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Prudence looked over at Zac. He was running his straight-edge razor down the side of his lathered face, finishing his morning shave. "Thank you," she said, pleased, yet in some small way disappointed he had acted the gentleman.
"Don't bother," he said, rinsing the remainder of the lather from his face and drying it with the towel next to the washbowl. "I'm not in the habit of ravishing besotted virgins."
"I thought, perhaps, you had learned some gentlemanly manners. I can see now I was wrong," she said, sitting up and clutching the quilt to her chest as she looked about the room for her traveling case.
Zac reached for a white shirt from his satchel. He snapped the clean, crisp shirt open and slipped it on.
"I told you once and you'd do well to remember it: I'm no gentleman."
Prudence stood, the quilt slipping from her grasp. Her full breasts were dangerously close to tumbling from her chemise. Her bloomers were pushed up high on her legs and showed more of her firmly shaped limbs than was proper. Even her reddish brown hair was far from dignified. It fell in wild disarray. She had the distinct appearance of a woman who had just spent the night sharing passionate love and had thoroughly enjoyed the sexual episode.
Zac found her state of near undress quite appealing, and he smiled. "If you remember correctly, Mrs. Stewart, I told you that my wife would view me naked, as I would her, and no lights would be turned off or no garments left on."
Prudence scooped up the quilt and hugged it to her chest. She stood firm at his approach.
He tore the quilt from her grasp and threw it aside, then took her chin in his hand and raised her face up.
"Make no mistakes about it, Mrs. Stewart. My wife's time will come." He released her and turned away.
Prudence wasn't certain she interpreted his meaning correctly. Was he telling her he would wait to make love to the wife he chose of his own free will? Or was he informing her that eventually he would make love to her? And if so, for what reason? He certainly didn't love her.
"Get dressed. The steamboat leaves in two hours, and there are a few things I need to purchase before we depart."
She didn't bother to argue. Her mind was too muddled—from the cider or from his words, she wasn't sure.
"I'll be in the dining salon," he said, securing his gun belt around his waist, and then putting on his waistcoat.
"Can I trust you to meet me there in twenty minutes, or do you have plans of running away again?"
"There's no point in my running away now. I will stay and confront my father and this marriage situation. Afterwards, when all is taken care of, I will continue my search for my mother. I will meet you downstairs in ten minutes. You have my word,” Prudence said, and lifted her traveling case to the bed.
Her decision was sensible, she told herself. There was no point in running off on her own when she had no leads to her mother's whereabouts. Once her father arrived, she would discuss the matter with him and request his help. Hopefully, he would agree, and if not, she would continue the search on her own.
"Ten minutes, then," he repeated, and walked out the door. He stood outside their room a minute and shook his head. "Damn," he said.
"Mr. Stewart!" the staunch voice reprimanded him from behind the closed door.
Zac laughed all the way down the hall and into the dining salon.
CHAPTER 12
Prudence looked casually around Mr. Lewis's mercantile. His store was large and held an array of items. There were ropes, shovels, picks, and buckets hanging from pegs, while glass jars filled with striped candies lined the counter. Materials from muslin to various prints or plain cotton were displayed in bolts, while needles, threads, and even patterns were stacked nearby. Then there were the ready-to-wear garments.
Those were the ones that interested Prudence. She had taken careful note of the way the local women dressed. Her clothes might be proper back East, but she was beginning to realize they were far from practical in the West. The dark brown grosgrain skirt and matching basque she wore were much too heavy and unsuitable for this rugged life and late spring climate. In contrast, the women here outfitted themselves in cotton or muslin skirts and sturdy blouses minus the frills and bows.
If she wanted to fit in, to blend, to be part of the West, the best place to start was with her clothes. She saw that Zac was busy speaking with Mr. Lewis, and satisfied she had enough time, Prudence set about choosing her purchases.
Mrs. Lewis, a robust and cheerful woman, helped her gather the appropriate items, suggesting articles that would be "necessary."
