Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 7)

It was his turn to smile. “When someone proposes to me, they should at least get down on one knee.”

Pursing my lips, I struggled with his flippancy at a time like this. “My father is marrying me to the man to broaden his mine holdings. I will be the man’s third wife; the first died in childbirth and the second disappeared mysteriously.”

All amusement slid off Mr. Corbin’s face.

“Your assistance will delay what they see as inevitable, but it will allow me time to escape.”

“Escape?” he said, his voice cold.

“I stalled by spending the month with my grandmother in Billings, but the men are both impatient. They would not come to the station for me otherwise. It is not in their nature to tend to anyone but themselves.”

“You fear him that much?” he asked. His eyes roved over my face as if assessing the truth of my words.

I darted my eyes to the buttons on the man’s shirt so I didn’t have to look him in

the eye as I said, “Fear him?” I nodded my head. “Absolutely. I’ve also seen him with whores and I know that we are not… well suited. What he desires and what I long for are opposing.”

There was no time to elaborate on Mr. Benson’s cruelty.

Mr. Corbin’s pale brow winged up. “I’d like to hear about what you long for, but at another time.” He glanced behind him. “If your father is so eager to wed you to this man, a fiancé is not going to deter him. I recognize your name, sweetheart, and your father’s a powerful one in these parts.”

My shoulders slumped and tears filled my eyes. He wasn’t going to help me. No one would go against Mr. Gregory Millard. As soon as my father found me, I was doomed for marriage to a dreadful man. The very idea of Mr. Benson naked and on top of me, touching me, fucking me, hurting me, made me cringe.

“What’s the trouble?” Mr. Sullivan alighted the train and stood alongside us. He was Mr. Corbin’s travel companion and had joined us in conversation and lunch. His voice was deep and smooth, his shoulders broad and well-muscled. He was a touch taller than Mr. Corbin, and much more intimidating.

Side by side, their large bodies shielded me from the sun, and hopefully from my father.

I knew from the journey they traveled from Miles City and were also getting off in Butte, but continuing on by horse to Bridgewater. I’d heard of the community, which was a few hours’ ride from town, but had never met anyone from there before. They’d been pleasant and good conversationalists.

I glanced up at Mr. Sullivan, all dark hair and cool manners. He placed two leather satchels on the ground at his feet. Where Mr. Corbin was cheerful and amiable, Mr. Sullivan rarely smiled. It was difficult to read his thoughts, to discern if he’d found my presence in the dining car a nuisance or not. He just stared, then stared some more. It had been unnerving to say the least, as if the man could see every dark secret I held. In the dining car, Mr. Corbin had slapped his friend on the back and assured me he was just a brooder with everyone.

“Miss Millard does not wish to court the man approaching with her father. She asked that I assist her by playing her intended, but it won’t work.”

Mr. Sullivan searched the crowd and while I couldn’t see, I knew the moment he found them. “Benson. Shit, woman, you’re being married Reggie Benson?”

My mouth fell open in surprise and not because of the swearing either. While neither were poor men trying to find a job to survive, they weren’t garbed in the finest fashions like the truly wealthy. They didn’t seem like the type to associate with Mr. Benson, but it was possible I was in error. Who were these men and was I insane to engage in their assistance?

I cleared my throat and met Mr. Sullivan’s dark eyes. “Yes, my father is very insistent on growing his mining empire. Since Mr. Benson owns the Beauty Belle operation, I’m confident of his intentions.”

Mr. Sullivan nodded decisively. “Then we should just kill him.”

Before I could even sputter a reply at the… violent way both of them wished to solve my problem, Mr. Corbin spoke. “I offered that already.”

Mr. Sullivan grunted. “Parker is right, Miss Millard. An engagement will not deter Benson.”

So much for my idea. I looked at the ground, dejected. I had no doubt within the month I would be Mrs. Benson. Clearing my throat, I pasted on my best fake smile. I was quite adept at feigning happiness. “Yes, I understand. It was a silly notion. Thank you both for helping me pass the time on the train, gentlemen, but I must—”

Mr. Sullivan cut me off. “An engagement will not deter the man,” he repeated. “But a marriage will. Not to Parker. On paper, legally, you should be married to me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If he is as you say, then I can’t, in good conscience, let you marry him.”

I flicked a look to Mr. Corbin and he nodded his agreement.

My shock was obvious in my voice. “Yes, but by you marrying me in his stead?”

Mr. Sullivan placed his fingertips on my lips and my eyes widened at the bold touch.