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I won’t be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult.
~ E.M. Forster
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Prim had to give him credit for his perception. It had never occurred to her that her family coddled her so because she was all they had but it made so much sense. They needed to wed, every last one of them.
They needed a project greater than the only one currently available to them. Or perhaps if that job were already done...
Or if they thought it done...
Prim looked up at Mr. MacKintosh, considering. He was a nobleman if not a true lord, brother of a British earl. Wealthy by all accounts, no one could accuse him of being a fortune hunter.
He seemed inclined to...what? Woo her in some fashion, even if it was only into his bed.
His gaze flashed with interest as he looked at her now. The way his mossy green eyes focused upon her, so warm they made concentration difficult.
What if...?
What if she allowed Mr. MacKintosh to court her?
If the impression were given that he was pursuing her—with marriage in mind, of course—perhaps it might allow her a respite from Mr. Leachman pressing his suit.
Leachman was Declan’s candidate. Her brothers supported it because they saw few other options for her. If she proposed one of her own...
No. Her brothers would never allow him to seriously court her any more than she’d believe herself courted in all seriousness. Shane had made that perfectly clear. They saw in him a reputation, either deserved or not.
However, if she could convince them of his superior business acumen and make them realize that he was better qualified to oversee the fortune her husband had left in her care, then she might be set free of Leachman’s courtship.
All she had to do was ask.
Her hand was on his arm, her lips parted before she even knew what she was about. “Mr. MacKintosh...”
Just that. Nothing more.
“Aye?”
No, she simply could never be so brash. Still...
“M-Mr. MacKintosh...”
“Mrs. Eames...?” His deep brogue held a hint of exaggerated patience. His disposition nothing but amusement.
Prim looked over at the men still watching them. She was so weary of their attempts to govern her life. If she wanted to fight for the rights of her gender, she first needed to find some for herself. Think for herself. Fight for herself, even if it were a fight against good intentions alone.
“You seem a bit of a brawler.”
His eyes widened, no doubt the rushed words had come as a shock. She was more than a little taken aback by them herself. But then his eyes began to sparkle once more and a corresponding lightness soothed a fragment of the tension that wound her so tightly.
“I’ve been known to brawl.” His voice was bursting with amusement. “Every now and then, of course.”
“Of course.” She nodded, casting a glance back at her father-in-law. Her resolve fortified. “Might I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You see, I’m not above admitting there are some things I cannot accomplish on my own.”
“Is that your question?”
“Of course not, but while I can do most things on my own, I understand pure physical strength is one thing I simply do not possess. Though, neither does a child and...and look at Mr. Thomas Sinclair, for that matter. No one thinks less of him for his hired guards, do they?”
“Is that what you’re looking for? A thug?” he asked. “You can hire one of those on the streets.”
“No, that’s not it at all.” She gnawed her lip again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Declan and Leachman rise. Time was running out. “Mr. MacKintosh...”
His gaze followed hers and he noted the men coming toward them. “Shall we walk?”
Smoothly, he helped her up and turned her toward the rear of the mansion, past the grand staircase into the picture gallery that also served as a ballroom for Mrs. Astor’s famous parties.
Their footsteps echoed through the massive room, but MacKintosh kept his voice low.
“Do you fear for your safety, Mrs. Eames?”
Gallant, too.
Prim met his eyes, even more confident in her hasty plan. “Not for my safety but for my freedom, yes. What I’m looking for is a reasonable impediment to stifle Mr. Leachman’s persistent courting. He is a large man, as you can see.”
“Has he threatened you? Hurt you?”
It was kind of him to display such chivalry, but he wasn’t understanding the point she was trying to make. Not that she was making it well.
“I’m muddling this up. As I said, I’m in no danger, but Mr. Leachman tends to use his size to intimidate other men away, leaving me vulnerable to his presence and unfortunate company. But you’re larger than he is, Mr. MacKintosh.”
“You want me to...what? Beat him until he leaves you alone? So you do want a thug.”
“Mr. MacKintosh.” She sighed in exasperation. “Please do not put words in my mouth...” His lips quirked the tiniest bit. “Oh, you’re joking, aren’t you? I must say, that’s not at all humorous.”
Surely a man like this never took anything too seriously. Could she trust him? For all his arrogance and brawn, he really did have a hint of gallantry, didn’t he?
Gathering her nerve, Prim stared blankly at the walls covered in large framed artworks, the curved friezes above them, and the glass ceiling overhead. Anything, rather than look at him.
“I’d like for you to court me, Mr. MacKintosh.”
* * *
“Beg pardon?” James asked, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. He’d assumed she was actually trying to get up the nerve to ask him to politely dissuade Leachman from his suit.
Asking for him to court her...
Like any prey being stalked, a rush of panic washed over James. The urge to take flight or fight. As a younger man, it had come upon him many a time when cornered by a marriage-minded female. Usually, the former proved the easiest. A neat escape via the nearest exit. In recent years, he’d tended more toward the latter by bluntly expressing his disinclination to accommodate them.
While he had no irrepressible urge to flee Prim’s presence, neither did he have any desire to be so cruel to her. Bloody hell, he liked the woman. He’d happily pledge his fists and brawn to her, but his freedom...?
“I’ll admit you are a fine woman, Mrs. Eames—”
“Oh, no!”
Her hands flew to her flaming cheeks, but James couldn’t let her embarrassment halt him from dashing her connubial aspirations.
“My apologies for giving the impression otherwise, Mrs. Eames.” He kept his voice somber and grave. “I have no interest in marrying at this time.”
“Nor do I, Mr. MacKintosh.” Both her flabbergasted tone and rounded eyes assured him that she meant it. “I do not want or need another man in my life. I’ve been dominated by them until my very thoughts are hardly my own any longer, my life, not at all what I want. I assure you, I do not want a husband.”
Her red cheeks mottled with mortification at the boldness of her confession. He thought she might flee from him then, but she stood her ground and continued.
“More so, I won’t be pressured into making a hasty decision to please someone else. That’s how I ended up with my first husband. I don’t intend to let it happen again.”
James knew only too well how hasty decisions bore out.
“What are you asking me then?”
He could see Leachman lingering near the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest. Given his size and build, James imagined Leachman might be Eames’s strong arm. Every bank had one when it came to tough foreclosures and collections where a show of muscle was needed. Would he employ such tactics to force Prim into marrying him? The very thought sent a curl of disgust through his gut.
Turning away, James tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm and led her down the opposite side of the art gallery, out of Leachman’s line of vision. Was his watchful eye always upon her? If it were him, perhaps he’d be prompted to make such an unseemly proposal too.
As they walked, her shoulders slumped forward as all the steam from her tirade leached away.
“Please, forget I said anything. It was nothing but impulsiveness that prompted me to speak.”
From what he’d seen of her thus far, Prim might have been one of the least impulsive people he’d ever known. Besides, if nothing else, he was damned curious what she did mean.
“Mrs. Eames, please explain yourself.”
“I was only thinking that if you were to give the impression that you were courting me, I might find a respite from my family’s continued pressure to wed,” she explained miserably. “Naturally, I could not, would not expect you to court a woman like myself in truth.”
She was flustered, that much was clear. A measure of humor for the entire situation returned.
“Could you not?”
“Not at all. Obviously, when you choose to wed, it will be to someone far more lively than I,” she told him. “A marriage that would benefit you greatly in many ways.”
“Really? I hadn’t known this about myself,” he said. “Would you care to expound upon which ways a marriage might benefit me?”
Fire flared once more in her hyacinth eyes, lighting them with a golden flame that sent his pulse racing again. Ah, but he was finding a particular joy in riling her up, even if it were nothing more than pure vexation that lit the fires. It was better than seeing her shrink into herself like a whipped dog.
“Mr. MacKintosh.” He could fairly hear the aggravation in her voice. “I do believe you when you say you’ve no interest in finding a bride at this point in your life. I’ve witnessed the number of young ladies who fawn about you, and I have seen the disdain you hold for them in the roll of your eyes. An arrangement such as I’m proposing could only serve to benefit you as well.”
“Could it now?”
“Yes!”
Good Lord, a week ago he hadn’t thought her assertive enough to speak above a whisper. Now, she was nearly stomping her tiny foot in her impatience.
With a grin, James took her hand in his and drew it to his lips. He did enjoy Primrose Eames in a temper.
He wondered how enjoyable it might be to see her roused by passion instead.
And there was passion in her, simmering below the surface. He’d seen flashes of it tonight and at the rally. He’d love to see what she was like when it exploded.
But to court her...?
Och, she’d really thrown him for a loop with that suggestion.
“I can see now speaking was a mistake,” Prim said. Her steps lagged and she withdrew her hand from his arm.
Bloody hell, guilt wracked him for denying the lass. “I thought you enjoyed speaking,” he teased in an attempt to elicit another smile from her. “You had quite a lot to say at that rally.”
Her pink lips turned up for a moment but the expression fled when Leachman strode into the room from the other end, obviously unwilling to let his quarry stray from his line of sight for too long.
With a long-suffering sigh, Prim stopped. “I’ll leave you now. Thank you for the reprieve.”
James watched her turn away, her squared shoulders drooping. The sight of such defeat twisted in his gut. However, he didn’t believe what Prim needed was another suitor.
What she needed was a savior. A hero.
That wasn’t a role he’d ever imagined himself playing.
“Mrs. Eames.”
She turned.
“I’ll consider it,” was all he could promise.
Her chest rose as she drew in a deep breath. She said nothing but gave a short nod. Still, he could see the hope in her eyes.
Bugger it all, he shouldn’t have said anything. It would be terrible to let her down.
