Wicked Temptations (17 page)

Bothwell raised his voice to be heard, and said. "I say we get the
U.S.
marshal for
Wyoming
Territory
in here. We need his support, so I'll offer to sponsor him for a complimentary membership in the club."

"Sounds like a bribe to me," Adam said. "Not the way to get the law on our side." He also knew the days of the cattle barons with they're immense holdings and vast herds were coming to a close, and it was time to face it. "When we started running cattle here," he said, "there was grass as far as the eye could see. Now, with nine-hundred-thousand head on the tax rolls and another six-hundred-thousand grazing, the rangeland's overcrowded and overgrazed. By next year there won’t be enough grass to sustain them."

"Whittington's right,"
Frewan
said. "On top of that, investors in
England
are pushing for larger dividends, demanding bigger reimbursements for their investments, which is why we need to drive out the squatters and nesters."

"That's not the answer," Adam said. "The answer is scaling back. I've already reduced my herd from twenty to eight thousand so the rangeland can be rotated and pastures won't get trampled down. I'm raising feed on the rotated pastures while also building barns for hay and grain storage. But without protection from cold, another severe winter like the winter of '86 could wipe out and entire herd, as some of you know, so I'm building shelters. We also need a system of irrigation ditches to bring in water from the
Platte
so we can maintain our grazing land."

Albert Bothwell eyed Adam with enmity. "Sounds to me like you're giving in to the nesters, Whittington. Maybe we need to add your name to our blacklist, along with that rabble-rousing spinster you're sweet on. She came riding into
Cheyenne
on a wagon train with nesters and she's firing them up and promoting their cause in her paper, and it seems you're right in there with the thick of them.
Montana
had the right idea. I say we round them up and hang the lot of them and be done with it."

"Here, here," said Tom Sun, a French Canadian who also had a spread on the Sweetwater.

Adam stood, peered around at the faces staring back at him, and said, "Good evening, gentlemen. I believe I'm finished here for tonight." He turned and left. But as the door closed behind him, a cacophony of agitated voices rose in heated debate, and it came to Adam that his name might just have been added to their blacklist. Along with Priscilla's. He had no fear for himself, but he did for Priscilla. She was too stubborn and set on making a success of
The Town Tattler
to heed any warning he might pass on to her, so all he could do for the short term was to keep a closer watch. And wait.

CHAPTER NINE

'And in the end this shall be for me sufficient, that

a marble stone shall declare that a Queen, having

reigned such a time, lived and died a virgin.'

—
Elizabeth
's response to Parliament's request

that she marry and produce an heir, in 1559

The only reason Priscilla accepted Lady Whittington's invitation to dinner the following week was because Lady Whittington expressed her regrets that Adam would not be joining them. Lady Whittington also insisted that Priscilla wear her new Pre-Raphaelite dinner dress. After reading Trudy's article and seeing the illustration in
The Town Tattler
, Lady Whittington was anxious to see the new fashion. Priscilla's dress was made from soft flowing silk in muted shades of blues and greens, and it was designed to be worn without a corset or bustle. The dress was amazingly comfortable. The skirt was loose enough to walk and sit with ease, the sleeves, slashed from just above the elbow to the wrist in Renaissance style, allowed the arms to move unrestricted, and the dress was free of the excessive ornamentation that cluttered most feminine attire. Although it was designed to be worn in the privacy of the home while among family and close friends, Lady Whittington insisted Priscilla wear it when she came for dinner.

Instead of taking her place at the head of the long mahogany table, which normally would be at the opposite end from Adam, Lady Whittington requested that she and Priscilla be seated directly across from each other toward one end of the long table, so they could more easily converse. While the wine was being poured, Priscilla gazed across the flickering candles at Lady Whittington, whose face held a cryptic smile, and she couldn't help but think that the older woman was up to something.

Lady Whittington's smile broadened. "You look lovely tonight," she said. "It's too bad Adam will not be joining us. I believe he'd appreciate your new dress. And with your hair pulled up and ringlets about your face, you look especially queenly."

That had certainly not escaped Priscilla when she'd looked at herself in the mirror earlier. Although, in the old color plate from her history book, the queen's gown was shown with a tremendously wide skirt and was elaborately ornamented, Priscilla's Pre-Raphaelite dress did have a look of royalty about it, though perhaps more a Medieval queen. "I'm glad Adam won't be here," she said. "He and I are not getting on. We are in complete disagreement about many things." She took a sip of wine.

Lady Whittington looked at her soberly. "You and Adam may disagree about many things," she said, "but it's clear that he cares for you, and that you care for him."

"If you are referring to that very untimely kiss," Priscilla said, "I'm sorry you witnessed it. I have no idea what got into me to respond the way I did, other than Adam caught me by surprise. It will not happen again. We are a complete mismatch."

"Folderol! You are the first woman to actually be a match for Adam. He is beside himself trying to figure out what to do with you. You have turned his world upside down, and I find it quite amusing."

"I do not know what you mean by turning Adam's world upside down," Priscilla said. "He seems to be carrying on quite well."

"Fiddlesticks! He's snappish, moody, bellicose and entirely impossible to be around, because he is in love with you."

"And I can assure you that he is most definitely not in love with me. The only reason he is all of those things is because he's angry with me because of my effort to get women to vote, and the fact that they will not be voting for him. What I don't understand is why you are not also upset with me. I'd think that you'd want Adam to get elected mayor."

"What I want is for Adam to turn that ranch over to his foreman and agent and get married and move into this house and raise his children among polite society, and under the watchful eye of a stepmother. As it is, his daughters are chasing after cowboys, and his son wants to be a cowboy. Adam has had many chances to chose a bride from among the most beautiful and eligible women in
Cheyenne
, but none have held his interest. Besides that, I would like to have a few more grandchildren before I die."

Priscilla looked at Lady Whittington with a start. "Surely you are not viewing me as a prospective wife for Adam and mother for your future grandchildren," she said. "Beside the fact that any children he would have with me would likely have freckles and carrot-red hair, I am almost past child-bearing age."

"Almost, but not yet. Many women bear children well into their forties. As for the hair, you would be bringing the famous Tudor red hair to our family."

"That may be," Priscilla said, "but the fact is, Adam and I can barely be together five minutes without snapping at each other."

"You were certainly not snapping at each other in the hallway when he kissed you."

"That is our other problem," Priscilla said. "We have an unhealthy attraction for each other, though I have no idea what it is about me that attracts a man as handsome as Adam. But I do believe he is actually physically attracted to me."

"And I assure you he is."

"But that is beside the point as we are not even speaking at the moment."

The sound of male voices in the foyer caught Priscilla's attention. The fact that one of those voices was Adam had her stomach rejecting the thought of food.

"Sorry I'm late, Mother," Adam's voice preceded him. "I was detained at the—" he stopped short when he saw Priscilla. He looked at his mother for an explanation.

Lady Whittington shrugged. "I'm glad you could join us, Adam," she said. "As you can see, Priscilla has honored us with her company."

Adam looked at Priscilla. "Yes... as I can see."

Priscilla pushed her chair back and stood. "Thank you for inviting me, Lady Whittington, but I believe I must get back to my place."

Adam looked from Priscilla to Lady Whittington, and said in a brusque dry tone, "What is the meaning of this, Mother?"

"Just sit down both of you," Lady Whittington said in a firm voice.

When Adam did nothing, his mother said, in a sharp voice, "I have something to say and I expect you to sit down and listen."

Adam took his place at the head of the table, and Priscilla lowered herself into her chair, and they both looked at Lady Whittington and waited for an explanation.

Glancing from one to the other, Lady Whittington said, "You, Adam, have been acting like an absolute peagoose, so I decided to do something about it and invite Priscilla here so the two of you can set things straight."

Adam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "I don't believe Priscilla wants to set things straight any more than I do. We are on opposite sides of many issues, and I'm sure she will agree with me that most of them cannot be resolved."

Priscilla held his cold gaze. "That is probably the only thing on which we agree."

Lady Whittington pursed her lips as she looked from one to the other. "If both of you intend to remain stubborn and standoffish, then we shall eat dinner together and engage in polite conversation." She picked up her fork and speared a honeyed carrot.

Adam looked at Priscilla, brows creeping together in a puzzled frown as his eyes roamed over the bodice of her dress. "I assume you're staying for the night."

"And why would you assume that?" Priscilla clipped.

"Because you appear to be dressed for... bed."

"I'm wearing the latest in Pre-Raphaelite fashions," Priscilla informed him, in a polite huff.
 
"If you bothered to read the very informative article that your daughter wrote in
The Town Tattler
you'd understand."

"What I understand is that you are causing an uproar here in
Cheyenne
, with your inflammatory scandal sheet and your rabble-rousing town meetings, pitting men against women, husbands against wives. And your parading around in what appears to be night wear will only aggravate the situation."

"The situation you are referring to is only with the men," Priscilla said. "The women of
Cheyenne
are very enthusiastic about my town meetings, my newspaper, and my fashion column. My subscriptions have exceeded my greatest expectations, I have more advertisers than I have room to print without going to a large quarto size, and I am an independent woman. But you, like most men, do not like it when a woman has power."

"Power? What power? You're printing a single-page paper on an outdated press. I could shut you down in a day if I wanted to."

"And just how would you do that?"

"Any number of ways."

Lady Whittington slapped her palm against the table sending glasses clinking and silverware bouncing.
"Adam! Your behavior is reprehensible!
Apologize to Priscilla at once."

Priscilla cranked her chin up a notch. "That's not necessary," she said. "It just confirms what I said." As she held Adam's gaze, the haughty, self-important expression on his face began to fade, replaced by the countenance of awakening passion. And inside her, the longing for what he'd promised began to stir. She realized then how powerless she would be if they were alone, and he were to take her in his arms.

To her surprise, and dismay, he smiled and said, "I apologize. My comment was uncalled-for. Please forgive me."

"I doubt if you are being sincere," Priscilla said, "but on the chance that you are, I accept your apology." She glanced at Lady Whittington, who had the cryptic smile again.

Lady Whittington leaned toward Adam, and said, "After dinner, you will please see Priscilla home. I sent the coach round for her because you were not here, but now that you are, you can see her safely to her door."

Priscilla raised a hand in protest. "I don't need to be accompanied to my door, Lady Whittington," she said, in an anxious voice. "I feel quite safe riding in the coach alone and seeing myself to my door. Besides, I'm certain Adam has more important things to do this evening."

Adam looked at Priscilla steadily. "On the contrary," he said, "I have nothing to do this evening, so I'll see you to your door." The message in his eyes was unmistakable. He intended to prove to her on the way home how powerless she was against him.

Her palm moved protectively to her chest, drawing his focus there, causing her breasts to tingle. Perhaps she was powerless against him, but with only a few blocks to ride, she had no fear that Lady Whittington's next grandchild would be conceived in the coach. But if the coach took a detour, for any reason, she could not predict what might happen. Already she felt her defenses crumbling. It started when Adam focused on her breasts and she imagined his hands on them and his tongue teasing the puckered tips. But unlike her near deflowering in the coach, tonight there would be little beneath her dress.

Prickles of longing stung her eyes, and her face flushed hot as the heat of his smoldering gaze moved upward. When he caught her eye he tipped his glass and smiled.

She saw that same smile, thirty minutes later, when he rose from the table to accompany her home. So, when she stepped into the coach, and Adam climbed in behind her instead of going around to the opposite door, she scooted to the far side of the coach, putting some distance between them, and said in a curt voice, "If you attempt to arouse my passions, you will not find me welcoming your advances."

Adam let out a grunt of disgust. "Ah yes, the woman with the power." He leaned toward her and said, "Do you really think that if I were to take you in my arms and kiss your lips and your neck and your breasts that you'd have the strength of will to stop me?"

Priscilla hardened herself to the image his words brought, no matter how accurate they might be, and said, "You, of course, could overpower me by strength alone, but while you would be trying to break my resolve, I'd strike out in a way that would be most uncomfortable for you, so I suggest you not try."

Adam leaned closer to her, his breath fanning her ear, as he said, "I don't believe a word you're saying and neither do you." He kissed the side of her neck while moving his hand down her bodice. But before he could reach his target, Priscilla shoved his hand away, and said in a terse voice, "I'm not your wife, Adam. You have no right to touch me there, or anywhere else. And it will do you no good to describe the things you might do as a means of arousing me because I am no longer a slave to my passions. I'm beyond that. You are not the man I believed you to be, and until you prove yourself otherwise, I have no desire to find you between my thighs. In fact, the thought of it makes me cringe."

Adam straightened upright and folded his arms. "You have a penchant for rendering a man impotent," he groused. "What's more, any man unfortunate enough to find himself married to you would be in a constant state of vacillation between being primed for procreation and being worthless as a lover. And right now you're in no danger of losing your virginity because I'm simply not capable." He planted his mouth in a grim line.

Adam's statement alarmed Priscilla. Before meeting him, she'd been naive in the ways of men and the importance they placed on their ability to function as a male. She had simply given it no thought. She had not even known that a man's male part had to undergo changes before he could impregnate a woman, or even give her pleasure in that way. It was a sobering thought that she had the power, with a few words, to cause Adam to become incapable. But it was not the kind of power she wanted. If they were to marry, she would never want him to feel threatened by her in that way, ever. She looked at his firm profile as he stared straight ahead, his chest heaving beneath his folded arms, and said, "I'm sorry, Adam, I didn't mean to emasculate you. I only want to put a stop to the uncontrollable urges that come with your nearness. The touch of your hand, the whisper of your breath against my ear, the feel of your lips on my breasts set off a series of physiological reactions that I'm helpless to stop."