moved down to cup her small bottom in his hands. As her mouth touched his, his cock immediately filled with blood. It was a sweet, innocent kiss, and he could tell she had no practice. He realized what he was doing and jerked away from her. She was a temptress.
She met his eyes and then looked down at his cock. He was willing to bet she had never seen one in an aroused state.
“Am I still a child?” she asked, taunting him.
He ground his teeth together. How many men would throw her down upon the wet, muddy bank and take her virginity right there? She was playing with fire.
“No, you aren’t,” he said, watching her eyes darken with desire. “You’re a witch.”
Suddenly, they both heard a cry and turned to see Pernetta, clutching her fist against her mouth, with Jessbelle standing beside her on the bank of the watering hole.
“You . . . you slut!” Pernetta cried out at Ruby before turning to run back to the house.
Jessbelle didn’t seem to understand what had happened, only that her dear friend Ruby had been found in the arms of her brother, and Ford knew it did not look good.
“I . . . I’ll go after—” She didn’t finish the thought before she turned and flew after Pernetta.
Ford turned to look at Ruby, whose eyes seemed huge in the darkness.
“You need to get dressed,” he said sternly. As she moved toward the bank, he turned away to avoid the sight of her naked body.
Giving her enough time to dress, he made his way to the bank and saw that she was gone.
By the time Ford returned to the party, the engagement was over. Pernetta was in a state, calling Ford a “scoundrel” and her sister a “whore.”
Their guests were awkwardly leaving as the carriages were called forth. There was much low chatter, and all anyone seemed to know was that the engagement had been called off and Ruby was the reason.
Ford felt an immense sense of relief at the broken engagement but also great sympathy for the idyllic Ruby, who believed in fairy tales . . . and who loved him.
As his carriage drew up, he turned to see Ruby making her way toward the house. Her hair was wet and falling down her back, and she was shivering. He had the intense urge to wrap her into his coat and kiss her forehead. He could see the outline of her legs against the gaslights of the house, and he swallowed at the sight of her.
Someone called her name, and she moved out of his sight. In the carriage, he leaned back and sighed. He could still remember her hands around his neck and his own hands as he skimmed her sleek, wet curves. He closed his eyes. She was only a girl now. What would she be like when she grew older and her beauty became all that more apparent? He shivered himself.
Ruby walked into the plantation house, where the butler informed her that the family was waiting for her in the large front parlor. She nodded. Her hair was wet, but she didn’t care. She knew that whatever was about to be said or done, she probably deserved. She had behaved badly, but she couldn’t help herself. Not where Ford was concerned. She loved him.
As she opened the door to the parlor, she took a deep breath. Seated on the couch were her mother and sister while her father stood before the fire, sipping a glass of his beloved bourbon whiskey.
“I’m sure I don’t even know where to begin,” Lucille said, shaking her head and looking first at her beloved eldest daughter and then at her husband. Finally, as if it took a great deal of effort, her eyes flicked briefly over her youngest daughter.