Was that underline an attempt at sarcasm? Anger and
nervousness battled for control in her chest, her stomach. How dare he, how
dare
he insult her family and friends.
End it for you
. What did he mean by that?
Nothing—nothing violent. No, that was ridiculous. Besides, what could he do
that was worse than had been done at many speeches? Rotten fruit, yelling, the
occasional arrest—
“Miss Star?”
Star raised her head to see Margaret holding her dress,
watching her warily. “It’s a letter,” Star said. “He put it inside the book.”
“You look upset.”
Or try something else
, she heard again, Nicholas’s
words spoken just a short time ago. He’d known this was coming. But this . . .
this wasn’t so very threatening, was it? One could scarcely call the Bible
threatening in comparison to Horatio’s actions against Minnie. Not even in
comparison to the danger-by-inaction of Minnie’s doctor.
And Star.
“The rowing this morning was strenuous,” Star said
absentmindedly as she flipped through the marked sections. The most hated quote
of all, Ephesians 5:22-23.
Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands,
as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is
the head of the church: and he is the savior of the body
.
Too many husbands, as Lucretia Mott had pointed out over the
years, forgot the latter half, or ignored the rest of the chapter altogether.
Almost all ignored the fact that it had been written for a different time,
before advances in science had changed society and women’s roles.
She flipped again and fell upon the most heavily marked
passage of all. 1Timothy, 2:11-12.
Let the woman learn in silence with all
subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the
man, but to be in silence
.
Her chest started to burn. He meant to silence her, prevent
her from demanding action and laws and female representation for all the women
whose husbands did not love their wives as they loved themselves, but beat them
instead.
A knock on the door.
“Star?” Mother.
“Come in.”
“I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Mother said,
entering. She closed the door and halted, her eyebrows coming together. “What
is it?”
“A package,” Star answered. “From Romeo. A . . . a Bible.”
“A
Bible
,” Mother said, irritation sharpening her
voice as it always did when referring to her secret admirer. “Whatever for?”
She crossed the room and took up the letter. Then she flipped through the
Bible. Star watched her mother’s eyes blacken as she read the marked passages.
Anger creased her face. “How dare he!” she snapped when she finished.
Star smiled, the anxiety easing with the shared outrage.
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“These men,” Mother said, through gritted teeth, “who use
the Bible against women ought to be prosecuted for fraud.”
“If only I could have been a lawyer for you, Mother.”
Mother lifted her eyes from the book and gave Star a tight
smile. “Is that not part of what you’re fighting for?”
“Eventually, yes, but first we must have a vote in making
the laws. At any rate, Romeo is not particularly unique in this. Those passages
have been quoted over and over again.”
“Not to me they haven’t!”
Star laughed. “No one would dare, Mother.”
She scowled, but the anger lightened in her eyes. “That is
merely because I’ve never followed your line of work. It was not an option for
me. Well,” she said looking at the letter again. “We shall certainly not allow
this to deter you. One does not bow to tyranny!”
“No,” Star said, “not a Montgomery, at least.”
“Nor,” Mother said, “a Turner. Not for long, in all events,”
she said as long-ago pain flickered in her eyes. Star’s heart stung for a
moment. Mother, like Minnie, had once faced a tyrannical husband, which had
been Star’s initial reason for joining the movement. Mother, however, far from
resorting to suicide, had fought back against tyranny. With disastrous results.
“Finish dressing then,” Mother said, nodding to Margaret,
“and we shall continue planning for the Hathaways’ ball. I see no reason to
ring your father just now. We shall bring it to his attention this evening.”
“Father? Whatever for?” Star asked, her shoulders
tightening.
“He’ll must know of this, Star. It’s a threat.”
“But what could Romeo possibly to do prevent the rally that
others have not already attempted?”
“I don’t know, but it’s imprudent not to consider all
aspects. Your father shall know how to act.”
“But there’s no need to act!”
“Fear not,” she said gently, laying a hand on Star’s
shoulder. “He shan’t force you to cancel your engagement. It is unwise,
however, to withhold information from him.”
On his own, Father probably would not compel her withdrawal
from the rally, but Star remembered too well the concern in Nicholas’s eyes. He
and Father had developed a strong rapport, and when men came together in
thought, even the best of men too often turned that thought against any woman
in question.
“All right,” she hedged, “but we can discuss it in private,
correct? Nicholas need not know of this. It’s a family matter.”
Morgan frowned at her warily as Star fought to keep her
fears from her face—easier to hide from Mother than from Father. “I can see no
reason to keep it from him,” Mother said guardedly, “but none as well to tell
him.”
“He doesn’t appreciate my work. I am trying to sway him, you
know, for the more men on our side, the sooner we shall prevail. It makes no
sense to provide him with additional arguments against us.”
Mother shook her head. “You underestimate Nicholas’s
intelligence and knowledge. He’ll learn and analyze all the arguments before he
makes up his mind. If you wish to keep this from him, however, I shall honor
your wish. It would be rude, at any rate, to worry our guest unnecessarily.”
John Dryden,The Secular Masque
“You know, Nicholas,” Star said, “you truly are an exquisite
dancer. It is not at all what one might expect from—how do you put it?—‘just an
ole cowpoke’.”
And dancing with Star was exquisite torture, Nick decided.
No better way to put it.
During the two weeks since he’d kissed her, he’d avoided any
more backsliding by making certain that they were never alone, even with all
the outings the Montgomerys had put together for his entertainment. Lee,
silently marking Nick’s discomfort, had assisted. It didn’t still stop her from
flirting, and Nick sure couldn’t resist responding, but flirting was a helluva lot
less tempting and less dangerous than this ball was proving to be. Times like
this he understood why Methodists forbade dancing.
“Lots of practice, ma’am,” he answered. “Out West dancin’s
the only acceptable way a man can hold a pretty girl in his arms without
proposin’.”
She laughed. “And I
know
how much you would like to
avoid that, sir!”
It was his first ball—first of many he was told—given in his
“honor” by the Hathaways of Marblehead. Luxury like he’d never dreamed of
surrounded them—a marble and gilt ballroom, more flowers than a greenhouse, and
the constant flash and sparkle of precious gems. All the men wore diamond cuff
links; all the women wore diamond tiaras, including Star on the top of a madly
complicated hairstyle of rolls and curls. And, she’d assured him, he’d find
even more ostentation in Newport, for Bostonians were mere Yankees and far more
inclined to trust funds than splendor.
Yup, breathtaking luxury but all he could think of was how
pretty Star looked in dark pink silk, and how the bodice of her gown must be
too low to be proper, even though he’d seen lower ones on at least a half dozen
women. They didn’t have her figure, and what they displayed wasn’t half as
inviting. His gaze kept wandering to the diamond and ruby necklace caressing
her swanlike neck and the pendant falling just above the curve of her breasts.
It took Samson-like strength to switch his focus to her eyes.
They weren’t any better. They gleamed with mischief, and
between her and him, that mischief was always sexual. “No, ma’am,” he answered
trying to keep his voice light. “I’m not avoidin’ anything. Marriage is a fine
institution. Just cautious is all.”
“And yet, I suppose a man as handsome as you had women
lining up to dance with you, since that was the only way
they
could be
‘acceptably close’ to you.”
Mischief and flirtation, and she was damned good at it. She
petted his male pride, then captured his attention with those eyes, and
suddenly he couldn’t remember how it felt to dance with any other woman. Ever.
With only a couple inches difference in height, they fit well together,
waltzing around the room in perfect synchronicity. Nick forced himself to hold
her so as to allow plenty of space between them, but as the seconds ticked
away, the glow of unsatisfied desire filled that space. At length it became an
invisible presence, moving between them like a caress. Sonuvabitch, but it’d be
more decent to pull her against him so that every inch of her body touched
every inch of his.
He took a deep breath and tried to form a reply. For the
life of him, though, he couldn’t remember what she’d said. It didn’t help that
a light flush colored her cheeks and made a gradual decent across her chest,
toward her breasts, like right before climax. Damn, damn, damn.
“No comment?” she ventured. Her voice was low, killing any
attempt at being casual. She licked her lips as if they’d gone dry. “Generally
one thanks another for such a fulsome compliment.”
Soft red lips. He wanted to kiss those lips, followed by
their tongues dancing in hot, wet imitation of their movements across the dance
floor. After that, he’d trail kisses along that long, white neck, following the
progression of the flush until his tongue found the tight pink peaks of her
breasts.
His body started to respond to the images his runaway
imagination created. That could be embarrassing in a room crowded with
strangers. Some of ’em were following his every move, not sure what to think of
a gun-slingin’ Westerner dressed to the nines in a tuxedo suit and waltzing
with one of Boston’s most distinguished daughters. No doubt they expected him
to trip, or to trip her, or to make a dozen different blunders. What he was
most tempted to do, though, was a helluva lot more than a blunder—it was a
scandal.
Star’s eyes started to glaze over. She stared up at him, her
lips parted, and then her eyelids lowered in expectation of a kiss. The muscles
in his shoulders tensed as he fought off the urge to accommodate her.
Conversation. It was the only way they were going to make it
through this godforsaken waltz. What had they been talking about? Dances back
home. “Reckon one or two women were hopin’ for somethin’ longer lastin’ than a
dance. Most likely, tho’ it was on account of my owning the Bar M and not me a’
tall.”
She smiled and the glaze turned to a sparkle. “Back to the
Western drawl, are you? Don’t think I have not marked how perfectly well you
speak when it’s required.”
“Yes’m,” he said with a grin, “but it’s surely a trial on
this here cowpoke. I’d ruther be with you than anybody else, where I kin be
myself, and that’s a fact.”
She laughed as the music ended. Her laughter eased his
tension, but did nothing to cool the desire. “Read any Plato lately, Nicholas?”
Chuckling, he looped elbows with her and escorted her off
the dance floor to a set of chairs that their little group had claimed at the
start of the ball. Although the Hathaways expected them to circulate and
socialize, apparently nothing forbade them from staking out a temporary home,
especially when one of ’em was somewhat indisposed.
Dressed in dark blue satin, Jess Montgomery was sitting up
against a wall, hiding her condition. She was almost three months along and on
the edge of withdrawing from Society until after her lying in. When Nick had
come East he’d expected to see her and Lee brimming over with newly-wedded
bliss. Instead he’d found them strained.
“Ah, there you are, Star,” Del Huntington said behind them.
Nick turned, his muscles tightening. “I’ve come to collect you for the next
dance.”
A bright, cheerful smile settled on Star’s face as she took
Huntington’s arm. “Why Del, you handsome rogue, how wonderful of you to
remember. I’ve been anticipating it all evening, as I’m sure you must know.”
“Ah, be still my beating heart,” Del said. “It pounds in
response to your flattery, sugar. Even though the brain knows full well that
you are but playing the coquette, the heart always hopes for more.”
“Until the next pretty woman walks by, no doubt,” she said
with a laugh. “Nicholas, are you not dancing? You must find yourself a partner,
you know. I suspect there are dance cards yet to be filled.”
“Reckon I do know that,” he answered, pulling a chair over
next to Jess. Like all the other chairs, it was mahogany, upholstered in gold
silk and light as air. Nick hoped it wouldn’t collapse under him. “At dances
back home we have more than one set, too. And fiddles and shoes and the whole
shebang.”
She laughed. “Shoes, too? Why, I never considered it! How
fortunate for you!”
He grinned. “Powerful fortunate, ma’am. But the gal I’d most
like to dance with is sitting here feeling poorly. Left an opening on my card
so I could keep company with her. If you’ll have me, Jess?” he asked with a
quick wink.
Gratitude flickered in Jess’s eyes. “Why thank you, Nick.
I’d love it.”
“You are a true gentleman, Nicholas,” Star said warmly.