“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?
But he continued on, oblivious to her panic. “It’s the same with most women. They’re born with blinders, for the most part. They believe that society’s dictates can control humanity’s baser instincts.”
Too late, Phoebe realized that she’d taken several more steps and become pinned in a corner between the wall and the bed.
Gasping for air, she flattened her hands against the plaster as if she could will it to crumble beneath the pressure.
Cutter took another step, his legs pressing into the fullness of her skirts, his head dipping, his own palms resting on the faded wallpaper on either side of her head.
“But no matter what rules you set, human nature will always surface. A man will always want a woman—and despite what she might have been told, a woman will invariably be drawn to the man.”
She felt herself trembling when his head bent.
He’s going to kiss you!
No, no, he wouldn’t!
But as the space between them disappeared and he came to within a hairsbreadth of touching her, Phoebe was shocked to discover that she wasn’t resisting the possibility nearly as hard as she should. There was a part of her that wanted to be kissed, that wanted to think she could attract such a man as Gabriel Cutter. A primitive man…a handsome man…a—
A sneaky, conniving, no-good rounder!
Just in time, Phoebe realized that she was about to help Gabriel Cutter prove his argument—and without so much as a whisper of protest.
Anger rushed through her again—anger at him, but even more at herself.
In that last second before his lips touched hers, she moved, bringing up a knee in a way she’d once been told to do by Mrs. Pritchard. Her aim wasn’t entirely true, but the surprise of her attack allowed her to push past Gabriel Cutter. In doing so, she snatched at the revolver holstered at his side, then whirled and pulled back the hammer, leveling the gun at him.
“Don’t move,” she warned fiercely. Biting her lip, she tried to steady the heavy gun, but her hands were trembling so badly that the tip of the revolver wavered. Nevertheless, she closed one eye and sighted down the barrel.
Cutter watched her with patent amusement, and the fact proved galling. How dare he treat her as if she were of no consequence? She was the one with the gun!
Clenching her teeth, she aimed at