Fervor fills Olivia Jones when she attends her first suffrage meeting. But that’s nothing compared to the unanticipated feelings that flood her whenever newsman, Hunter Rockland, comes near. For years she has avoided anything other than polite discourse, hiding behind a thin veil of dislike. Suddenly, desire she doesn’t understand threatens to upset her firm impression of Hunter. She believes him to be just like her father-a man who thinks women have no rights except to marry, have children, and obey their husbands.
Olivia is shocked and furious when Hunter tells her that her father plans to marry her to Senator Nathan Henderson. It’s bad enough that women have no say in who runs the country, has she also no vote in her own future?
“What?” Olivia stopped dead, yanking Hunter to stop beside her. “If you were any kind of gentleman you would never suggest trading a boon from me for knowledge you have.”
He raised his brows. “So there was a suffrage meeting going on at Anne Crenshaw’s?”
What an idiot she was. He was doing nothing more than digging for information. “I didn’t say so.” She tossed her head and began walking at a clip.
He caught up with her in no time. “True, you didn’t confirm what I already know. I’m sure you would under your father’s questioning, though.”
His threat hung in the air. “I do not intend ever to give you anything, Mr. Rockland. Tell my father whatever you wish.” Inside she quaked, but she tried her best to project complete disinterest outwardly. Perhaps it worked. He pursed his lips and bunched his brows, thinking, she supposed.
“I see.”
His lack of a return remark gave her courage. “I have principles, Mr. Rockland, and I shall not bend before threats.”
He strode silently for a moment. “That’s quite admirable, Miss Jones. No wonder you aren’t willing to negotiate for my silence.”
“You mean, Mr. Rockland, no wonder I won’t be held hostage to your high-handed blackmail.”
“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
“Indeed it is. It is the correct way of putting it.”
“You’re right.”
She stopped short again. “I am?”
He faced her, smiling. Not a smirky kind of smile as he so often wore, like he knew a secret no one else could begin to understand, but a gentle smile. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that had come loose from her French knot. His intimate touch sent shivers down her spine. She suddenly wished this man whom she so wanted to dislike, would touch her again. Perhaps if she pulled another strand of hair out of place?
Quietly he said, “If you knew what I would have asked for my silence, you would consider it?”
“No.”
A frown erased the smile, but he nodded. “All right.” He held out his arm again for her hand. She took it and they set off once more. Neither spoke.
When they were within sight of her father’s home, which occupied half of Cathedral Court and a good bit of the skyline, Olivia glanced up. Hunter’s jaw was sculpted, his eyes focused straight ahead to their goal, his unusual silence shook her almost as much as his touch. Whenever he visited their home, he and her father gregariously enjoyed their conversations.
Her father—whom she loved, of course—regarded her mother as a hostess for his political needs, not as an equal. She always assumed Hunter held her father’s opinion of women. Then he touched her. Could a man who made her feel as he just had, turn around and treat her with indifference?
She huffed a breath. Yes, he could. He was a man, and in her experience, his gender always did just as they wanted. Still, despite her suspicion that Hunter was a younger version of her father, she felt compelled to prolong their time together.
“It seems I am curious as to what you would have asked of me, after all. We hardly know each other so I can’t imagine what it could be.”
“Nothing that would have caused you pain,” he said. “And it’s of no consequence now. I never would have said a word to your father, you know. It was stupid of me to suggest that I would.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“What must you think of me?” He glanced at her and then looked back ahead. “I respect a woman who thinks for herself. I’ve always thought you have a fine mind. Why shouldn’t you seek to participate in the laws that rule your life?”
Words failed her.
“I-I hardly know what to say. My father certainly would not agree with you.”
“Fathers rarely see life as their children do. He loves you and wants what’s best for you. To him that means marriage into a good family and children.”
“There’s more to life than marriage and children! There’s help for the poor, education for everyone, and—”
“All things he doesn’t want you to worry about.”
“Well, I do worry.”
“That’s something else to respect about you.”
They had almost reached the gate. In a very few moments, she would have to take back her hand and end this amazing conversation. If she didn’t say something intriguing now, she would lose the chance.
“I thought you were just like my father.” That didn’t sound intriguing. What a dolt she was.
“Don’t assign intentions to me I don’t deserve. I am like your father in a good number of ways.”
What?
“And I am unlike him.” They stopped on the front walk and he turned to her. His face held no hint of a smirk or smile. His dark brown eyes burned with sincerity. His voice dropped. “I am my own man, Miss Jones, as you are your own woman. If only you could learn to admire that about me, as I do you.”
Lost. She was lost in his gaze, in his words. Her breath caught while her heart raced. Who was this man, and why had she ignored him for the past many years?
Her own voice barely broke a whisper. “What did you want, Mr. Rockland? What did you want of me?”
He curved his lips in a half smile that made her insides tingle. “Perhaps someday I will tell you, Miss Jones.”
He took her hand from the crook of his arm and lightly brushed a kiss to her knuckles. She fancied the heat of his lips penetrated the cotton of her glove. She wanted to stand there with him forever, feel him kiss her hand, her arm, her neck. She wanted more than anything to feel his lips on hers.
What was this emotion threatening to swamp her? Before she could say or do anything else, Hunter opened the wrought iron gate. Extending her arm toward the house, he indicated she should go through. He followed a few paces behind. Feet separated them, but Olivia still felt his lips. She thought she always would.
"History meets erotic romance in RIGHT TO VOTE, where opinions are heard and desires are fulfilled.
"From intelligent conversations to daring actions to sensual encounters, RIGHT TO VOTE draws you into the life of a woman who is ready for change and is not going to depend on a man to make it happen. … [Dee] has once again composed a story where the reader accepts every event as absolutely true. RIGHT TO VOTE makes you proud of your American heritage, and the romance is profoundly passionate with intense emotions." 4.5 Stars, Amelia, Sensual Reads
"What a joy to read Olivia and Hunter's story!" Linda Bass
