It was on the tip of his tongue to urge her to push harder, but James held his tongue. She was right. He had no idea what she dealt with. Not from her brothers or from her father-in-law.
He was only now getting a glimpse of what she experienced as a woman. Men he’d seen display the utmost courtesy in the drawing room and business, grumbling with outrage at the women assembled at her meeting the other day. Attending only to mock them. He’d been disgusted by his gender and the laws which had set women so low.
His mother would have been appalled, but then Scotland was a far different place than New York.
“My apologies, Mrs. Eames,” he said quietly. “You’re quite right.”
The butler came in with a tray, leaving it on a table near the fireplace before retreating. Prim released an encumbered sigh as she dropped down into a chair next to it to pour.
“I apologize as well. I didn’t mean to snap. Indeed, your plan has far more potential for my future happiness than my own, and I appreciate your assistance. I do.”
She handed him a cup, black as he liked it, though she hadn’t asked. Was he the obvious sort or was her mind too turbulent to have realized?
“I confess, the time since my mourning period ended has been a trial.” She stood with her cup and saucer and came to stand near the fireplace with him. “As much as I’ve tried to take the reins of my life in all aspects, my brothers truly believe it is my singular purpose to be nothing more than a wife and mother. They expect me to be as our mother was. Devoted solely to hearth and home. And wanting nothing more than that.”
“What more do you want?”
* * *
Prim nearly choked at the question, shooting him a dark look as she swallowed painfully. It was a question she’d heard all too often before. From her brothers. From her late husband.
Usually they employed it rhetorically.
What else could she possibly want from life?
It took a second to realize there was no sarcasm in James’s voice. No condescension. He was genuinely curious. But since no one, not even her sisters in the suffragette movement, had ever asked, Prim took a moment to find the words. Where to begin?
“I would like to travel with Mrs. Anthony to Washington next year for her annual address to Congress. She’s gone each year since 1869 to plead for the passage of a suffrage amendment. I’d like to go, to help see it passed.”
“To what end?” he asked. Again, without derision. “For the vote?”
“For equality,” she said with conviction, setting aside her coffee. “It may take years more for us to achieve it on a national scale, but I should at least be able to demand it in my own home, from the men in my life I cannot shed. I-I want independence. To live my life my way. I want for all women what I want for myself. Not only the vote, but for an equal voice. For respect.”
“Respect is earned.” His eyes were intense, solemn but interested. “You cannot demand it.”
“I know,” Prim agreed, wrapping her bare hands around one of his. “But I cannot earn it if I am given no chance to. I want to receive some modicum of regard for my intelligence. I deserve the chance to prove myself. To make them see me not as a helpless female to be coddled, but as capable. Fletcher finally understood that in the end. He listened. More importantly, he heard.”
James’s green eyes lit with something she couldn’t identify but it filled her with warmth, satisfaction. Encouraged, she went on, “Fletcher left the trust of our children’s futures in my hands alone because he believed in me. It took me ten years to earn his respect. I cannot tolerate another ten for my brothers to do the same. Declan is the worst of all. He insists on carrying on with all Fletcher’s business investments. As much as I pester him to release the accounts to me, he acts as if I’m too empty-headed to comprehend any of it.”
“If there is one thing I know about you already, Mrs. Eames, it is that you are no featherhead.” A true smile curved his lips.
His hand cupped her cheek and the heat already racing through her from his surprising comment spread as her pulse quickened. Exhilaration, whether it be from his flattering words or from his touch, swept over her. Once again, her knees threatened to give way.
“You’re even more passionate...more ardent for your cause, than I had guessed.”
His fingers drifted over the shell of her ear, warming her ridiculously with that simple touch, heating her from head to toe as he leaned over her. He inhaled deeply, his chest coming within a few inches of hers before he exhaled slowly. His breath tickled the short hairs at her temples, prompting a shiver of excitement.
“Such fire in you, my dear Mrs. Eames.” His thickening brogue was rough yet electrifying as his calloused fingers grazed across her jaw once more, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Downward his gaze drifted, to her mouth, settling there until her lips were burning.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she gnawed away the unfamiliar tingle.
His chest rumbled with a deep, almost inaudible groan. A quiver shot down her spine. An unfamiliar, feminine thrill.
“Mr. MacKintosh...?”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie.” She flushed at her bold use of his given name. “Are you contemplating kissing me?”
“Contemplating?” he echoed gruffly. “Aye, lass, I am.”
Another jolt and Prim waited for it, her eyelids drifting down of their own accord.
The gentle caress along her jaw and neck continued but the anticipated kiss wasn’t forthcoming. She opened her eyes with a frown.
“Mr. MacKintosh?” she whispered, her voice oddly husky.
“Aye?”
“Are you planning on kissing me?”
He shook his head, dropping his hand. “Nay, Mrs. Eames, I am not.”
He wasn’t? Prim’s heart sank. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around his answer. She’d heard the gossip about him and a number of young widows. Isn’t that what he did? Take kisses and so much more?
“Not yet, at any rate,” he went on. “You say you long to have a life of your own. One of your own choosing. A life where you make your own decisions. I can see you’re capable of it. You just need to realize it as well. You want a kiss, lass, you’ll have to take it. Make it your own.”
Prim inhaled sharply, hearing the challenge...the dare in his words. But not just that. No, there was something else. Encouragement? Conviction, perhaps? As if he had some indelible faith in her ability to stand up for what she wanted.
But did she want that kiss? Simply put, yes. And not only to prove something to them both.
But where to begin? Fletcher had always initiated any romantic gestures between them. Interludes limited to private nights and darkened rooms. He’d never kissed her as anything but a prelude to something more.
Would James be the same? Would he take a kiss as the guarantee of further intimacy? Would she mind if he did?
She might not want a husband. But what of a lover?
What an electrifying thought. And a terrifying one, as well.
He saw her hesitation, she could tell. Disappointment clouded his eyes and he took a step back with a rueful smile just as a knock sounded at the door.
“My apologies, Mrs. Eames.”
“It’s quite all right, Banks.”
“I thought you might like to know Mr. Aston has arrived.”
Prim rolled her eyes. “Which one?”
Not that it mattered.
“Mr. Shane Aston, ma’am,” Banks clarified. “He’s gone up to his room to bathe before dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“I thought you lived alone here?” James asked after the butler left them alone again.
“I do,” she told him. “They’re the ones who don’t seem to remember that. Before you say anything, I have already pointed it out on numerous occasion.”
With a soft harrumph, James raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “I wasn’t wrong, was I? They need something else to occupy their time.”
/> “Perhaps,” she conceded.
“I’ll see myself out then.”
Always a gentleman, but Prim couldn’t let him leave with that moment hanging over them. “I’m sorry, Jamie, about what happened a moment ago. I’m not...I don’t know.”
“Interested?”
“Ready,” Prim corrected, astounded by the truth of her admission.
James stiffened. “I make no demands of you, Mrs. Eames.”
“I know.”
Lifting herself high on her toes, Prim stretched up and brushed a light kiss across his lips. It wasn’t the one she’d longed to deliver, bursting with passion, but one of affection and tenderness.
“Thank you, Jamie.”
No, he hadn’t demanded anything from her with words, but his unwavering faith in her ability to blossom into the person she wanted to be made her demand more of herself. Made her want to be the person he saw in her.
* * *
The touch of her lips...brief as it was, simple as it was, still elicited a flash of desire. The embers of his fading lust rekindled for a moment before settling back into a low glow.
“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, fighting back the physical evidence of his arousal as much as the compulsion to take her into his arms. To feel her against him. “It is I who owes you an apology.”
Despite his words, James knew he may not have demanded anything from her, but in his sexual frustration, had pressed her to give. He’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she beamed at him out on that icy rink. That smile—the first true smile he’d ever seen from her, he’d realized—wider than he might have thought possible, showing every pearly tooth she possessed, had lit her up like an evening on Broadway. It had transformed her from pretty to extraordinary, giving him an even better glimpse of the passionate woman lurking inside of her.
And he’d wanted her, wanted to ravish her right there on the ice. Melt it away with the desire growing within him. But he hadn’t taken it. Not then and not here in this room. What he wanted for her, from her, had to be gained in its own time. It had to be gifted freely. It wasn’t something that could be seduced from her or forced in any manner.
He must give her time. He’d never had the patience to wait for anyone before. James wondered again what it was about Prim that set him against his own usual inclinations.
Chapter 14
If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again!
~ Sojourner Truth
Home of Mr. & Mrs. Edward Harkness
3 East 75th Street
New York, New York
Sunday evening
As a debutante of eighteen, climbing the staircase leading up to her first ball, Prim’s main concerns had been stepping on the hem of her white gown and tripping on the stairs, and the dreaded fear of becoming a wallflower without a single dance claimed.
Even then, she hadn’t been this nervous. For the past ten plus years, her waltzes had been shared only with her husband or one of her brothers. She’d been a matron, little better than the wallflower she’d dreaded becoming.
Tonight, James MacKintosh would fully launch the sham of their courtship under the eyes of the entire Knickerbocker society.
After shedding her coat and muff, she greeted her host and hostess at the receiving line in the front hall. Prim then looped her arm through Jeremy’s—having left home with him on foot for the short distance of three blocks rather than wait for Shane to fetch her in a carriage—and picked up her skirts with the other hand for the long climb up the grand staircase in the Harknesses’ central hall. Huge framed oils covered the wall beside her but all of her attention was focused on what lay waiting for her above.
Despite the public launch of said courting two days past, they hadn’t really been spotted by many people of her acquaintance yet. Tonight, the most handsome man she’d ever known would keep her company, dance with her in full sight of them all. Her yet unsuspecting brothers included. He’d tease, quite possibly flirt. Plus, he’d laid claim to not just one but all of her waltzes this evening.
After such marked attention, those who had seen her out and about in his company would share the news and the gossip would spread like wildfire, as it always did when some juicy new tidbit came along. Some ladies, most especially the young, hopeful debs, would wonder how such a dowdy widow had managed to snag his esteem. Some of the more jaded might speculate on what favors she was trading for his interest.
The conjecture, the eyes upon her as they’d never been before, would be nerve-wracking.
James’s undivided attention would be even more so. Especially after what had happened—or nearly happened—the previous afternoon.
She’d almost kissed him. Had desperately wanted to. For the first time, the yearnings of her heart had overridden logic. And for the first time since her father-in-law had begun harping on the topic of remarriage, she could see one advantage of doing so.
Fantasies she shouldn’t be having with words like future and forever. She reprimanded herself each time, remembering she didn’t want that. With anyone. Despite the examples he’d put forth, her experience with marriage wasn’t nearly so liberating as he believed possible. She had no intention of repeating the experiment with hopes of a better result.
She might like him, enjoy his company and want more, but that wasn’t at all the purpose of this endeavor. Nor was it what she wanted despite the shameless dreams that’d kept her tossing and turning all night. She’d spent the morning rereading back issues of the suffrage pamphlets, reminding herself of her goal.
Respect. Independence. Equality.
With James’s help, she would begin her fight. It galled her a tad that she’d enlisted a man as her confederate. The irony didn’t escape her. But as she had said before, she could admit there were some things she couldn’t do on her own. If breaking free of the control of four men took the help of one, she’d accept it.
However, she wouldn’t...couldn’t let it go beyond that.
Conspiracy was one thing, but she didn’t need a man to lead her, to protect her. She shouldn’t want one, either. For all his fantastical speeches, James MacKintosh wouldn’t be different than any other man when he took a wife. He’d rule his roost. Dominate and subdue.
No, she didn’t want that.
Oh, but there was that niggling voice deep down betraying her resolve. She might want him.
She needed to tuck that capricious notion aside and gather her resolve to focus on her goals and nothing more.
A full orchestra played, filling the second floor with melodious sound even beyond the ballroom doors as they reached the top of the stairs. Inside, Prim could see the swirl of skirts twirling around the dance floor in a spirited Galop. The ball was in full swing.
Where was James?
“Primrose, there you are.” Her father-in-law, Declan, stepped forward to meet them the moment she and Jeremy set foot into the ballroom. As if he’d been waiting for them.
Jeremy shook his hand by way of greeting. Prim wasn’t as glad to see her father-in-law. She was still cross with him from the previous evening. Another dinner spent with her practically begging Declan to discuss the business and investments her husband left under her care and Declan insisting she not worry her pretty head over it all.
Again he’d encouraged Leachman’s suit, insisting it was the best solution all around. And again she’d put him off.
Shane had stood firmly on Declan’s side, as usual. Though for some reason, his support had served to anger rather than placate her father-in-law. She’d been angry as well. The evening had been an early one with nothing changed for her.
“Primrose, you needn’t keep your feathers in a bunch,” he chided now. “It’s the season of goodwill. Business will keep, right? Tell her, Jeremy.”
Jeremy nodded and proceeded to deliver some sort of supporting argument Prim didn’t bother listenin
g to. It wasn’t likely to be anything she hadn’t heard before, though Jeremy wasn’t quite the lecturer Shane was on the topic.
“Ah, Mossman, there you are,” Declan boomed, greeting his banking partner. “We were hoping you’d attend tonight. Weren’t we, Primrose?”
Prim hardly spared him a glance and didn’t afford him a word of welcome. What could she politely say when she didn’t agree with him? Instead, she searched the ballroom for James. Hadn’t he promised to save her from this?
“How fine you look tonight. Mossman was telling me the other day how lovely you looked in that shade of green.”
For the first time, Prim realized how often she heard what Leachman thought or what he said from someone else. Rarely did it come from his own lips.
She studied him for a moment. From his thinning gray hair to his broad shoulders and heavy midsection encased in a too-tight evening jacket then down to his shiny shoes. He rocked back and forth from toe to heel, giving the impression he’d much rather be somewhere else. The card room, perhaps. With a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.
It occurred to her that perhaps he was under as much pressure from Declan as she to make this match.
And perhaps just as uncomfortable with it.
All the more reason then for her new swain to stake a public claim.
Conversation ebbed and flowed around them, almost drowning out the orchestra. Often making it difficult to hear the voices of those right next to her, which was fine with Prim. The current set ended and the chatter, pausing for the polite applause, rose once again to a crescendo. When a Galop began, Declan announced how this was a favorite dance of Leachman’s. With his bulk preventing him from true grace, Leachman wore an expression that attested to his disagreement on the subject, but dutifully parted his lips to ask her for the dance.
A Question Worth Asking Page 10
