Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 7)

I wasn’t quite so eager, for I’d only come from Billings, not Minneapolis or even Chicago, and had lived in Butte my entire life. I was quite familiar wi

th the town and I did not have the hope the others had. Of course, I didn’t need to work for money. Not because I was a woman, but because my father had more of it than God. His words, not mine.

So the journey across the Montana Territory was too short, and I was not ready to return to my father and his intentions. While spending the month with my grandmother was far from exciting, it certainly delayed what I assumed was inevitable. I wanted to turn right around and settle back in the train car, watch Butte trundle right on by and continue on to parts unknown.

Mr. Corbin’s hand lingered on me a moment longer than perhaps necessary. I turned to look up at the man—one of the two men—who’d been kind and attentive to me during the journey. We’d chatted amiably for hours and they—he and his friend, Mr. Sullivan—escorted me to the dining car for the noon meal so I didn’t have to sit alone. It was no hardship to pass the time with two handsome men.

With his blond hair and quick smile, Mr. Corbin no doubt turned heads wherever he went. He’d definitely turned mine. So had his friend Mr. Sullivan. I’d spent hours silently debating which one appealed to me more. Did I prefer my man fair or dark? At ease or intense? Regardless, they’d both been perfect gentlemen. Sadly.

Even now, with Mr. Corbin’s hand at my elbow on the station platform, he kept appropriate space between us and was completely solicitous. No one would look twice at his chivalry. Chivalry was good and all, but I ached for the more… intimate attentions a man had for his wife. I wanted that connection, the bond I saw between my friends and their husbands. The secret looks they shared, a gentle caress, even holding hands. I also wanted to be taken with wild abandon. Fucked, as my friend Chloe called it.

But these men saw me as a lady and would not subject me to such wanton behavior. Drat.

Sadly, Mr. Corbin’s hand on my elbow was one of the only touches I’d ever received from a man. I wanted more from him, imagined how his skin would feel against mine, not with the barrier of my dress in the way.

“Thank you,” I murmured, wishing he’d stroke his hand down my back, undo the pins in my hair, untie the strings of my corset. As a maiden, I would—or should—know nothing of what a man could do once that corset was removed, but I did. Not in the practical sense, but I’d seen enough of what went on between a man and woman to want it for myself. It was Chloe who had piqued my interest in all things male and it seemed I had been thoroughly corrupted. I might be tarnished, but I still had my virtue.

If my father knew of my visits to The Briar Rose and of Chloe, of what she’d shown me, I’d never be allowed out of the house. I’d probably be sent to the convent on the outskirts of town, the Ladies of the Immaculate Conception, until he found a use for me.

I also discovered that my sheltered existence came with skewed and preconceived views of girls like Chloe. The auxiliary ladies had said the whores were poor when instead they earned a pretty penny on their backs and did not need the used clothing I’d delivered. I also discovered the men my father had paraded in front of me as possible suitors were not real gentlemen; I’d surprisingly recognized several through the little peepholes about the establishment. What I’d seen would make those Ladies Auxiliary ladies swoon. All it made me was frequently wet between my thighs and eager for a man’s attentions.

Because of my spying, I’d seen the real Reginald Benson, the man walking down the station platform in my direction with my father, and he was not a man I wished to court. After knowing what he did to Tess, I didn’t even want to be on the same train platform. I shuddered at the memory of the whore’s screams as she’d been whipped. Fortunately, Chloe had said Big Sam had come to her rescue and she would recover. Mr. Benson had even been banned from The Briar Rose, but that did not mean he’d change his ways. He’d just find someone else to hurt. And if I were married to him….

And yet my father found favor with the man, for they walked toward me together. My father either knew of the man’s cruel proclivities or didn’t care.

“Oh God,” I murmured. My father wanted a match between me and Mr. Benson. They would not be retrieving me from the station themselves—together—for any other reason. Bile rose in my throat at the realization that I was the link connecting the two biggest mines in town together, one owned by each of them.

I wouldn’t be going to the convent; I was going to be married to Mr. Benson and soon.

I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t survive the wicked lash of a whip or any of the other horrible things Mr. Benson would do. There would be no help for me, no rescue. No Big Sam. As a wife, I could be beaten—or worse—without any recourse. I’d be property. I whimpered at the idea and grabbed Mr. Corbin’s arm.

Yes, it was an impetuous, yet desperate gesture. But in a matter of a minute, they would find me and take me away.

I looked up frantically at the man. “I… I need your help.”

Mr. Corbin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at my grip on his arm before searching the area around us for hidden dangers. He tucked me behind him, sheltering me.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, his pale eyes finally meeting mine. I swallowed, for he was just too attractive for his own good and quite concerned. His protectiveness did not go unnoticed, nor did the overly familiar endearment.

“My father is here with a man I do not wish to… offer my attentions.”

He glanced down the length of the platform. While there was much commotion, I knew he’d honed in on the duo searching for me. I was glad, for once, that Butte was such a busy place.

“One’s the size of a pot-bellied stove, the other has slicked-back hair and mustache?” he asked.

I nodded and kept my face averted, shivering at the description of Mr. Benson. Mr. Corbin turned us so his body blocked the approaching men’s view of me, affording me a few more moments’ reprieve. He was so big I was well hidden behind his broad shoulders and chest. I barely reached his shoulders. I felt protected and oddly safe.

“Yes. There is much to tell and no time, but my father will marry me to him, the one with the mustache.”

“You do not wish it.” His voice was low and deep, clear and calm, unlike my frantic one. My palms were damp and my heart was pounding frantically in my chest.

I shuddered at the idea of becoming Mr. Benson’s wife. “I could not… could not bear his touch.”

Mr. Corbin somehow grew taller, more alert. “If he’s done something inappropriate, I will kill him.”

His sharp-edged words made my mouth tip up in a small smile, but I worried that he was being quite truthful. I didn’t fear that he offered to murder someone, but instead found it protective and reassuring.

With a quick peek around Mr. Corbin’s shoulder, I saw they were getting closer. “Pretend to be my intended,” I hastily said. The idea was preposterous, but the first thing that came to me. It could work. Mr. Corbin was the right age, he was not married—at least he did not mention a wife during our train ride—and was of an appropriate station in society to make it believable to my father and Mr. Benson.