Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron (15 page)

Adam looked at Priscilla with a start. "You
sleep naked?"

Priscilla shrugged. "When I'm alone, always.
It makes for a much more restful sleep because I don't have to
suffer the frustration of becoming entangled in lace and ruffles
every time I turn over. I have been enduring the uncomfortable
night garments while staying at your home because I don't want to
shock your maids. But once I move into my upstairs apartment, I'll
be alone to do as I please. Sleeping naked is especially refreshing
on hot summer nights when I can open the window, throw back the bed
linens, stretch out on the bed with my arms and legs spread, and
let my body breathe in the cool night air."

Adam's chest was expanding an contracting so
heavily, Priscilla was certain he was having trouble catching his
breath. He also had his fists knotted and resting on his knees.
After a few moments, he said, "Then you've completely given up the
idea of us."

Priscilla nodded. "What you proposed no
longer interests me. I have more important things on my mind."
Though for the life of her she couldn't remember a one of them, the
image of Adam, naked as she and crawling on top of her as she lay
spread-eagled on the bed, taunting her mercilessly. But she refused
to allow those thoughts to rule her better judgment. Succumbing to
physiological urges for the sake of sexual gratification was one
thing. Doing it with a person she loved and respected was another.
And at this point, she neither loved, nor respected Adam. What the
women brought out about the cattlemen during the meeting was deeply
troubling.

"I see," Adam said. Then folded his arms and
clamped his jaws shut.

"No," Priscilla said, "I don't believe you
do. What we planned in the bedroom is an impossible dream at the
moment because I cannot give my body, along with my virginity, to a
man who could be involved in the kinds of things the women at the
meeting brought out. Until I learn otherwise, that's the way it has
to be."

"So you'll continue to listen to only one
side of the issue," Adam said.

"You're welcome to present your side,"
Priscilla replied, "but Lady Ashbury already did." She peered down
at the crowd below. "She and your mother may see nesters down
there, but I see men and women, scrubbed clean and wearing the best
they own, enjoying an evening out. In fact, the women's gowns are
not much different from mine. As you see, this gown is neither silk
nor satin. It's polished cotton intended to look like silk. But
it's acceptable in your mother's social circle because they believe
I'm descended from the Tudors, which places me above the nesters,
even though I'm one of them. And the nonsense about the queen is a
sham. Or, if I am related, as your mother believes, it's purely by
chance that I know. But I was not raised in a royal court. I was
raised in a simple household with no servants. But I doubt you can
relate to that."

"Then you'd never consider marrying a
cattleman." It was a statement.

Priscilla was certain her heart stopped
before breaking into a quick staccato beat. She looked at Adam. His
face was sober. "Am I to take that as a kind of proposal?"

Adam held her gaze for a moment, then
shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose not."

"Well, in case it is, I'll clarify my
position for you," she said, while staring at his firm profile. "I
could never marry a man who tromps over others to get what he
wants. I came west on a wagon train with men and women who put
aside class and refinement to own land they would not otherwise be
able to afford. All they want is to be left alone to work their
land and raise their families and rebuild the lives they left
behind."

"And you believe my ranch agent and range
cowboys are trying to prevent them from doing so," Adam said, while
looking straight ahead.

"I don't know what to believe at this point,"
Priscilla replied. She sat back and folded her arms, knowing that
if Lady Whittington were to return and see them, sitting side by
side, eyes straight ahead, arms folded, she'd know they were having
a standoff. But soon it wouldn't matter because she'd be moving out
of Adam's house.

"How do you plan to find out?" Adam asked.
"Or is it that you don't want to learn the truth because you might
have to admit that I'm not the cold, cruel bastard you seem intent
on portraying me to be."

"I don't wish to portray you as anything,
Adam," she countered. "I simply want to know the truth. Perhaps
I'll invite readers to tell their stories, maybe have some of the
women from the meeting write essays for
The Town Tattler
,
not to create a class war, but to try and bridge the gap between
the British aristocracy of your cattle empire, and the ordinary
folk who are trying to make a new life here. Of course, your
position on the whole issue would be up to you, and ultimately up
to your voters."

Adam let out a weary sigh, and said, "I've
never intimidated anyone, and if I learned that my agent or foreman
or range cowboys did, they'd be dismissed at once."

"Then my editorials shouldn't create a
problem for you," Priscilla said, "because I'll be inviting the
cattlemen's wives and daughters to include editorials as well, if
they're willing to take time away from their busy social schedules.
Maybe you'll even allow Trudy to do so. You said you don't want me
filling her head with women's suffrage nonsense, but if you give
her a chance, perhaps what she has to say will influence women to
cast their votes in your favor."

Adam unfolded his arms and pounded a knotted
fist against his knee.
"Bloody hell woman!
My life was a
whole lot less complicated before you arrived."

Priscilla sucked in a long breath through
flared nostrils and let it out slowly to keep from screaming at the
insufferable man, and said, "I'm sorry you feel that way.
Unfortunately for you, I'm here to stay."

Adam folded his arms again, set his mouth in
a grim line, and stared straight ahead as the lights blinked,
announcing for everyone to take their seats for the final act.

***

Lady Whittington stormed into the library and
confronted Adam, who was sitting at his big mahogany desk, tallying
figures. "I would like a word with you, Adam."

Seeing the dour look on his mother's face,
Adam clenched his jaws. He was in no mood for one of her rants.
He'd about had his fill of impossible females. But cutting his
mother short would only prolong whatever was coming. "Yes, Mother?"
He slumped against the back of his desk chair and steepled his
fingers.

His mother's lips quivered the way they did
when she was about to burst into a tirade. Then her eyes sharpened,
and she said in a brusque voice, "Priscilla just informed me that
she's leaving. Have you said or done something to offend her or
make her feel unwanted?"

Adam held his mother's angry gaze. "No, of
course not. She told me she needs to be closer to her
business."

"That is utter nonsense!"
Lady
Whittington burst out. "Living here with us, she's only minutes
away. Something happened during the play. I knew it the moment I
returned from intermission. What did you say to her?"

Adam sucked in a long breath to keep from
yelling, and said in a measured voice, "Priscilla and I had a
disagreement."

Adam's mother slapped her palm against his
desk, sending papers flying. "Well, it was apparently enough to
send her packing! What was it about?"

Adam glared at his mother. "It was between
Priscilla and me."

"A lover's quarrel?"

Adam looked at his mother with a start.
"Priscilla and I are not lovers." Hell, he didn't know what they
were. But he did know that Priscilla was solidly rooted under his
skin, and no matter what he did, he couldn't dislodge her.

His mother's thin nostrils flared. "Well,
you're behaving like one, Adam. I suspect you're in love with the
woman, though you may not be aware of it."

If it had been anyone but his mother, Adam
would have shoved her out the door and slammed it behind her.
Instead, he willed himself to remain calm, as he said, "That,
Mother, is the biggest bunch of claptrap I've heard in months."

Her eyes darkened. "Your reaction just now
tells me otherwise. Now, I ask you to make amends with Priscilla
and convince her to remain here, where she belongs."

"Where she belongs?" Adam let out a short
guffaw. "Priscilla only started belonging here when you learned she
was a Tudor."

His mother pursed her lips and straightened
her spine. "Her being a Tudor has nothing to do with my wishing her
to stay."

"It has everything to do with it," Adam
countered. "When Priscilla first arrived here you said she was as
plain as an old shoe. But once you found out she was related to the
queen, you suddenly found her acceptable."

"I always found her acceptable," Lady
Whittington sniffed. "She only needed some guidance in fixing her
appearance to make herself attractive. She's doing that now, and
she is really quite presentable. And I believe you have noticed. Am
I wrong?"

Adam rested his forearms on the arms of his
desk chair and leaned forward. "I found Priscilla presentable the
first time I laid eyes on her," he said, looking steadily at his
mother. "Because she's attempting to fashion herself into the image
you wish of her, she's still attractive to me, but in a different
way."

Lady Whittington pressed her lips in disgust.
"Then why are you not courting her, Adam? You were willing to marry
a mail-order bride, a woman half your age whom you had never met,
in order to secure a mother for your children. Priscilla is of the
correct age to become their stepmother, all three of the children
like her, you claim you find her attractive, and yet, you have made
no effort to pursue her."

"That's where you are wrong," Adam said. "At
the theater, I brought up the idea of marriage, which Priscilla
promptly rejected. In fact, it was the basis of our
disagreement."

His mother looked at him, befuddled. "Why on
earth would she do that? You're wealthy, handsome, well-established
socially and, I presume, a gentleman when you're alone with her.
What reason could Priscilla possibly have to reject your
offer?"

Adam shrugged. "She reminded me that I'm an
aristocrat and she's a nester."

"She is of royalty!"

"For heaven's sake, Mother. She came across
the plains in a covered wagon with the homesteaders. She's a
nester."

"But a nester with royal blood in her
veins."

Adam restacked his papers and attempted to
peruse them in an effort to end the exasperating encounter. "Well,
it's irrelevant now," he said, "because she's simply not interested
in marrying me or anyone else. She's involved in running her
newspaper, and she would not have time for a husband, or for
mothering a brood of half-grown children."

"Poppycock!
That's merely her excuse
because she's intimidated by your uncommonly good looks and your
overbearing demeanor. You are a man who could have any woman you
want, and she's puzzled and suspicious as to why you'd want her
because she is—" she stopped and pursed her lips.

"Plain as an old shoe?" Adam eyed his mother
with vexation. "That is what you were about to say, wasn't it?"

"She is not as plain as she was. In fact,
she's really quite attractive now. And she wore that dress to catch
your eye which, I noticed, it did."

"I'm a normal, red-blooded male, Mother. Any
woman with a bosom as ample and manifest as Priscilla's was in that
gown would catch my eye."

"Then you admit you're physically attracted
to her as well."

"I never said I wasn't. You were the one to
label her plain. I find her intriguing and challenging, and
certainly more exciting that the eligible females among Cheyenne's
elite. And yes, the dress did catch my notice, as it did many other
men at the theater. In fact, I saw men's heads turn whenever
Priscilla walked past them."

"That's because she carries herself like a
queen. There's a regal air about her, which I believe comes with
her bloodline."

"It comes from study and practice, Mother.
Priscilla tried to emulate the queen the entire time she was
growing up in order to fool her mean-spirited classmates."

"No matter. She's queenly, and she commands
notice. Now, that's all I intend to say about it. It's up to you to
convince her that she's the right woman for you."

Adam stood, braced his hands on his desk,
leaned toward his mother and said, in a firm voice, "No, Mother.
Priscilla is everything I do not want in a wife."

Catching movement across the room, Adam
looked toward the doorway to find Priscilla standing there. If he'd
hoped to convince her to stay, there was no convincing her now.
Whatever she'd come to tell him, she set it aside and continued
down the hallway.

"Bloody hell!"
He shoved his chair
back, rushed around his mother and went after her. "Wait,
Priscilla," he called out. "I want to talk to you."

Priscilla stopped at the head of the stairs
and waited for him to come to her. "I hope you'll make it fast,
Adam," she said, "because my belongings are packed, and Jim is out
front with the buckboard, ready to collect them and drive them to
my place."

"I don't want you running off like this. What
I said in there—"

"What you said has no affect on me. I'm no
more interested in becoming Lady Whittington than you are in having
me as your wife. I have a business to run, and you have a cattle
empire to oversee. Attempting to make a cozy little family out of
that
combination would be absurd. Now, if you'll excuse me,
I'm ready to leave."

Adam reached out and took her by the arm.
"Not until I kiss you."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Priscilla
snapped. "And if you try, I'll scream."