Free Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron by Patricia Watters Page A

been
to a proper finishing school."
    Adam eyed his mother with vexation. "I advise
you not to underestimate Miss Phipps," he said. "I suspect she
could be a force to reckon with should you, or anyone else, rankle
her. I for one intend to stay on her good side." And that was the understatement of the day, Adam silently conceded. If truth
be known, he intended to cover all sides of Priscilla while she lay
naked in his arms. The idea had taken root and wouldn't let go. But
for the life of him, he didn't know when, or where, it would take
place. The ranch was miles from town, his house was soon to be a
hive of activity and watchful eyes, and The Town Tattler building was a far cry from being a love nest...
    Then he remembered the mattress pads in the
upstairs rooms that Priscilla had mentioned. They were unoccupied,
now that the women had moved into a boarding house, and he was
becoming increasingly impatient to alleviate a problem he was
having, and to do it with the oddly appealing, totally
exasperating, easily roused spinster whose mere image in his mind's
eye brought a smile to his lips and action below his waist...
    "I don't believe I like that smile, Adam,"
his mother's voice caught him up short. "It was never a good sign
when you were growing up."
    Adam looked at his mother in amusement. "Then
I suggest you get used to it," he said, "because I'm afraid it's
here to stay." With that cryptic message, he left the house and
headed for The Town Tattler building, almost tasting the
lips he intended to capture the first chance he got. But now, his
hands were restless to capture other parts of Miss Priscilla
Phipps' anatomy. She was a fireball of passion waiting to be
released. And he was more than ready to do her that honor. And to
do it very soon, or he was apt to go mad.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    'To be a king and wear a crown is a
thing
    more glorious to them that see it than
it
    is pleasant to them that bear it.'
    — Queen Elizabeth
I
     
    Lady Whittington leaned over Priscilla,
studying, with rapt attention the lock of copper-red hair pressed
between her fingers. "We could tone it down with a lightener such
as lemon juice and chamomile tea and have you sit in the sun," she
said to Priscilla, "but I am afraid you would acquire yet more
freckles, so that would not be advised. Besides, dark hair is
preferred over blond, so I believe it would be best for you to go
darker. I will have cook boil down some black walnut shells and mix
it with black tea."
    Priscilla saw the look of pity on Lady
Whittington's face. All her life she'd seen that look while people
talked around her on what to do about the color of her hair. At
different times her mother tried rinsing it in coffee, then in
boiled sage leaves, then in an infusion of cherry bark and chicory
root. When that didn't work, she tried lightening it with a mixture
of mashed rhubarb and pineapple juice and having her sit in the
sun. The next day her face was red as a beet and covered in
blisters. When that passed, she had a new crop of freckles.
    Seeming to pick up on that, Lady Whittington
said, "We could do something about those freckles, but there is no
magical formula. It would require time and patience and continuous
care. But there are bleaching agents that can fade them to a color
that closely approximates the color of your skin, although
sometimes it results in an undesirable lightening of the skin
surrounding the freckles, calling more attention to them."
    Knowing that her voice would be wobbly if she
replied, Priscilla nodded and said nothing. Her freckles had been a
constant reminder of how plain and unattractive she was, though no
one said as much. But it had been implied by the teasing of her
classmates and the remedies her mother tried over the years. One
bleaching agent had her face breaking out in a rash. Another burned
her skin. Then there were the sour cream washes, and the vegetable
masks made with mashed cucumbers, and strawberries, and
apricots...
    Lady Whittington