Wicked Temptations (9 page)

Priscilla glanced back at Lady Whittington, wondering how she was going to get around this debacle, living under the same roof with the woman as she was. It was obvious the subject would not be shelved, now that a possible line of descent from King Henry had been introduced. It had been so uncomplicated when she was in school. She'd simply shown her classmates the picture of the queen and claimed her ancestry, and that was that. Of course, once Lady Whittington checked
Burke's Peerage
and learned there were no Phipps descended from King Henry, that will be that.

Once inside the buggy, Adam called up to his driver and gave him directions to start driving, then settled next to Priscilla, and said, "Is it true what you told my mother?"

Priscilla glanced up at him. "Do you think I'd lie to her?"

Adam let out a short laugh, and said, "I wouldn't hold it against you if you did. I just lied to her."

"You did?" Priscilla looked at him, curious. "About what?"

"Mr. Jenkins." He gave her a wry smile. "He's not expecting us. That was the only way I could think to get you out of a sticky situation with my mother, and have you alone with me." He covered her hand with his. "So, are you descended from King Henry? I have to admit, your resemblance to the queen is uncanny."

"I don't know whether I am or not," she said, candidly. "There was speculation when I was growing up that I had to have been descended from the Tudors because of the way I looked, and it gave me a lance to hurl at a lot of spiteful, mean-spirited children who teased me mercilessly about my bright red hair and freckles. None of them could claim to be descended from royalty, and they were wary of crossing me after that. Unless one has bright copper hair, one does not know what it's like. But after claiming royalty, I no longer felt a need to put my hands over my head and tell them to stop looking at my hair."

He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her palm. "You are a whole lot prettier than the queen," he said, continuing to hold her hand.

Priscilla let out a little snicker. "I know. I'm not bald, and I don't have black teeth."

Adam kissed her lightly. "But you do have the prettiest smile I've ever seen, and beautiful eyes that change color with your moods, like a chameleon, and a mouth that is more kissable than any I have ever tasted, and a womanly shape that demands a man's touch—" his palm glided down her chest, then curled into a fist that he rested on his knee. "I will not venture there. Yet. To sum it up, Miss Priscilla Phipps, who may or may not have descended from the Tudors, you are a very desirable woman."

For the first time in her life, Priscilla felt desirable. And when Adam tucked his hands beneath her legs and lifted her onto his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, sending him tumbling against the buggy seat, and kissed him the way she had at the picnic. While her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue explored his mouth, his hand glided up her bodice and he began unfastening the buttons of her dress. Slipping his palm inside her corset, he cupped her breast. Priscilla let out a little sigh of pleasure, making no effort to stop the deliciously exciting, incredibly titillating, amazingly wondrous things his fingers were doing. Nor did she protest when he broke their sensuous kiss and clamped his lips onto the tight nub he'd just been teasing, while his other hand slipped beneath the hem of her drawers and move up her bare thigh...

Her breath quickened, low moans reverberated from deep inside her, and her body reeled with newfound sensations. His hands, his lips, the tip of his tongue all ministering to her at once was nearly overwhelming... as if she were being drawn into a world of almost unbearable sensual pleasure.
 
All she knew was, she did not want the buggy ride, or the glorious things Adam was doing, to ever end. But when it did, which to her dismay would be inevitable, she prayed she would no longer be a maiden lady.
 
She was ready to dispense with that hallowed burden...

CHAPTER FIVE

It is a natural virtue incident to our sex to

be pitiful of those that are afflicted.

—
Elizabeth
to Spanish ambassador, De
Feria
, 1559

Morning light, and Priscilla felt more frustrated than she'd ever felt before. Adam had almost made her a woman, and all she'd wanted was for him to finish the job. But he'd pulled away when they were flesh to flesh, him primed to complete the deflowering, her in a state of ecstasy and desperate for him to bring to fruition the glorious feelings that had been building toward something she couldn't quite grasp, like a gathering of the most sensual of bodily pleasures. Whether Adam had withdrawn from guilt over the prospect of taking a maiden woman's virtue, or because the buggy bogged down and came to an abrupt halt, she wasn't sure, because he'd pulled back
before
the buggy bogged down. But once the buggy stopped, he'd shoved his male part back into his britches, while she hastily pulled her skirts down and drew her bodice across her breasts. And with no time to spare.

Moments later, the buggy driver rapped on the window and announced that he would walk for help. While the driver was gone, Adam had not attempted to get back to where they had been before the untimely interruption, but instead, apologized for his bad behavior, climbed out of the buggy, and stood outside until the driver returned with help.

During that time, it took all of Priscilla's willpower to keep from throwing open the door, grabbing Adam by the arm, hauling him into the buggy, and insisting he complete what they had started. But as frustrated as she'd felt, she imagined he must have been yet more frustrated. Before their intimacy in the buggy she'd known little about the physiology of men. She'd heard that changes took place in their male part when they were ready for a woman, and she'd seen evidence of it in the way his trousers sometimes stretched tight across the front, like a pole trying to poke through a tent, but she had not known just how drastic the change was, or what happened to it when the act was unconsummated. But that had not been discussed during their ride home.

Their conversation from that point on had been so reserved, it was almost as if they'd just met. All intimacies they'd shared—the passionate kiss at the picnic, the near deflowering in the buggy—were clearly to be kept mum, even between them. She didn't know whether to be embarrassed, humiliated, angry or flattered that he thought so highly of her that he'd refrained from taking her virtue, when it was his for the taking.

And when they arrived home and he walked her to her bedroom suite on the way to his bedroom, he said good night, but didn't attempt to kiss her. Maybe he never would again. Maybe she'd never experience the culmination of an intimacy between a man and a woman. Perhaps, like Queen Bess, who had gone down in history as the Virgin Queen, she too would remain a virgin for the rest of her life. It was a bleak thought, now that she'd been awakened to the kisses and intimate caresses of a man who truly stirred her.

Deciding it was pointless to remain in bed all morning feeling sorry for herself, she went about the business of putting herself together. After arranging her hair in a bouquet of curls on top of her head, she turned her attention to her face. She reasoned that a light application of
 
makeup would augment her plain appearance so Lady Whittington would not be so distracted by it, but it would not be so bold as to draw attention to her close resemblance to the queen, so perhaps that absurdity would be forgotten. She opted for a dusting of the foundation powder that Abigail and Libby had prepared, a brush of
 
green eye shadow, and a touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips. She'd never worn makeup before, considering it pointless when one was as plain as she, but after observing herself in the mirror she decided it did make her more presentable. Actually not too unattractive.

She only wished she could avoid both Adam and his mother this particular morning, and slip away to
The Town Tattler
building, where she could immerse herself in the business of putting out the next issue. But it was Sunday and everyone in the household would be going to church, and she'd be expected to go with them.

She prayed that when Lady Whittington was socializing after the service she would not bring up the silliness about the queen to her friends, but she suspected her prayer would be in vain. Pandora's box had been opened to Lady Whittington, and there was no closing it now. But after
the Town Tattler
meeting, which was scheduled later in the week, and which had been publicized in postings distributed around town, Lady Whittington would have other issues to focus on, mainly her granddaughter's involvement in Adam's election.

Trudy had read all of the newspaper clippings that Priscilla had given her, and the young woman was eager to take part in the meeting. Trudy had also hand-lettered several leaflets promoting her father, which she planned to distribute. Priscilla had no idea what would come of it, but she suspected that Trudy's efforts would not go unnoticed.

Satisfied with her appearance, Priscilla slipped into a moss-green tailor-made with a fashionable, tight-fitting
 
jersey bodice and a skirt with panels on each side trimmed with knife-plaiting at the bottom, an outfit she'd recently purchased. After one last look in the mirror, she decided she looked presentable, and left her room.

When she arrived at the breakfast table, Adam had just seated his mother. Once settled, Lady Whittington smiled graciously at Priscilla and said in a bright voice, "Good morning, dear. I have some exciting news. But I will wait until Adam has seated you."

Adam looked at his mother in curiosity, then pulled out a chair for Priscilla, and said to her, his lips close to her ear, "You look very nice this morning."

Lowering herself to the chair, Priscilla replied, "Thank you."

As he pushed her chair in, Adam said, "I must apologize again for the buggy bogging down last night. I hope you suffered no ill effects from the unexpected... umm... episode."

Priscilla wasn't sure what to make of Adam's comment. Was the episode he was referring to their near indiscretion, or the fact that the buggy bogged down? He'd been so quiet on the way home, she had not expected him to bring it up again at all.

She gave him a tentative smile. "Yes, it was unfortunate that the buggy bogged down when it did. I had been finding the ride especially exhilarating, and I was not prepared for the abrupt stop. Perhaps we can take another buggy ride in the near future and pick up where we left off." She looked up at him then, and his face looked grim. Yet, as he removed his fingers from her chair, they caressed her shoulders in a way that let her know he'd wanted to touch her.

"When I return from the ranch I'll take you in the buggy around town so you can visit the merchants," Adam said, letting her know that taking her virtue during a longer ride would not be an option. She wondered if it was the awkwardness of being in a buggy, or her. Something stopped him from taking his pleasure when he could, and it was clear he hadn't changed his mind. But then, men never were attracted to her. Why should Adam be different from the rest?

After she had settled in her chair, and while a platter of meat pies and fried potatoes was being offered around the table by a server, Lady Whittington said to Priscilla, in an excited voice, "I spent the better part of last night with Burke's Peerage, and I discovered that you are descended from the lineage of Henry Phipps, who held lands in Westbury and
Chalford
. He's a direct descendant of King Henry VII through Henry VIII. You apparently descended from George and Mary Phipps of
Charlemont
,
Massachusetts
, who had eight offspring, your namesake, Priscilla Phipps, being the eldest of the children. Priscilla was born in 1783, so she would be your great-great grandmother. So it establishes your descent from Henry VIII, and your resemblance to Queen Elizabeth. You and the queen would be cousins twice removed. Or is that thrice?" She glanced off in thought. "Whichever, it makes you a Tudor." She touched her napkin to her lips, and said in an animated voice, "This is so very exciting."

Priscilla looked at Adam, who seemed puzzled by his mother's finding. Just as she was. All the time she was growing up, she'd fancied herself descended from royalty as a means of coming to terms with her homeliness, and her mother had encouraged the ruse by calling her Bess. Yet, her close resemblance to the queen made her wonder if perhaps she could somehow be related to the Tudors. But that girlhood dream was not based on reality, only wishful thinking.

But because of it, she'd read volumes about Elizabeth and her difficult and perilous ascendency to the thrown, and it gave her confidence while she was growing up that if a homely princess, whose mother had been beheaded, and whose father was repulsed by the sight of his ugly daughter at birth, could overcome all the obstacles in her path and become England's greatest monarch, then one homely woman from Missouri could certainly start a small newspaper called
The Town Tattler
and make it a success.

She looked at Lady Whittington, who was waiting for her response. Deciding there was no harm in continuing the sham, especially now that Lady Whittington had found a totally unexpected connection, she said, uncertainly, "I suppose that would be my family's line. Though, like I said, the family Bible was lost in a fire. And since my grandparents on my father's side died before I was born, there was no one left to pass on information about his family lineage."

"Then we will hold it at that," Lady Whittington said, her face animated. "You must get acquainted with the women in the Garden Club. And of course, they will be interested in subscribing to your publication. What did you say it was called, dear?"

"
The Town Tattler
," Priscilla said.

And
that
, was the first bright spot in her day.

Undoubtedly, Lady Whittington would be prominent in soliciting subscribers. After all, who among her British lady friends would not want to subscribe to a publication put out by a direct descendant of the father of their favorite queen.

***

During the social following the church service later that day, Adam managed to catch Priscilla alone, and after escorting her around behind the church to the private spot where they had picnicked, he said in a remorseful voice, "Are you really alright?"

Priscilla looked at him, her expression a combination of bafflement and irritation, and said, "I don't know what you mean by
really alright
, but yes, Adam, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Adam understood Priscilla's testy demeanor. Guilt for his lack of control in the buggy hung over him like a shroud. She didn't need the first man in her life pawing all over her like she were a common trollop, which was exactly what he'd done. Fondling her breasts, getting under her skirts, even releasing himself to take her virtue. Damn near did but for one last thrust. She deserved better. She should be treated like the virtuous woman she was. "In the buggy last night, things got out of hand," he said. "I never intended to get so carried away. I took advantage of you during a weak moment, and it was inexcusable of me. I'm very, very sorry, Priscilla, and I hope you'll forgive me. You are a lady in every sense of the word, and I behaved like a rake."

Priscilla's eyes darkened, and her lips flattened into what Adam could only describe as vexation, which baffled him. He'd hoped his apology would put her in his good graces. "I can see you're still angry with me," he said, "and with good reason."

Priscilla sucked in a breath through flared nostrils, and said, "No, I'm not angry with you, Adam. I'm frustrated. You behaved exactly the way I hoped you would. I'm only sorry that the buggy bogged down." She looked steadily at him, lips moist and parted, eyes holding a glint of unfulfilled passion.

Resisting the urge to kiss her senseless, he said, "You can't mean that."

The glint in her eyes sharpened. "Oh, but I do. I'm tired of being viewed as the plain, unattractive spinster lady who has never been touched by a man because no man found me attractive enough to do so. You almost did. But then you decided at the last minute to leave me yet untouched. This morning, I would liked to have awakened with a blush on my face. Instead, I awakened feeling very frustrated, like a child in a candy shop who must forever look at the candy without ever tasting it."

Adam stared at her, dumbfounded. When he finally found his voice, he said, "There is nothing more that I want at the moment than to open every jar in the candy shop and let you feast on it, as long as I can feast along with you. The only reason you're still a maiden lady is because I believe you deserve more."

"I don't care what you believe, Adam. I want to be touched by you, and I want to be touched all over. And I want you to kiss me everywhere. I don't care if it is in a buggy, or on a mattress pad upstairs in
The Town Tattler
building, or here on the church grounds with God as our witness to the impropriety of it. I want you to be the man to put an eternal blush on my very pale face. I don't even care if it makes my freckles stand out more."

Adam had never met a woman as completely outspoken about her intimate desires as Priscilla, and he found it both refreshing and arousing, the tightening in his breeches reminding him that he would very much like to put that blush on her face, right now, on the church grounds, with God as their witness. That not being an option, he lifted his hand to her face and moved toward her to give her a kiss. But before he could stop her, she threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss so soundly on his lips that he had to brace his legs to keep from falling backwards. When he recovered his balance, he broke the kiss, and said, "Sweet lady, your enthusiasm will be the death of me."