Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron (11 page)

Her breath quickened, low moans reverberated
from deep inside her, and her body reeled with newfound sensations.
His hands, his lips, the tip of his tongue all ministering to her
at once was nearly overwhelming... as if she were being drawn into
a world of almost unbearable sensual pleasure. All she knew was,
she did not want the buggy ride, or the glorious things Adam was
doing, to ever end. But when it did, which to her dismay would be
inevitable, she prayed she would no longer be a maiden lady. She
was ready to dispense with that hallowed burden...

CHAPTER FIVE

It is a natural virtue incident to our sex
to

be pitiful of those that are afflicted.

—
Elizabeth to Spanish
ambassador, De Feria, 1559

Morning light, and Priscilla felt more
frustrated than she'd ever felt before. Adam had almost made her a
woman, and all she'd wanted was for him to finish the job. But he'd
pulled away when they were flesh to flesh, him primed to complete
the deflowering, her in a state of ecstasy and desperate for him to
bring to fruition the glorious feelings that had been building
toward something she couldn't quite grasp, like a gathering of the
most sensual of bodily pleasures. Whether Adam had withdrawn from
guilt over the prospect of taking a maiden woman's virtue, or
because the buggy bogged down and came to an abrupt halt, she
wasn't sure, because he'd pulled back
before
the buggy
bogged down. But once the buggy stopped, he'd shoved his male part
back into his britches, while she hastily pulled her skirts down
and drew her bodice across her breasts. And with no time to
spare.

Moments later, the buggy driver rapped on the
window and announced that he would walk for help. While the driver
was gone, Adam had not attempted to get back to where they had been
before the untimely interruption, but instead, apologized for his
bad behavior, climbed out of the buggy, and stood outside until the
driver returned with help.

During that time, it took all of Priscilla's
willpower to keep from throwing open the door, grabbing Adam by the
arm, hauling him into the buggy, and insisting he complete what
they had started. But as frustrated as she'd felt, she imagined he
must have been yet more frustrated. Before their intimacy in the
buggy she'd known little about the physiology of men. She'd heard
that changes took place in their male part when they were ready for
a woman, and she'd seen evidence of it in the way his trousers
sometimes stretched tight across the front, like a pole trying to
poke through a tent, but she had not known just how drastic the
change was, or what happened to it when the act was unconsummated.
But that had not been discussed during their ride home.

Their conversation from that point on had
been so reserved, it was almost as if they'd just met. All
intimacies they'd shared—the passionate kiss at the picnic, the
near deflowering in the buggy—were clearly to be kept mum, even
between them. She didn't know whether to be embarrassed,
humiliated, angry or flattered that he thought so highly of her
that he'd refrained from taking her virtue, when it was his for the
taking.

And when they arrived home and he walked her
to her bedroom suite on the way to his bedroom, he said good night,
but didn't attempt to kiss her. Maybe he never would again. Maybe
she'd never experience the culmination of an intimacy between a man
and a woman. Perhaps, like Queen Bess, who had gone down in history
as the Virgin Queen, she too would remain a virgin for the rest of
her life. It was a bleak thought, now that she'd been awakened to
the kisses and intimate caresses of a man who truly stirred
her.

Deciding it was pointless to remain in bed
all morning feeling sorry for herself, she went about the business
of putting herself together. After arranging her hair in a bouquet
of curls on top of her head, she turned her attention to her face.
She reasoned that a light application of makeup would augment her
plain appearance so Lady Whittington would not be so distracted by
it, but it would not be so bold as to draw attention to her close
resemblance to the queen, so perhaps that absurdity would be
forgotten. She opted for a dusting of the foundation powder that
Abigail and Libby had prepared, a brush of green eye shadow, and a
touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips. She'd never worn makeup
before, considering it pointless when one was as plain as she, but
after observing herself in the mirror she decided it did make her
more presentable. Actually not too unattractive.

She only wished she could avoid both Adam and
his mother this particular morning, and slip away to
The Town
Tattler
building, where she could immerse herself in the
business of putting out the next issue. But it was Sunday and
everyone in the household would be going to church, and she'd be
expected to go with them.

She prayed that when Lady Whittington was
socializing after the service she would not bring up the silliness
about the queen to her friends, but she suspected her prayer would
be in vain. Pandora's box had been opened to Lady Whittington, and
there was no closing it now. But after
the Town Tattler
meeting, which was scheduled later in the week, and which had been
publicized in postings distributed around town, Lady Whittington
would have other issues to focus on, mainly her granddaughter's
involvement in Adam's election.

Trudy had read all of the newspaper clippings
that Priscilla had given her, and the young woman was eager to take
part in the meeting. Trudy had also hand-lettered several leaflets
promoting her father, which she planned to distribute. Priscilla
had no idea what would come of it, but she suspected that Trudy's
efforts would not go unnoticed.

Satisfied with her appearance, Priscilla
slipped into a moss-green tailor-made with a fashionable,
tight-fitting jersey bodice and a skirt with panels on each side
trimmed with knife-plaiting at the bottom, an outfit she'd recently
purchased. After one last look in the mirror, she decided she
looked presentable, and left her room.

When she arrived at the breakfast table, Adam
had just seated his mother. Once settled, Lady Whittington smiled
graciously at Priscilla and said in a bright voice, "Good morning,
dear. I have some exciting news. But I will wait until Adam has
seated you."

Adam looked at his mother in curiosity, then
pulled out a chair for Priscilla, and said to her, his lips close
to her ear, "You look very nice this morning."

Lowering herself to the chair, Priscilla
replied, "Thank you."

As he pushed her chair in, Adam said, "I must
apologize again for the buggy bogging down last night. I hope you
suffered no ill effects from the unexpected... umm... episode."

Priscilla wasn't sure what to make of Adam's
comment. Was the episode he was referring to their near
indiscretion, or the fact that the buggy bogged down? He'd been so
quiet on the way home, she had not expected him to bring it up
again.

She gave him a tentative smile. "Yes, it was
unfortunate that the buggy bogged down... when it did. I had been
finding the ride especially exhilarating, and I was not prepared
for the abrupt stop. Perhaps we can take another buggy ride in the
near future and pick up where we left off." She looked up at him
then, and his face looked grim. Yet, as he removed his fingers from
her chair, they caressed her shoulders in a way that let her know
he'd wanted to touch her.

"When I return from the ranch I'll take you
in the buggy around town so you can visit the merchants," Adam
said, letting her know that taking her virtue during a longer ride
would not be an option. She wondered if it was the awkwardness of
being in a buggy, or her. Something stopped him from taking his
pleasure when he could, and it was clear he hadn't changed his
mind. But then, men never were attracted to her. Why should Adam be
different from the rest?

After she had settled in her chair, and while
a platter of meat pies and fried potatoes was being offered around
the table by a server, Lady Whittington said to Priscilla, in an
excited voice, "I spent the better part of last night with Burke's
Peerage, and I discovered that you are descended from the lineage
of Henry Phipps, who held lands in Westbury and Chalford. He's a
direct descendant of King Henry VII through Henry VIII. You
apparently descended from George and Mary Phipps of Charlemont,
Massachusetts, who had eight offspring, your namesake, Priscilla
Phipps, being the eldest of the children. Priscilla was born in
1783, so she would be your great-great grandmother. So it
establishes your descent from Henry VIII, and your resemblance to
Queen Elizabeth. You and the queen would be cousins twice removed.
Or is that thrice?" She glanced off in thought. "Whichever, it
makes you a Tudor." She touched her napkin to her lips, and said in
an animated voice, "This is so very exciting."

Priscilla looked at Adam, who seemed puzzled
by his mother's finding. Just as she was. All the time she was
growing up, she'd fancied herself descended from royalty as a means
of coming to terms with her homeliness, and her mother had
encouraged the ruse by calling her Bess. Yet, her close resemblance
to the queen made her wonder if perhaps she could somehow be
related to the Tudors. But that girlhood dream was not based on
reality, only wishful thinking.

But because of it, she'd read volumes about
Elizabeth and her difficult and perilous ascendency to the thrown,
and it gave her confidence while she was growing up that if a
homely princess, whose mother had been beheaded, and whose father
was repulsed by the sight of his ugly daughter at birth, could
overcome all the obstacles in her path and become England's
greatest monarch, then one homely woman from Missouri could
certainly start a small newspaper called
The Town Tattler
and make it a success...

She looked at Lady Whittington, who was
waiting for her response. Deciding there was no harm in continuing
the sham, especially now that Lady Whittington had found a totally
unexpected connection, she said, uncertainly, "I suppose that would
be my family's line. Though, like I said, the family Bible was lost
in a fire. And since my grandparents on my father's side died
before I was born, there was no one left to pass on information
about his family lineage."

"Then we will hold it at that," Lady
Whittington said, her face animated. "You must get acquainted with
the women in the Garden Club. And of course, they will be
interested in subscribing to your publication. What did you say it
was called, dear?"

"
The Town Tattler
," Priscilla said.
And
that
, was the first bright spot in her day. Undoubtedly,
Lady Whittington would be prominent in soliciting subscribers.
After all, who among her British lady friends would not want to
subscribe to a publication put out by a direct descendant of the
father of their favorite queen.

***

During the social following the church
service later that day, Adam managed to catch Priscilla alone, and
after escorting her around behind the church to the private spot
where they had picnicked, he said in a remorseful voice, "Are you
really alright?"

Priscilla looked at him, her expression a
combination of bafflement and irritation, and said, "I don't know
what you mean by
really alright
, but yes, Adam, I'm fine.
Why do you ask?"

Adam understood Priscilla's testy demeanor.
Guilt for his lack of control in the buggy hung over him like a
shroud. She didn't need the first man in her life pawing all over
her like she were a common trollop, which was exactly what he'd
done. Fondling her breasts, getting under her skirts, even
releasing himself to take her virtue. Damn near did but for one
last thrust. She deserved better. She should be treated like the
virtuous woman she was.

"In the buggy last night, things got out of
hand," he said. "I never intended to get so carried away. I took
advantage of you during a weak moment, and it was inexcusable of
me. I'm very, very sorry, Priscilla, and I hope you'll forgive me.
You are a lady in every sense of the word, and I behaved like a
rake."

Priscilla's eyes darkened, and her lips
flattened into what Adam could only describe as vexation, which
baffled him. He'd hoped his apology would put her in his good
graces. "I can see you're still angry with me," he said, "and with
good reason."

Priscilla sucked in a breath through flared
nostrils, and said, "No, I'm not angry with you, Adam. I'm
frustrated. You behaved exactly the way I hoped you would. I'm only
sorry that the buggy bogged down." She looked steadily at him, lips
moist and parted, eyes holding a glint of unfulfilled passion.

Resisting the urge to kiss her senseless, he
said, "You can't mean that."

The glint in her eyes sharpened. "Oh, but I
do. I'm tired of being viewed as the plain, unattractive spinster
lady who has never been touched by a man because no man found me
attractive enough to do so. You almost did. But then you decided at
the last minute to leave me yet untouched. This morning, I would
liked to have awakened with a blush on my face. Instead, I awakened
feeling very frustrated, like a child in a candy shop who must
forever look at the candy without ever tasting it."

Adam stared at her, dumbfounded. When he
finally found his voice, he said, "There is nothing more that I
want at the moment than to open every jar in the candy shop and let
you feast on it, as long as I can feast along with you. The only
reason you're still a maiden lady is because I believe you deserve
more."

"I don't care what you believe, Adam. I want
to be touched by you, and I want to be touched all over. And I want
you to kiss me everywhere. I don't care if it is in a buggy, or on
a mattress pad upstairs in
The Town Tattler
building, or
here on the church grounds with God as our witness to the
impropriety of it. I want you to be the man to put an eternal blush
on my very pale face. I don't even care if it makes my freckles
stand out more."