a
gentleman.
Grimacing, Nick raised his head. “It’s god awful. Does he
really think you’d like this kinda hogwash?”
She let out a tiny laugh and her eyes brightened a mite.
“You don’t consider me poetic, Nicholas?”
“I’d reckon you’re more a Poe kind of woman than Shelley.”
“Are you accusing me of being unfeminine?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Never, ma’am. Only not a
shrinking violet. Or the kind of woman who’d put much store in lines like. . .”
He looked down and read, “‘such as these much surely bring you to the blush.’”
“Ah, then I am coarse.” Something flickered in her eye.
Insecurity. It coursed over his nerves, then pierced his heart. He rarely
marked any degree of vulnerability in Star Montgomery; she behaved as if she
owned the world. Yet here she was looking at him as if anxious that he’d take
her straight-to-the-point forwardness as lacking gentility. The truth was, he
appreciated not needing to constantly guess her thoughts. “No, ma’am,” he said
gently. “Just not silly enough to blush at the word bosom.”
She studied him a moment. The vulnerability melted under the
heat rising in those eyes, as passion ignited and flickered in the air between
them.
“Yes, well,” she said after a moment and reached for the
letter, “I did tell you it was nothing—”
He held tightly to the sheets. “I’m not done.” He began
reading again.
“I told you. . . .” she started then trailed off.
Two more paragraphs of lush, poetic descriptions of a woman
the man obviously did not know. Star wouldn’t give the time of day to an hombre
like this. And then. . .
I am supremely grateful and pleased that your family has at long last
realized the strain of Society upon your gentle spirit and has removed you from
the pressures of the East. As dreadfully as I miss your heavenly visage, I look
forward to reveling in the splendid alterations a holiday will make upon my
dearest love. Surely with the passage of time and the mountain air to breathe a
new understanding into your lungs, you now recognize the folly of your ways, my
dear, and when you at last return to my side, you will be repulsed by the
company you have been keeping. Westerners, I have heard, understand a woman’s
place much better than these reformers in the East, and will gently exhort upon
you the error of your ways.
Nick’s shoulders knotted. He looked up. “Error of your
ways?”
“He doesn’t believe in the women’s movement.”
He frowned. “Then why the hell is he interested in you?”
A muscle jumped in her cheek. “Why the hell, indeed,” she
said, a trace of her usual merriment marbling her voice.
“Damn, I was tryin’ not to cuss so much in front of you,” he
said, looking back down at the letter.
“You appear to be losing that battle.”
It is with a hopeful heart that I close this letter. I know that when you
return to me, my angel, you will be on the outside the woman whom I know is
hiding in your heart, one joyous at being a woman, happy to lay the course and
instruction of her life in the hands of a man. No longer will I spend sleepless
nights worrying that you are demeaning yourself, in truth, damning yourself in
the eyes of God, by following the harridans of this ridiculous and dangerous
movement. No longer will I laboriously ponder what manner of correction I might,
in the end, be required to resort to in order to steer you toward a proper
path. No, you shall now be the soft and gracious creature God created, and
shall, with a warm and loving heart, turn away from the destructive influences
of these women, and into my waiting, welcoming arms.
I’ll be watching you,
Romeo
With a tightness in his jaw, Nick lifted his head, narrowing
his eyes as he stared at Star. “Correction? What kind of correction?”
“None other than reams of letters imploring me to change my
ways.”
“Has he sent you a lot of these things?”
She hesitated. “One a week, but they
gentleman.
Grimacing, Nick raised his head. “It’s god awful. Does he
really think you’d like this kinda hogwash?”
She let out a tiny laugh and her eyes brightened a mite.
“You don’t consider me poetic, Nicholas?”
“I’d reckon you’re more a Poe kind of woman than Shelley.”
“Are you accusing me of being unfeminine?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Never, ma’am. Only not a
shrinking violet. Or the kind of woman who’d put much store in lines like. . .”
He looked down and read, “‘such as these much surely bring you to the blush.’”
“Ah, then I am coarse.” Something flickered in her eye.
Insecurity. It coursed over his nerves, then pierced his heart. He rarely
marked any degree of vulnerability in Star Montgomery; she behaved as if she
owned the world. Yet here she was looking at him as if anxious that he’d take
her straight-to-the-point forwardness as lacking gentility. The truth was, he
appreciated not needing to constantly guess her thoughts. “No, ma’am,” he said
gently. “Just not silly enough to blush at the word bosom.”
She studied him a moment. The vulnerability melted under the
heat rising in those eyes, as passion ignited and flickered in the air between
them.
“Yes, well,” she said after a moment and reached for the
letter, “I did tell you it was nothing—”
He held tightly to the sheets. “I’m not done.” He began
reading again.
“I told you. . . .” she started then trailed off.
Two more paragraphs of lush, poetic descriptions of a woman
the man obviously did not know. Star wouldn’t give the time of day to an hombre
like this. And then. . .
I am supremely grateful and pleased that your family has at long last
realized the strain of Society upon your gentle spirit and has removed you from
the pressures of the East. As dreadfully as I miss your heavenly visage, I look
forward to reveling in the splendid alterations a holiday will make upon my
dearest love. Surely with the passage of time and the mountain air to breathe a
new understanding into your lungs, you now recognize the folly of your ways, my
dear, and when you at last return to my side, you will be repulsed by the
company you have been keeping. Westerners, I have heard, understand a woman’s
place much better than these reformers in the East, and will gently exhort upon
you the error of your ways.
Nick’s shoulders knotted. He looked up. “Error of your
ways?”
“He doesn’t believe in the women’s movement.”
He frowned. “Then why the hell is he interested in you?”
A muscle jumped in her cheek. “Why the hell, indeed,” she
said, a trace of her usual merriment marbling her voice.
“Damn, I was tryin’ not to cuss so much in front of you,” he
said, looking back down at the letter.
“You appear to be losing that battle.”
It is with a hopeful heart that I close this letter. I know that when you
return to me, my angel, you will be on the outside the woman whom I know is
hiding in your heart, one joyous at being a woman, happy to lay the course and
instruction of her life in the hands of a man. No longer will I spend sleepless
nights worrying that you are demeaning yourself, in truth, damning yourself in
the eyes of God, by following the harridans of this ridiculous and dangerous
movement. No longer will I laboriously ponder what manner of correction I might,
in the end, be required to resort to in order to steer you toward a proper
path. No, you shall now be the soft and gracious creature God created, and
shall, with a warm and loving heart, turn away from the destructive influences
of these women, and into my waiting, welcoming arms.
I’ll be watching you,
Romeo
With a tightness in his jaw, Nick lifted his head, narrowing
his eyes as he stared at Star. “Correction? What kind of correction?”
“None other than reams of letters imploring me to change my
ways.”
“Has he sent you a lot of these things?”
She hesitated. “One a week, but they
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