Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

obviously a little surprised by the bare walls and windows.
    "I'm getting myself ready for dinner now," I said. "Do you mind?"
    "Oh no, I don't mind. I don't mind at all. Go right ahead," he quipped. I had never met a more infuriating person. He stood there with that debauched grin on his face, leering at me. I had my arms over my bosom.
    "I could brush your hair for you, if you like."
    "I don't like. Please leave," I insisted, but he only laughed and took a few steps closer to me. "If you don't leave my room, Mr. Cutler, I'll . . ."
    "Scream? That wouldn't be very nice. And," he said, gazing around again, "as for this being your room . . . well"—he smiled—"you know it's really mine."
    "Not until you take possession," I replied.
    "That's true," he said, coming closer. "Possession is nine tenths of the law, especially in the South. You know, you are a very pretty and very interesting young lady. I like the fire in your eyes. Most women I meet have only one thing in their eyes," he said, widening his smile.
    "I'm sure that's probably true of most women you would meet," I snapped. He laughed.
    "Come on now, Lillian. You don't dislike me all that much, do you? You must find me a little attractive. I've never met a woman who didn't," he added boldly.
    "Well, you've found your first one," I said. He was so close now that I had to take a step back.
    "That's because you don't really know me well enough. In time . . ." He put his hands on my shoulders and I started to pull away, but his fingers tightened so that he held me firmly in place.
    "Let me go," I demanded.
    "Such fire in those eyes," he said. "I've got to put it out or you'll burn up," he added and brought his lips to mine so quickly, I barely had time to bring my head back. I struggled against him, but he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me harder. The moment he pulled back, I wiped his kiss off my lips with the back of my hand.
    "I knew you would be exciting. You're like an unbridled wild horse, but after you're broken, I bet you'll gallop like few others," he declared, his eyes traveling quickly from my flushed face down to my breasts.
    "Get out of my room! Get out!" I cried, pointing to the door. He held his hands up.
    "All right, all right. Don't get yourself upset. It was just a friendly kiss. You didn't dislike it, did you?"
    "I hated every second of it," I spit out.
    He laughed. "I'm sure you'll dream about it tonight."
    "In nightmares," I retorted. That brought a bigger roar from him.
    "Lillian, I really do like you. The truth is, it's the only reason I'm still amusing myself with this run-down, pathetic excuse for Southern glory. That and beating your father at cards again and again," he added. Then he turned and left me gasping with indignation and fury, my heart pounding.
    I refused to look at him that night at dinner and answered every question he asked with a simple yes or no. Papa didn't appear to notice or care about my feelings toward Bill Cutler, and Emily assumed I was seeing him the way she saw him. Once in a while, under the table, he touched me with the toe of his boot or his fingers and I had to ignore it or pretend it wasn't happening. I saw how he was amused by my discomfort. I was happy when the meal ended and I was able to go back up to my room and escape from his teasing and tormenting.
    A little more than an hour later, I heard Papa's footsteps in the hallway. I was sitting up in my bed reading and looked up when he opened my bedroom door. He stood there for a moment just looking in at me. Ever since the birth of Charlotte, he had avoided coming into my room. I knew that he was embarrassed to do so. In fact, he was rarely, if ever, alone in a room with me anymore.
    "Reading again, eh?" he said. "I swear you read even more than Georgia did. Of course, you read better things," he added. His tone of voice, the way he looked away when he spoke, and his tentativeness made me curious. I put my book aside and waited. He looked distracted for a moment.
    "We should fix this room up again," he said. "Maybe have it painted or something. Bring the curtains back . . . but . . . maybe it would be foolish to waste the time and money." He stopped and gazed at me. "You're no longer a little girl, Lillian. You're a young lady and anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "you need to move on with your life."
    "Move on, Papa?"
    "When a girl reaches your age, it's expected. Except a girl like Emily, of course. Emily's different. Emily has another sort