“Aren’t you hungry, Prim?” Jeremy asked, scraping his fork along the edge of his plate to catch up the last of the brandied peach sauce which had topped the dessert.
“Not really.”
“Can I...?”
Prim nudged her uneaten pudding in his direction before he even finished the question. Then her eyes touched the clock again.
She’d shooed James away to spare herself a moment’s embarrassment and what had she gained? A quiet evening at home? How could she expect him to stand for her when she cowered from the part of herself she loved the most? Restraining herself in word or action had never been satisfying. It’d never spared her from being berated like a child. Or consoled her when she offered no more protest than fisted hands that had her fingernails digging into her palms. There’d been nothing but discontent from her inner voice, which scolded her as well. One victory and she’d given up the war.
Awash with self-loathing, Prim glanced at the clock again. She was a competent adult, not a child. She needed to pull herself together and flaunt it. For James. For her.
There was a battle still to be fought if she wanted to live life as she pleased.
She could begin tonight, grasp life with both hands. Though it was likely James wasn’t going to show up after her curt dismissal the other night. She hadn’t sent him a note specifically excusing herself from the evening he’d proposed. But she hadn’t accepted him either.
Would he take her lack of communication as a no then?
He didn’t seem the type to. Not at all.
And who would she disappoint more if she didn’t go? James or herself?
“What do you say about a game of backgammon after dinner, hmm?” her brother asked as he cleared away her portion with a hum of pleasure. “Oh, and I assume my room’s available for the night as usual?”
“Have you nowhere to be this evening?” she asked.
Jeremy shrugged, finishing off the dessert. “Not really. Shane’s dining with Declan and their old banking chap Ogilvie tonight. Dennis has been a bore since he’s taken up with that burlesque dan...uh, Dennis was unavailable.”
“So, I’ve come in as runner up for the finest company available on a Friday evening?”
He shot her a grin. “Well, it’s not as if you had anything better to do tonight, right?”
Oh, but she did.
Every fiber of her being yearned to do it. Seize the moment, her heart cried. Do as you please. As you desire.
The clock told her she would have to hurry, but yes, she did have an option available to her. One far more exciting than a night at a backgammon board.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?”
* * *
Fleeing to her room, Prim rang for her maid and dropped down at her vanity. She reached for her brush and smoothed away some stray hairs, but the sight of herself in the mirror gave her pause.
Running a hand along the edge of her staid dinner dress’s squared neckline, she fingered the heavy metallic of the Grecian key embroidery. Even without the layer of antiqued lace beneath it that covered her from there up to the tight band around her neck, the décolletage was dowdy at best. The fabric was rich, the metallic insets embroidered on the front of the burgundy velvet gown and at the ends of the sleeves were the highest quality. There was even a dash of playfulness in the golden tassel fringe at the ends of the sash.
But it wasn’t right for an evening out at a club. Or an evening out anywhere. It, like most of her wardrobe, had been purchased since she’d been widowed. In a year when she’d been active in the suffragette movement. There wasn’t a thing about most of her gowns that might be considered frivolous or even overly feminine.
She’d thought she had a point to make in presenting herself as dour and matronly as possible in her attempt to be seen as a self-sufficient widow, but she was only twenty-nine years old. Hardly in her dotage.
Tapping lightly on the door, her maid stuck her head in. “You rang, ma’am?”
“Yes, Nellie, I need to change to go out.”
“Of course.” Nellie moved efficiently to her wardrobe and flung it wide. “The taupe lace perhaps? Or the gray faille?”
“No, those won’t do.” She wanted...she wanted to look pretty tonight. Desirable even.
“Hmm, where are you off to? A salon or the theater?”
“Neither.” Prim drew in a deep breath. “Nellie, I need something I can wear to a night club.”
While her maid gaped at her as if she’d gone completely off her rocker, a flash of green caught Prim’s eye among the dreary browns and blahs of her closet. A green neither bright nor rich but so much more feminine than her normal apparel.
She hurried to the wardrobe and fingered the seafoam colored velvet skirt. Tugging it out farther, she then stroked the richly embroidered flowers of pink, fuchsia, and gold with crystal bead accents that covered the bottom third of the skirt. She pulled it all the way out and held it up against her body, running her trembling fingers over the crisscrossing bands of velvet and chiffon.
The neckline was low, the Chantilly lace sleeves hanging from satin bands at the very top of her arms. It was a tad nippy out to be wearing such a revealing gown. But a warm cape would fix that, and she’d never worn the lovely gown before.
She’d never dared.
“Oh, Mrs. Eames, really?” Nellie beamed at her, her hands clasped in excitement. It was only a reflection of Prim’s own. “Oh, we should change your hair also.”
“Then we need to hurry.”
Chapter 20
The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
~ Oscar Wilde from The Importance of Being Earnest
James ordered the cab to wait and dashed up the front steps of Prim’s townhouse. He’d had more than a dozen blocks in a slowly plodding carriage up 5th Avenue to imagine what awaited him.
Her butler would answer the door. He would either tell him flat out that Mrs. Eames was unavailable for the evening or hand him a note with her apologies.
She only asked him to ostensibly court her, to provide a reprieve from the pressure to remarry. Prim hadn’t asked him to change her life. Still, he’d pushed and pushed. Perhaps he’d pushed her too hard by asking her to visit an establishment so far out of her normal sphere.
If she did refuse to accompany him, it was just what he deserved. But he hoped not. It’d be bloody difficult to woo a woman into marriage who wouldn’t see him.
He rang the doorbell and stepped back.
Heavy footfalls sounded from within and neared. When the door opened, Banks appeared to be neither resolute nor even expectant as he’d imagined. Instead, there was a blank look on his face, quickly covered, that spoke of surprise, even bafflement.
His hopes fell. Prim hadn’t prepared an excuse or rejection. Had she simply hoped he wouldn’t show up at all?
James yanked off his top hat and smoothed his hair down. “I’m here to see Mrs. Eames.”
“Is she expecting you, sir?”
Probably not but he nodded confidently anyway. “Aye.”
With a nod, the butler stepped back, allowing James entry into the warmth of the foyer.
“Can I take your coat, sir?” the butler asked.
“I’m not—”
“I’m here. I’m here,” Prim’s sweet voice rang out in the cavernous room, and he turned to see her hurrying down the wide sweeping staircase with one hand lifting up her skirts and the other holding on to the heavily carved bannister.
His first thought was that her face glowed with beauty and anticipation. From there, he stopped thinking altogether, his brain grinding to a halt as he took in the slim line of her skirts, the way they swirled around her legs and hugged her hips. Then pure masculine appreciation kicked in as his eyes fell upon her nearly bared shoulders and the low scooping neckline. A pink diamond pendant rested at the rise of her breasts, which bounced seductively with each step she took.
He was almost taken to his knees by the rush of lust charging through
his veins. When she bounded to a halt barely an arm’s length away, it was all he could do not to snatch her up and kiss the bloody dickens out of her.
“I’m ready.” She beamed up at him, tugging on her long gloves as she did so. “I do apologize, though. I already had dinner.”
“Mrs. Eames,” he choked out, his voice almost a feral growl. “You look...”
Anxiety flooded her eyes and she worried her lip delectably as she swept a nervous hand down her skirt. “Is it all right?”
“It is—” He cleared his throat. “You are utterly perfect.”
A broad smile lit her face, which grew rosier by the second as he continued to stare at her, fascinated by the transformation.
He wasn’t the old only one. The old butler was staring at her as well, making no attempt to hide his shock.
She might have already had dinner, but James thought she’d make an excellent dessert. “Utterly delectable.”
She fiddled with her necklace, her cheeks aflame now as she ducked her head. “Really?”
He recovered himself and chuckled then. Just like any female, she enjoyed being told how pretty she looked. He’d have to make sure he did so more often.
“I’ve never seen a sight more lovely.”
A maid raced down the stairs bearing a dark green velvet cape lined with mink and a matching fur muff. Though the awestruck butler moved to take them, James nudged him aside, doing the honors himself and taking the chance to whisper in her ear.
“You are a woman of many layers, Mrs. Eames.”
* * *
Prim shivered with pleasure as James’s lips brushed across her ear. Every moment of Nellie yanking her corset strings tight and tugging at her hair had been worth it to see his reaction.
What a glorious feeling to have a man look at you so!
“What’s going on here?”
Jeremy came out of the library with a tumbler of whisky in one hand and disbelief written all over his face.
Once he came to his senses, he was sure to set up a fuss. Make her miserable and guilty, but she didn’t want that. Not tonight.
Without giving him a chance to recover, she went to him. With a light hug, she rotated him so that James was out of his line of sight.
“Since you’re spending the night anyway, you won’t mind keeping an ear out for the children, would you? Nanny’s off for the evening but they’re already in bed, so there shouldn’t be much for you to do.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” he burst out, finally getting a grip on himself. “With him and dressed like that?”
Over Jeremy’s shoulder, she saw James bend his arm and make a muscle. Be strong, it said.
“I’m going out.”
“Out where?”
“Just out,” she told him in a voice her children never dared to argue with.
Jeremy looked cowed for a moment but started after her when she returned to James’s side at the front door. He hadn’t spoken or come to her defense. He was leaving it to her to handle on her own.
“Prim, I can’t just let you go off with him,” her brother protested. “Shane will have my head. And you promised.”
“I did not. Besides, you don’t have to tell him,” she said, sensing James’s disappointment in the words nearly mirrored her own. It was a copout, an unnecessary deception. Squaring her shoulders, she tried again. “As I told you and the others, if Mr. MacKintosh cared to court me, it would be my choice only that mattered. Well, he cares to and my choice is to let him. As I am a grown adult, those are the only two things that matter.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Prim saw Nellie’s broad grin. Even her butler looked on with a touch of pleasure. Their silent approval bolstered her confidence.
“We’ll have our backgammon game another night, I promise.”
She squeezed his hands affectionately but turned away and took James’s waiting arm lest her brother might latch on to her and physically restrain her from departing.
“Do have a pleasant evening, Jeremy.”
Still James said nothing. He merely offered her brother a grave nod and tipped his hat back onto his head.
Wordlessly, he escorted her to the curb and handed her up into the waiting carriage. He climbed up and sat next to her instead of across from her, his solid male body crowding her on the narrow seat. But warming, comforting her at the same time. Finally, when the cab jerked into motion, he spoke, his eyes glinting with pleasure even in the dim light of the carriage lamp.
“Brava, Mrs. Eames. You are magnificent.”
“I can’t believe I...oh, I feel so...” Jubilant. Powerful. Already it was the perfect evening and she’d hardly left the house! Elation welled up inside of her. “Oh, Jamie!”
* * *
She threw herself at him unexpectedly, but James caught her tight against him. Her lips met his, muffling her triumphant laughter. The kiss was regrettably brief. Prim pulled away, her lovely face lit with delight and awe taking his breath away.
“I did it.” She covered her lips with her fingertips as astonishment set in. “I did it,” she repeated more softly.
“I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too.”
Then, to his surprise, she kissed him again. Her small hands cupping his jaw, not pulling him to her but lifting herself to him. The brush of her soft lips sent his pulse galloping wildly.
“Oh, Jamie,” she sighed against his lips, “thank you.”
“We’re not done yet,” he swore and covered her mouth more forcefully. Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming the stroke of his tongue, meeting it with hers.
“No, we are not,” she agreed in a saucy murmur and melted against his chest.
She tasted of caramel and peaches, so delicious he had to have more. His roughened hands stroked her silky nape, shoulders, and bare upper arms while he plied her lips with his. Using his tongue and teeth, he soon had her trembling with passion in his arms. Then he moved downward, licking, kissing, and nipping at her ear, her neck, over her shoulder and down to the tops of her breasts. His tongue dipped into the hollow between them until she was quivering from head to toe.
James kissed her again, his palm covering that tempting rise of her bosom as if by its own will. Prim moaned, low and needy. The vibration from deep within her sent his fingers tingling. He cupped her, kneading gently. Prim gasped but surprised him, not only by not protesting, but by arching her back to increase the pressure.
Bloody hell but he wanted to take her right there, toss up her skirts and plunder her like his ancient Scots ancestors. He wanted to consume and pillage...
Give.
God, he wanted to give her all the pleasure she was missing in life.
Chapter 21
What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being.
~ Kate Chopin from The Story of an Hour
“The Reformation Club,” the driver called out as the carriage pulled to a halt.
That’d been a short ride, but then the trip from east side to west was a quick one across the park. Prim patted her hair and tried to catch her breath while James leapt out to pay the driver. In a moment, he was back, taking her hand to help her descend.
“The walk is slippery. Take care.”
A nice excuse for her to cling tightly to his muscular arm, she thought. Her shaky knees appreciated the assistance. The brick building before them was an innocuous one. Nothing special at all. Prim was a bit disappointed. Though, not as greatly as she’d been when the carriage had jerked to a stop.
A doorman held open a thick wooden door for them. Massive brass chandeliers lit the lobby, revealing simple wood paneled walls. The only thing that made it different from the hundred other buildings she’d been into was the thick, crimson carpet beneath her feet and the muffled thrumming of lively music coming through the walls.
They approached another set of doors, which op
ened magically before them. The music grew louder, clearer. Here, an inner lobby of sorts, people milled about. A group of laughing young men. A few couples talking. One, a woman in a form fitting red dress with lips painted to match, was smoking a long, thin cigar. Prim tried not to stare at her and everything else around her or act as utterly gauche as she was.
But the woman wasn’t paying Prim any attention. Her eyes were lazily documenting James from head to toe and not missing a single detail, she was sure.
Getting a firmer grip on his arm, she followed along beside him to the coat check, where he helped her with her cloak and muff before relieving himself of his outer coat, hat, and gloves. Beneath the jacket, he wore black tie like few men could. His jacket molded to his broad shoulders and snug about his lean hips.
She certainly approved.
Tucking the check card into his pocket, James surprised her by taking her by the hand and guiding her to the next set of doors. Inside, he was greeted by a maître d’ who knew him by name. They shook hands, James slipping a few folded bills into the host’s palm.
He’d been here before, she realized, as they were led to a table near the edge of the dance floor, but not too close to the band where conversation might prove impossible. Had he been here with other ladies? Maybe even the one in red who’d watched him so familiarly?
“Should we have a bottle of champagne?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her and tucking her in. The maître d’ hovered and a waiter rushed to join him. “Or would you like to try something else?”
Something else? She didn’t think he meant tea.
“Wine? A cocktail?” he prompted.
“Whatever you think,” she braved, wondering where the allowance might land her. Still, it was better to act like she was just letting a gentleman choose for her rather than admit she’d never had a cocktail.
James winked at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “A Delicious Sour for the lady and a Whisky Fix for me,” he told the waiter, who hurried away with a nod.
A Question Worth Asking Page 14
