Lisa Bingham - The Other Bride

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.”

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?