Prim nearly choked at the question, shooting him a dark look as she swallowed painfully. It was a question she’d heard all too often before. From her brothers. From her late husband.
Usually they employed it rhetorically.
What else could she possibly want from life?
It took a second to realize there was no sarcasm in James’s voice. No condescension. He was genuinely curious. But since no one, not even her sisters in the suffragette movement, had ever asked, Prim took a moment to find the words. Where to begin?
“I would like to travel with Mrs. Anthony to Washington next year for her annual address to Congress. She’s gone each year since 1869 to plead for the passage of a suffrage amendment. I’d like to go, to help see it passed.”
“To what end?” he asked. Again, without derision. “For the vote?”
“For equality,” she said with conviction, setting aside her coffee. “It may take years more for us to achieve it on a national scale, but I should at least be able to demand it in my own home, from the men in my life I cannot shed. I-I want independence. To live my life my way. I want for all women what I want for myself. Not only the vote, but for an equal voice. For respect.”
“Respect is earned.” His eyes were intense, solemn but interested. “You cannot demand it.”
“I know,” Prim agreed, wrapping her bare hands around one of his. “But I cannot earn it if I am given no chance to. I want to receive some modicum of regard for my intelligence. I deserve the chance to prove myself. To make them see me not as a helpless female to be coddled, but as capable. Fletcher finally understood that in the end. He listened. More importantly, heheard.”
James’s green eyes lit with something she couldn’t identify but it filled her with warmth, satisfaction. Encouraged, she went on, “Fletcher left the trust of our children’s futures in my hands alone because he believed in me. It took me ten years to earn his respect. I cannot tolerate another ten for my brothers to do the same. Declan is the worst of all. He insists on carrying on with all Fletcher’s business investments. As much as I pester him to release the accounts to me, he acts as if I’m too empty-headed to comprehend any of it.”
“If there is one thing I know about you already, Mrs. Eames, it is that you are no featherhead.” A true smile curved his lips.
His hand cupped her cheek and the heat already racing through her from his surprising comment spread as her pulse quickened. Exhilaration, whether it be from his flattering words or from his touch, swept over her. Once again, her knees threatened to give way.
“You’re even more passionate…more ardent for your cause, than I had guessed.”
His fingers drifted over the shell of her ear, warming her ridiculously with that simple touch, heating her from head to toe as he leaned over her. He inhaled deeply, his chest coming within a few inches of hers before he exhaled slowly. His breath tickled the short hairs at her temples, prompting a shiver of excitement.
“Such fire in you, my dear Mrs. Eames.” His thickening brogue was rough yet electrifying as his calloused fingers grazed across her jaw once more, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Downward his gaze drifted, to her mouth, settling there until her lips were burning.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she gnawed away the unfamiliar tingle.
His chest rumbled with a deep, almost inaudible groan. A quiver shot down her spine. An unfamiliar, feminine thrill.
“Mr. MacKintosh…?”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie.” She flushed at her bold use of his given name. “Are you contemplating kissing me?”
“Contemplating?” he echoed gruffly. “Aye, lass, I am.”
Another jolt and Prim waited for it, her eyelids drifting down of their own accord.
The gentle caress along her jaw and neck continued but the anticipated kiss wasn’t forthcoming. She opened her eyes with a frown.
“Mr. MacKintosh?” she whispered, her voice oddly husky.
“Aye?”
“Are youplanningon kissing me?”
He shook his head, dropping his hand. “Nay, Mrs. Eames, I am not.”
He wasn’t? Prim’s heart sank. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around his answer. She’d heard the gossip about him and a number of young widows. Isn’t that what he did? Take kisses and so much more?
“Not yet, at any rate,” he went on. “You say you long to have a life of your own. One of your own choosing. A life where you make your own decisions. I can see you’re capable of it. You just need to realize it as well. You want a kiss, lass, you’ll have to take it. Make it your own.”
Prim inhaled sharply, hearing the challenge…the dare in his words. But not just that. No, there was something else. Encouragement? Conviction, perhaps? As if he had some indelible faith in her ability to stand up for what she wanted.
