“How did you know?”
“Call it an eyewitness account.”
Oh, God, who else had seen her? She’d always been so careful to keep her activities under cover before.
“Whose?”
“Never fear, it was only my own,” he assured her, no doubt sensing she was near panic. “Though Astor and Goelet were there as well, I don’t believe either of them witnessed your...um, shall we call it, defiant exit from the march?”
A low groan bubbled up in her throat. Would he say something to her brothers? Or worse, to Mrs. Astor?
“May I be of assistance, Mrs. Eames?”
The groan deepened into dismay as Mossman Leachman approached. He angled himself with the clear intention of blocking MacKintosh’s progress and reached for her arm. With a sigh, she tried to withdraw her arm from the Scot’s but he held on...firmly.
“Mrs. Eames isn’t feeling just the thing,” he said solicitously. “I was just escorting her to the drawing room so that she might recover herself.”
“I can do it.”
The pointed looks of both Declan and her brother told her they expected her to leave MacKintosh behind and take Leachman’s arm. Just as they were sure she’d see what they saw as common sense and marry the beast, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
“I am more than pleased to accompany Mrs. Eames myself,” MacKintosh said, low and firm.
Prim steeled herself for Leachman’s reaction. True to form, he threw back his shoulders and puffed out his barrel-like chest, looking for all the world like a rooster strutting about to frighten off others who thought they might settle in to roost.
He’d always been like that. A brute. A bully. Mr. Leachman used his size and booming voice to intimidate in business and his personal life. It was only one of the many reasons she didn’t want to marry him.
Not that she had any interest in remarrying at all, but with a glower like that, she wouldn’t have even had the option. He was the main reason she hadn’t had another suitor since her husband’s death. He’d frightened off every other man who’d come sniffing around. Fortune hunters and decent men alike. There were few men with the fortitude to stand up to such a cock of the walk.
Yet...Mr. MacKintosh wasn’t slinking off in defeat, nor did he look like he had any intention of backing down. Moreover, Leachman was eyeing Mr. MacKintosh with something bordering on caution. Even intimidation. Of course, he wouldn’t know what to do when his usual tactics failed.
Prim looked up at Mr. MacKintosh again. Far up. He was tall, several inches over six feet, and broad. Perhaps not quite as beefy and barrel-like as Leachman but large enough that he’d never be able to buy off-the-rack clothing with arms so brawny. Though handsome—yes, she could admit it. He bordered on beautiful—Mr. MacKintosh’s clean-shaven features were still rugged. The scowl currently gracing his features might be seen as downright menacing.
She’d noticed before that while ladies tended to sigh and cling to his muscular arms with a helplessness that humiliated her for the sake of all womankind, men tended to veer around him, eyeing him with respect and maybe a touch of fear.
Never before had she seen Leachman look upon any man like that, with the exception of her father-in-law and perhaps her late husband. But she was seeing it now.
And enjoying it.
“Will you excuse us, Mr. Leachman?” she asked politely.
Mr. MacKintosh smirked cockily as he navigated her around the man. To her surprise, Leachman did not stop them.
MacKintosh steered her out of the lavishly gilded salon and across the main hall with its marbled walls, vaulted stained glass ceiling, and topiary sentries. The transition from cluttered opulence to cool airiness invited a deep calming breath.
“Thank you.”
“Anything for the cause.”
With a silent gasp, Prim looked up at him. She had almost forgotten his provocative jabs at the bridge table. She braced herself for the verbal assault, but what she saw in his dancing green eyes was not reproach or even outrage.
There was nothing but teasing and perhaps a hint of...admiration?
Oh, surely not.
Chapter 6
She’s got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women.
~ Kate Chopin from The Awakening
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 watch
ing 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.
Chapter 7
I won’t be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult.
~ E.M. Forster
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. Stil
l...
“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.
A Question Worth Asking Page 5