Wicked Temptations (12 page)

Adam lifted the cameo and held it between his thumb and index finger, the heel of his hand resting against the swell of Priscilla's soft, warm breast. "I suppose it does," he said, fighting the urge to place a kiss where his hand lay. Had they been alone he would have, though he had no idea how she'd receive him at this point. She seemed intent on putting him through some kind of hell for breaking up her meeting and attacking the dignity of her paper. But that was a matter separate from his bedding her, though she might have already decided he would not be the man to whom she would give up her virginity, a thought that troubled him deeply....

"There is an inscription on the back," she said, inviting him to turn the cameo over.

He allowed his fingers to trail over her bosom as he did, and her breath quickened. As he read the inscription, the rise and fall of her chest increased, bringing her breasts pressing against the heel of his hand with each breath. "It's difficult to see," he said, wanting a reason to keep his hand against her soft, warm flesh while he took a closer look at what lay beyond the cameo.

"Then look closer," Priscilla said, straightening her back while thrusting out her chest to accommodate him. "The inscription is small. You'll have to look very close."

Adam inclined his head over the cameo and caught a glimpse of a pink nipple winking at him each time Priscilla's chest contracted with her deep breaths. "What are you trying to do, Priscilla?" he said in a hushed voice, so his mother wouldn't hear.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Priscilla replied.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Adam said, keeping his voice low. "You lured me here wearing a gown displaying breasts I'd been expecting to hold and kiss in the privacy of my bedroom suite. I doubt we'll get another chance to carry out our plan."

"Might I remind you that that was
your
plan," Priscilla said, in a hoarse whisper. "You bought the tickets and planned the evening,
then
informed me of what you'd done."

"I was trying to facilitate your desire to give up your virginity," Adam groused.

"How very accommodating of you."

"Adam?!"
His mother's voice startled him. "What are you doing?"

"He's trying to read the inscription on my cameo," Priscilla said. "My mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday and had it inscribed with
'to Bess from Mother.'
Like I told Adam, the cameo is a likeness of the queen."

Adam released the cameo and knotted his fist against his knee. Damn the woman. Damn her teasing. And damn what was taking place below his belt. Why he agreed to accompany her to the opera was still a mystery to him.

"Then your mother must have been certain you were descended from the Tudors," Lady Whittington said, fingers laced in delight...

"Edwina!"
Lady Bertha Ashbury, the hub of Cheyenne's British society, bent down and gave Adam's mother an air kiss, then looked at Priscilla, and said, "And you must be Miss Phipps. Edwina... Lady Whittington, has told us so much about you. It must be thrilling to be a direct descendant of several kings, as well as a cousin of Queen Elizabeth."

"Well actually," Priscilla said, "it has not been
estab
…"

"Priscilla, dear," Lady Whittington cut in, "show Lady Ashbury your cameo." Lady Whittington turned to Lady Ashbury. "It's a likeness of the queen. Miss Phipps was just showing it to Adam. The inscription on the back reads,
'to Bess from Mother.'
Everyone called Miss Phipps Bess when she was growing up. Isn't that lovely?"

Lady Ashbury leaned around Lady Whittington and eyed the cameo. "Oh, but it is lovely," she said. "You really must come to one of our Garden Club teas. I would be honored to have you as my personal guest."

Lady Whittington gave Lady Ashbury a sharp look. "Miss Phipps... Priscilla," she amended, "has already agreed to come as my guest. But we three can share a table," she said, magnanimously.

Lady Ashbury's pursed lips relaxed, and she said, "I look forward to that." She raised her opera glasses to her eyes. While scanning the crowd milling in the aisles below the boxes, she gave a muffled, "Harrumph!"

"I know what you're thinking, Bertie," Lady Whittington said. "Nesters have taken over the place. They are a tawdry bunch, and they're allowed to buy tickets just as we are. Thankfully we have the boxes taken up, for now."

Priscilla looked at the women, puzzled. "Nesters?"

"Homesteaders," Lady Ashbury groused. "They're coming here in droves. The whole character of
Cheyenne
is changing. We Brits brought class and refinement to what was little more than an army outpost, but we are quickly being overrun by these people." She sighed. "Before long, they'll be arriving at the theater in boots and overalls." She lowered her opera glasses and said to Lady Whittington," Edwina, shall we go mingle?"

"Yes," Lady Whittington replied. "I want to see Georgina Wentworth's gown. From what I saw through my opera glasses it has elements of historic dress, with all the lavish fabrics and trimmings of a Worth, and I want to take a closer look. Georgina made a point of telling us at the last tea that she had just returned from
Paris
, where she'd had a private fitting by Mr. Worth himself. She was quite obnoxious about it all. I'm sorry you weren't there." She turned to Priscilla. "Will you join us downstairs, dear?"

Priscilla shook her head. "No, thank you. But perhaps Lord Whittington would like to escort you." She gave Adam a dark look.

Adam eyed her steadily. "I believe I'll keep Miss Phipps company."

After the women left, Priscilla said, in an irritated voice, "You did not need to stay and keep me company. In fact, I'd prefer to be in the company of nesters than Brits."

Adam let out a short guffaw. "Need I remind you that you're living with Brits."

"Only for another week," Priscilla said. "Jim is, at this moment, converting one of the larger upstairs bedrooms into a kitchen. It will have cabinets, a cook stove, and a sink with a boiler for hot water. And in my bedroom, which will be the one adjacent to the kitchen, there will be a bathtub, which will be connected by a water pipe to the boiler in the kitchen, so I'll be able to immerse myself in warm water while bed warmers warm my sheets." She gave him an ironic smile. "After my bath, I'll be able to dry off and crawl directly into bed."

Adam looked at Priscilla with a start. "You sleep naked?"

Priscilla shrugged. "When I'm alone, always. It makes for a much more restful sleep because I don't have to suffer the frustration of becoming entangled in lace and ruffles every time I turn over. I have been enduring the uncomfortable night garments while staying at your home because I don't want to shock your maids. But once I move into my upstairs apartment, I'll be alone to do as I please. Sleeping naked is especially refreshing on hot summer nights when I can open the window, throw back the bed linens, stretch out on the bed with my arms and legs spread, and let my body breathe in the cool night air."

Adam's chest was expanding and contracting so heavily, he was having trouble catching his breath. After a few moments, he said, "Then you've completely given up the idea of us."

Priscilla nodded. "What you proposed no longer interests me. I have more important things on my mind." Though for the life of her she couldn't remember a one of them, the image of Adam, naked as she and crawling on top of her as she lay spread-eagled on the bed, taunting her mercilessly. But she refused to allow those thoughts to rule her better judgment. Succumbing to physiological urges for the sake of sexual gratification was one thing. Doing it with a person she loved and respected was another. And at this point, she neither loved, nor respected Adam. What the women brought out about the cattlemen during the meeting was deeply troubling.

"I see," Adam said. Then folded his arms and clamped his jaws shut.

"No," Priscilla said, "I don't believe you do. What we planned in the bedroom is an impossible dream at the moment because I cannot give my body, along with my virginity, to a man who could be involved in the kinds of things the women at the meeting brought out. Until I learn otherwise, that's the way it has to be."

"So you'll continue to listen to only one side of the issue," Adam said.

"You're welcome to present your side," Priscilla replied, "but Lady Ashbury already did." She peered down at the crowd below. "She and your mother may see nesters down there, but I see men and women, scrubbed clean and wearing the best they own, enjoying an evening out. In fact, the women's gowns are not much different from mine. As you see, this gown is neither silk nor satin. It's polished cotton intended to look like silk. But it's acceptable in your mother's social circle because they believe I'm descended from the Tudors, which places me above the nesters, even though I'm one of them. And the nonsense about the queen is a sham. Or, if I am related, as your mother believes, it's purely by chance that I know about it. But I was not raised in a royal court. I was raised in a simple household with no servants. But I doubt you can relate to that."

"Then you'd never consider marrying a cattleman." It was a statement.

Priscilla was certain her heart stopped before breaking into a quick staccato beat. She looked at Adam. His face was sober. "Am I to take that as a kind of proposal?"

Adam held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose not."

"Well, in case it is, I'll clarify my position for you," she said, while staring at his firm profile. "I could never marry a man who tromps over others to get what he wants. I came west on a wagon train with men and women who put aside class and refinement to own land they would not otherwise be able to afford. All they want is to be left alone to work their land and raise their families and rebuild the lives they left behind."

"And you believe my ranch agent and range cowboys are trying to prevent them from doing so," Adam said, while looking straight ahead.

"I don't know what to believe at this point," Priscilla replied. She sat back and folded her arms, knowing that if Lady Whittington were to return and see them, sitting side by side, eyes straight ahead, arms folded, she'd know they were having a standoff.
 
But soon it wouldn't matter because she'd be moving out of Adam's house.

"How do you plan to find out?" Adam asked. "Or is it that you don't want to learn the truth because you might have to admit that I'm not the cold, cruel bastard you seem intent on portraying me to be."

"I don't wish to portray you as anything, Adam," she countered. "I simply want to know the truth. Perhaps I'll invite readers to tell their stories, maybe have some of the women from the meeting write essays for
The Town Tattler
, not to create a class war, but to try and bridge the gap between the British aristocracy of your cattle empire, and the ordinary folk who are trying to make a new life here. Of course, your position on the whole issue would be up to you, and ultimately up to your voters."

Adam let out a weary sigh, and said, "I've never intimidated anyone, and if I learned that my agent or foreman or range cowboys did, they'd be dismissed at once."

"Then my editorials shouldn't create a problem for you," Priscilla said, "because I'll be inviting the cattlemen's wives and daughters to include editorials as well, if they're willing to take time away from their busy social schedules. Maybe you'll even allow Trudy to do so. You said you don't want me filling her head with women's suffrage nonsense, but if you give her a chance, perhaps what she has to say will influence women to cast their votes in your favor."

Adam unfolded his arms and pounded a knotted fist against his knee.
"Bloody hell woman!
My life was a whole lot less complicated before you arrived."

Priscilla sucked in a long breath through flared nostrils and let it out slowly to keep from screaming at the insufferable man, and said, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Unfortunately for you, I'm here to stay."

Adam folded his arms again, set his mouth in a grim line, and stared straight ahead as the lights blinked, announcing that all should take their seats for the final act.

***

Lady Whittington stormed into the library and confronted Adam, who was sitting at his big mahogany desk, tallying figures. "I would like a word with you, Adam."

Seeing the dour look on his mother's face, Adam clenched his jaws. He was in no mood for one of her rants. He'd about had his fill of impossible females. But cutting his mother short would only prolong whatever was coming. "Yes, Mother?" He slumped against the back of his desk chair and steepled his fingers.

His mother's lips quivered the way they did when she was about to burst into a tirade. Then her eyes sharpened, and she said in a brusque voice, "Priscilla just informed me that she's leaving. Have you said or done something to offend her or make her feel unwanted?"

Adam held his mother's angry gaze. "No, of course not. She told me she needs to be closer to her business."

"That is utter nonsense!"
Lady Whittington burst out. "Living here with us, she's only minutes away. Something happened during the play. I knew it the moment I returned from intermission. What did you say to her?"

Adam sucked in a long breath to keep from yelling, and said in a measured voice, "Priscilla and I had a disagreement."