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Phoebe’s face grew hot with embarrassment. Surely she wasn’t expected to find the man in a bawdy house.
Immediately, her irritation ignited into a white-hot anger. The entire situation was intolerable. Intolerable! Due to the edicts of an unknown trail boss who hadn’t even displayed enough decency to meet with the mail-order brides, they’d been put in the dire straits confronting them now. They were stranded in a strange city with no funds, no way to quickly communicate with their intended spouses—most of whom lived in areas miles from the nearest telegraph—and no way to make alternate arrangements. To add further insult, in order to voice their appeals, they had been brought here to…
A house of low morals!
Phoebe heard the women behind her begin to shift in discomfort.
“I say,” Mable drawled in a droll tone. “We’re in a bit of a pickle now, aren’t we?”
Phoebe took a deep breath. “No. We’re not ‘in a pickle,’ as you say. That’s what they want—or at least what Mr. Cutter wants. He’s decided that we are an inconvenience to his expedition. He’s thrown us into a dither without so much as a by your leave, and I, for one, don’t intend to let him have his way. We’ve paid for our passage in good faith. Unless he agrees to reimburse us for all expenses—including room and board—then we intend to be on that train. Isn’t that right?”
If she’d expected her rallying words to instill her companions with confidence, she was sadly disappointed. The only response she received was Betty saying again, “You don’t mean to go in there, do you?”
Phoebe brushed at the dust collecting on her skirts, jabbed the hatpin more securely into her bonnet and tugged at the hem of her bodice.
“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t put it past the man to be purposely avoiding us by closeting himself in such an establishment. After all, what respectable person houses his offices at a…Well, you know what I mean.”
The women nodded.
Phoebe took Twila’s hand. “Come with me.”
“Me?” Twila grew pale. “Why me?”
“Because you’re a widowed woman with a knowledge of such…”
Twila looked frantic. “But Miss Gray…” She leaned close to whisper, “I was widowed before my husband and I…before we could…” She took a deep draft of her smelling salts before continuing. “We were married during the war. He had a two-hour leave. We never…”
The woman was already weaving on her feet, so Phoebe gave up. “Fine.” Frantically, she searched around her, finally catching a glimpse of a small park in the distance. “All of you wait over there. I’ll join you again as soon as I speak to the man.”
Reluctantly, the women made their way down the walk, leaving Phoebe to wonder how she’d managed to become embroiled in such a mess.
Anger swept through her as she realized how the careless edicts of one man were responsible for her current dilemma. Emboldened by the emotions bubbling within her, Phoebe strode in the direction of the Golden Arms.
Golden Arms. She should have known something was wrong by the name alone. But she’d thought that…
Never mind what she’d thought. She had to keep her mind on Gabriel Cutter.
As she neared the hotel, Phoebe heard the faint sound of music—not the tinny raucous sort that she had read about in penny novels, but an elegant piano arrangement. She snorted softly to herself, wondering if the proprietors thought that a bit of Mozart would add a note of respectability to the hotel. As far as she was concerned, a full-scale orchestra couldn’t hide the fact that this building housed men and women who—
No. Despite the fact that she would be marrying soon, she couldn’t even think about it. She wouldn’t.
Whispering a prayer under her breath, Phoebe resolutely climbed the stone steps to an ornate door inset with colored, beveled glass. The brass knob turned easily beneath her fingers, and before she quite knew what had happened, Phoebe found herself moving into an elegant foyer. Rich black and white marble floor tiles gleamed at her. The shiny surface reflected the twinkling candles of a chandelier lit even in the middle of the day. To one side, rich maroon draperies were drawn back from the threshold of a reception room, where dapper gentleman spoke in low voices with women in various stages of undress.
Phoebe felt her face flame. She couldn’t imagine what would possess a woman to entertain a man wearing little more than her chemise and pantalets.
“May I help you?”
Phoebe jumped. The voice was so soft-spoken and cultured that she was taken aback. A glance at the elegantly dressed woman who had silently appeared at her side did little to settle her nerves.
“I’m looking for Gabriel Cutter,” Phoebe blurted, then wished she’d tamed her tongue and had led up to the subject more gradually. “We have business to discuss.”
The woman seemed amused by Phoebe’s quick reply, but she waved a hand toward a settee positioned against one wall. “Would you care to sit while I get him?”
Phoebe eyed the velvet-tufted sofa. After the difficult day she’d already had, she wanted nothing more than to sit, remove her shoes and rub her aching feet. But she couldn’t allow herself to relax until after she’d met with the trail boss.
“No, thank you,” she said primly.
The woman smiled and glided away.
Curious glances were being cast her way, but Phoebe refused to reveal her discomfiture at her surroundings. With what she hoped appeared to be a bored casualness, she turned away from the reception room with its scantily clad women and debauched gentlemen and stared instead at the painting hung over the sweeping staircase.
She had been given very few opportunities to study art while at Goodfellow’s. Even then, the subject matter had been strictly confined to portraits of sober Elizabethans and bowls of Flemish fruit.
But this…this was lovely. Such vibrant colors, an exotic woodland realm and…
Bit by bit, Phoebe became aware of the prickling of the hairs on her nape. In the same instant, her eyes suddenly registered the content of the artwork in front of her.
Sweet heavens above, she thought in shock as she absorbed the nubile young woman clad in nothing more than a diaphanous silk scarf being ravished by a creature that was half man, half beast.
In shock, her hand encircled her throat, and her gaze leaped to the small brass plaque that read Rosalind and the Satyr.
Gasping, Phoebe whirled to escape the startling lasciviousness of the picture. But her shock was compounded when she found herself face-to-face with a man.
And heavens, what a man.
He was tall, with an angularity to his features that was both harsh and intriguing. Eyes the color of cold silver gazed at her with a piercing intensity that made her hands curl around the strings of her reticule. He was forbidding, of that there was no question. Yet even as she would have jumped to the conclusion that he was completely heartless, she hesitated. The shadows lingering in his eyes, the strain around his mouth and the tense set of his jaw bespoke a pain that was at once eloquent and foreboding.
Before she could gather her scattered wits, the man’s eyes dropped. His gaze raked over her with insolent thoroughness, making her acutely conscious of her rumpled traveling costume and the ever-present dust that clung to her skin.
“You’re very lovely, but I don’t recall asking for your business.”
Chapter Three
Phoebe gasped at the man’s effrontery. Her hands balled into fists, but she strove to control her temper.
So this was the great Gabriel Cutter. The same man who had decided to deny the mail-order brides their rightful passage on his train.
Her anger seethed anew.
“It is I who have business with you, Mr. Cutter.”
He didn’t seem impressed by her statement. Instead, he began circling her, scrutinizing every inch of her frame in a way that reminded her of a hungry lion she’d once seen being fed at the London Zoo.
“You’re a bit on the scrawny side.”
A choked “oh” burst from her lips before she could stop it. “Mr. Cutter,” she said indignantly, then quickly lowered her tone to a whisper when she captured the attention of those in the adjoining room. “Mr. Cutter, I would appreciate it if you would step outside so that I could have a word with you.”
He stopped, placing his hands on his hips. “There isn’t anything outside that can’t be said inside.”
“I wish to have a private conversation.”
“I’d be happy to have a cup of coffee with you.” He gestured to the room beyond the draped arch.
Phoebe felt her face flame at the mere idea. “Mr. Cutter, I couldn’t…I won’t…I—I…”
“Then good day to you, ma’am.”
As he offered her a mocking salute, Phoebe resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Of all insufferable, ill-mannered…
“Mr. Cutter, my name is Phoebe Gray and I have come to speak to you about a matter concerning the Overland Settlers Company.”
Cutter folded his arms and regarded her through half-lowered lids. The intense scrutiny had the ability to make the skin on her arms prickle with gooseflesh. “Ahh. So you’re one of the brides.”
The tone he employed made it clear that the news wasn’t particularly welcome.
His eyes narrowed. “What was your name again?”
“Phoebe Gray.”
“Phoebe Gray?” The intensity of his gaze seemed to harden ever so slightly—and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought that he’d known she was unused to the name herself.
Before she could think of something to say, Gabe stated tightly, “The answer is no. It was no last week, no this morning, and it will be no tomorrow when the train leaves the station.”
“Mr. Cutter—”
“No, Miss…”
“Gray.”
“No, Miss Gray. No, I will not change my mind. No, I will not allow nine unescorted women to accompany us West. And no, I don’t really care that you weren’t informed of the change sooner, or that you’ll all be stranded in New York. Now, good day to you.”
Phoebe was so stunned, so enraged by Gabriel’s pronouncement that it took her a moment to react. By that time, Gabriel Cutter had disappeared down a nearby corridor.
Huffing in indignation, she quickly followed him, discovering that the hallway led past the kitchen and dining areas to a narrow staircase. Sensing the man was heading for his offices, and fearful of losing him, she rushed to intercept him. Gabriel Cutter had just inserted a key in a door and was opening it wide when she burst past him into the room beyond and planted herself squarely in front of him.
“I’m not leaving until we’ve discussed this thoroughly, Mr. Cutter.”
Again his eyes narrowed. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to discuss.”
“At the very least you owe us an explanation for your edict.”
“I think ‘edict’ is putting it a bit strongly. Frankly, someone should have had the sense to point out that it’s sheer folly for a gaggle of women to go such a distance unaccompanied. But since no one else bothered to think things through, it was up to me to set things to rights.”
Her hands balled into fists and she wanted to smack him, but she managed to control herself for a few minutes longer.
“Mr. Cutter, I don’t remember the Almighty appointing you to be our guardian.”
“No, but two hundred settlers have paid me to ensure their safety.”
“As have we!”
“Which, as I’ve explained already, was a mistake. I’m sure the Overland Settlers Company will refund your fares—”
“When?”
He shrugged with a carelessness that caused her anger to burn so brightly she feared her hair would catch on fire.
“That’s none of my concern.”
“Well, it should be!” She was nearly shouting now, and it galled her that this man could have caused her to toss her manners aside and scream at him like a fishwife. Catching herself, she took several gulps of calming air, then began again. “Mr. Cutter—”
“It won’t do you any good to argue, Miss Gray. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
“But why?” She stamped her foot, then wished she hadn’t when she realized this man probably thought all females were hysterical during moments of crisis. Again she took several deep, fortifying breaths and said as sweetly as she should. “At the very least, Mr. Cutter, I think you should explain your reasoning. I hardly think that a group of women could cause much trouble on the train.”
Cutter began moving toward her, crowding her, so that she was forced to take a step back, then another and another. Too late, she became aware of her surroundings. Horror rushed through her when she realized that she hadn’t stormed into Gabe Cutter’s office as she’d supposed, but his bedroom. As her cheeks flooded with heat, she became overtly aware of the small bedstead with its rumpled sheets, a washstand littered with masculine toiletry items and a satchel stacked with neatly folded shirts and union suits.
“Sweet heaven above,” she whispered.
“It isn’t heaven you should be praying to, Miss Gray,” Cutter said, his voice low and dark, his movements taking upon themselves the prowling grace of a cat. “This is exactly why I’ve forbidden you women to accompany the expedition.”
The way he looked at her, the way her body had flushed hot, then cold, left her in no doubt as to what “this” represented. The room became thick with sensual undercurrents. Her breath hitched in her throat and an odd heat settled low in the pit of her stomach.
“Men and women can’t coexist without this getting in the way.”
He was so close to her now that she could barely think. Bit by bit, he’d closed off all avenues of escape except for the bed.
She licked her lips nervously, then wished she hadn’t when his gaze centered on that very point. “Nonsense,” she retorted, in what she had hoped would be a stern tone. But the word emerged unsure, even to her ears. “Men and women can behave quite civilly and…this doesn’t have to enter into things at all.”
Cutter shook his head as if he were disappointed by her denseness. “You’ve lived too long in rarified social circles, Miss Gray.”
For a moment, her heart seemed to skip a beat. How did he know? How had he guessed? Were her years of being in a strict girls’ school marked on her somehow?
But he continued on, oblivious to her panic. “It’s the same with most women. They’re born with blinders, for the most part. They believe that society’s dictates can control humanity’s baser instincts.”
Too late, Phoebe realized that she’d taken several more steps and become pinned in a corner between the wall and the bed.
Gasping for air, she flattened her hands against the plaster as if she could will it to crumble beneath the pressure.
Cutter took another step, his legs pressing into the fullness of her skirts, his head dipping, his own palms resting on the faded wallpaper on either side of her head.
“But no matter what rules you set, human nature will always surface. A man will always want a woman—and despite what she might have been told, a woman will invariably be drawn to the man.”
She felt herself trembling when his head bent.
He’s going to kiss you!
No, no, he wouldn’t!
