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She’s got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women.
~ Kate Chopin from The Awakening
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If men weren’t opposed to women’s votes, they’d already have the law passed. All the gentlemen of her acquaintance, most assuredly those in the immediate family, heartily resisted the notion.
That Mr. James MacKintosh, Brit and nobleman, hadn’t yet taken it upon himself to belittle her for participating, or at the very least out her to her male relatives, was astonishing.
If nothing else, she expected him to most ardently berate her support of the cause as her brothers no doubt would if they knew. Prim had been warned time and time again at their suffrage meetings that most men, with rare exception, would do so. She must be educated and prepared enough to refute their arguments without faltering under confrontation. They’d been coached how to respond with dignity and without the displays of excessive emotion that would only serve to support the male perspective that women were too emotive for the great responsibility of determining the fate of the country.
Yet, he gave her the chance to do none of that. He only inquired as to whether she was in need of a place to sit or lie down. She wasn’t. And whether she’d like something to drink. She did. He called over a nearby footman to bring them both a glass of Scotch, ignoring her protest that ladies didn’t imbibe such drinks. Nonetheless, she took it when it was delivered, enjoying its bolstering effects.
“Are you not going to say anything about what you witnessed in Albany, Mr. MacKintosh?”
“Would you accommodate me if I were to express some thoughts on the matter? That’s not at all something I anticipated given the...er, brevity of our previous discourse.”
She worried her lip between her teeth, awash with embarrassment over the memory of how abrupt and rude she’d been to him.
“I do apologize, Mr. MacKintosh. I’ve been more than a little temperamental of late given the discord in my family. Though, in all honesty, I’ve never been much of a conversationalist even in the best of times.”
“On the contrary, the few short words you’ve uttered to me throughout the course of our acquaintance have been absolutely charming.”
Amusement suffused her.
“I’ve been told I’m too opinionated in my conversation.”
“So you’ve opted out of it entirely?”
A smile teased at her lips. She hadn’t imagined he would be witty. “I save it for my reform work.”
“Now, there I believe your vocabulary can be quite colorful. And opinionated.”
A rare chuckle escaped her. “I would think a lord such as yourself would be especially intolerant of a woman with an opinion...or of any thought beyond which gown to wear to dinner.”
“Do you know many lords?” he asked, smiling down at her. His grin warm with amusement and more attractive than she’d imagined a simple smile being. It faded at length and when he again spoke, he still had nothing to say about what he’d seen.
“Who is he?”
Since it was not at all what she was expecting, she could do nothing more than gape at him a moment before she blinked.
“Who? Oh, that’s Mr. Mossman Leachman. Have you not met him before?”
“No. Mossman Leachman?” He wrinkled his nose with repugnance, though it didn’t make him any less attractive. “Such a villainous name. Some sort of mad scientist, perhaps? No, with a name like Mossman, he must be an evil botanist.”
Her surprised chuckle sounded rusty even to her own ears. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“An evil botanist then, set to destroy you with poisonous strawberries?”
Her hand tightened around his arm as she laughed again. He remembered her allergy? But the delight slid away and she shot a quick look over her shoulder. Yes, they were all still watching her.
“He’s my father-in-law’s business partner.”
“And...?”
Clearly, he was astute enough to know there was something more.
“He’s my...I would say my suitor, but that makes it sound as if I am encouraging his suit.” She frowned, seeing the gesture mirrored in the downturn of his lips. “I do not.”
“Then why is he courting you at all?”
“The truth is, I’ve been widowed over a year now, and my father-in-law and brothers are pressuring me quite heavily to remarry.”
Good Lord, she couldn’t believe she was being so familiar with a man she hardly knew. But for some reason, Prim trusted him, if only because he hadn’t related the details of her escort from the suffrage march on the capitol to anyone...yet, at least.
She hurried on, “There are few candidates for the position. The greatest and most persistent of them is that gentlemen.”
“Gads, he looks old enough to be your father, or grandfather even.”
“I agree.”
* * *
Though an introduction was the only personal experience he’d had with the man, James knew Declan Eames by reputation. A giant in the banking world, Eames was known as an overbearing blowhard in business, even more so than Morgan. From the way he glowered at his daughter-in-law, he wasn’t much different in his private life.
Aye, he could see a man like Eames forcing a female relative into a courtship she might not support. But the wife of his only son? That seemed unusual. The curiosity that was Prim Eames continued to grow.
“Why the pressure for you to wed? You’ve not been a widow long.”
“That is the question, isn’t it?”
“Do you live with any of them?”
Prim shook her head.
“Prevail upon them?”
“Never,” she denied vehemently. “I’ve made a concerted effort to become quite self-sufficient over the past year. I am no burden to my father-in-law or brothers. I ask nothing of them but to let me live my life as I choose. Yet, they hover over me like worried old aunties, when I need nothing of the sort.”
The way her chin notched up, her shoulders straightened, her resolve became a tangible entity. The pride she’d somehow managed to keep hidden from him, perhaps from the world.
For the first time, real physical attraction stirred in James. The gallop of his pulse, the tightening of his groin. Suddenly, she was more than just a puzzle he wanted to solve, an urge prompted by nothing greater than intrigue and ennui. No, now he was set upon a desire to unwrap her like a present. To unfasten the dozens of cloth covered buttons marching up the front of her bodice and savor each one.
Beneath her lace collar, he could see her pulse fluttering like a butterfly’s wing. The air warmed, her lavender scent wafting around him.
James cleared his throat. “Of course, you don’t.”
“Do you mock me, Mr. MacKintosh?” she asked. “This is a new age. An age for women. For our rights.”
“I’m not sure I’m the one you should be saying that to,” he said softly. “Have you said just that to them?”
“Not in so many words,” she admitted, her eyes downcast once more.
“Well, surely you’ve made it clear you’ve no interest in Leachman’s courtship,” he pressed. “I might not have thought you equal to it a week past, but I now know you’re able to stand up for yourself.”
Her cheeks blossomed becomingly, but rather than shrinking within herself as she tended to do, her chin tilted upward with defiance.
“While I may fight for rights of women across the country, I’ve failed to gain any for myself in my own home,” she said softly. Careful not to be overheard, no doubt. Her shoulders sagged again as if the weight of some unseen burden were too heavy to bear for long. “Declan, I believe, worries more for the fortune Fletcher left behind than over me. But my brothers think me helpless. I doubt any of them think I’m adept at buttoning my own shoes. Though I might prove myself again and again, they’ve never altered their beliefs.”
“Possibly it isn’t that they do not believe, but that they don’t want to.”
James knew all too well, having a sister himself, the urge to protect and shelter...and perhaps treat a grown woman as if she were made of glass. But he also knew his sister was made of stronger stuff.
As was Prim. There was far more of her to know still.
“I’d wager you can be a formidable woman, Mrs. Eames.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining with pleasure at his words, and again he was struck by a wave of desire, more ardent than the last.
James shifted, fighting back the arousal stirring in his groin. Bugger it, this was not the time or place for such thoughts. Nor was he entirely certain he wished to be having them at all.
“Are any of your brothers wed?” he asked, forcibly turning his thoughts.
“None of them.”
“I see. Well, that might be part of your problem. Without a spouse or children of their own, who else is left to make them feel like a man, for them to lord over, but you?”
Her head cocked, lips pursed as she considered his words. “Perhaps. Yes, perhaps that might be part of it.”
She was poised, ripe for his kiss. What would she do if he were to kiss her? Or even trace the line of her jaw with a single finger? Slap him silly? Scream in protest?
Enjoy it?
Or was she already enjoying a man’s kiss? His body?
“Who was the other gentleman with you?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
“You mean my brother Shane?” She nodded toward the men.
No, that wasn’t who he’d been thinking of at all, but rather the blond man she’d greeted with such affection at the Gould soiree. Was he courting her as well? Or was he a lover? Did she welcome it in either case? He shouldn’t care and he certainly couldn’t ask. It would be beyond the pale to pry into her private affairs.
