Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron by Patricia Watters Read Free Book Online

a
fundraiser for the church. So perhaps she would endure lunch with a
man. Even if it turned out to be Lord Adam Whittington...
    Her gaze rested on the press, and she
imagined how it had been the day before, when Lord Whittington
leaned toward her, as if to kiss her. That image faded into one of
them sitting on a blanket on the church grounds. She'd reach into
her picnic basket and hand him a meat pie, and he'd break off a
small piece and put it in her mouth. She'd look into his
eyes and chew and smile, and he'd brush a crumb from her lips and
curve his hand behind her neck and pull her to him and kiss her
soundly, just like in her Dime Novels...
    She fanned her face, realizing she'd broken
into a sweat.
    Silly, foolish woman. Why on earth would Adam
Whittington bid on her basket? With his wealth, and his vast land
holdings, and his handsome face, he could have any woman he wanted.
But she would not be packing a picnic basket to lure Adam
Whittington onto her blanket. She'd be doing it to help raise funds
for the church, and that was what mattered most. That, and getting
her newspaper started.
    She looked at the press and tried to envision
Jim pulling the first edition of The Town Tattler off the
type bed. But the only image that came was of Adam's lips moving
toward hers. But this time their lips came together in a fiery kiss
that sent her sprawling backwards and her petticoats flying up to
expose her legs as before. But instead of pulling down her skirt as
he had, Adam would put his hand on her leg and push her skirt up
further, until he'd be looking at the full length of her bare leg.
And she'd make no move to stop him. Then his fingers would come up
to undo her dress, and she'd be wearing nothing under it. He'd look
at her breasts, which were as free of freckles as a new-born
babe's. God had done a good job with them, so she'd be proud for
Adam to see them... Tingles rushed up her body, settling like
pinpoints of pleasure in the pointy tips of her breasts. God had
blessed her there as well, giving her small pretty nipples as soft
and pink as flower petals. Odd how they grew hard and pebbly when
she had naughty thoughts. Deliciously naughty ones like she was
having now...
    And those were the thoughts she took with her
when she curled up on her mattress pad later that night... And they
were there the next morning when the first light of dawn fell on
her eyelids. Before long, she found herself considering the
contents of her picnic basket. A basket that would be filled with
delicacies that included pasties, and meat pies, and custard tarts,
and other British delicacies intended to attract the notice of a
certain British lord.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    'The hardest thing to govern is the
heart.'
    — from Elizabeth
1
     
    Priscilla stared at herself in the mirror,
scarcely believing what she saw. The women had transformed her into
someone she barely recognized. Someone she actually liked .
Abigail and Libby had all but covered her freckles using a mixture
of bases and powders that they prepared. Then they focused on her
eyes, plucking her blond brows and darkening them with pencil,
brushing green eye shadow onto her eyelids, dusting her blond
lashes with oxide. For a touch of color on her face, they applied a
trace of rouge to her cheeks and a reddener to her lips. When her
face was done, Edith and Mary Kate took over, sweeping her hair up
on top of her head and catching it with tortoiseshell combs, then
pulling out ringlets to frame her face and tickle the back of her
neck. In the place of a hat, they tucked silk flowers into the
upsweep of her hair.
    Although she'd originally planned on wearing
a simple tailormade, the women were adamant that she wear a dress
belonging to Libby, and she reluctantly agreed. It was a Surah silk
in alternate stripes of glossy lime and dull-surfaced olive green,
with a high ruffled collar, rows of tiny tucks running down the
front of the bodice, and great bouffant sleeves that drew together
at the