Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 7)

While neither Parker nor I had been to this particular establishment before, it was much like any other. In the past, we entered by the front door. Tonight, we found ourselves gaining entry off the alley and into the crowded kitchen. The cook was stirring something that smelled an awful lot like boiled cabbage on the stove. Two whores sat at the large table in just their corsets and petticoats eating. Another girl came into the room, saw Mary, then fled.

Mary said hello to one of the whores and refused a bowl of the cabbage from the cook. How the fucking hell was Mary mixed up with a brothel? By the way she’d behaved on the train and her complete distaste and obvious fear of Benson, I’d have bet anything that she was a virgin. But what virgin was on a familiar level with those in a brothel?

A woman in just a snug corset and bloomers came through the swinging doorway. Piano music followed her, but was muffled when the door closed. She was of middle height with full breasts almost spilling from the corset. Her legs were long and shapely, her skin creamy and pale. It was her fiery red hair that set her apart from other women. Clearly a whore, she was most likely very successful in drawing attention.

“Mary!” she cried, running over and pulling our bride—we would be married before the night was through—into a boisterous hug.

They grinned and clearly knew each other. With one blond and the other a redhead, there was no family resemblance. They were not related. How did these two women, from completely different backgrounds, become friends?

“I… need your help,” Mary admitted.

The woman glanced at Parker and me. We were big and looming and the kitchen felt small with us in it. She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll say.”

When her friend’s giggling subsided, Mary made introductions. “This is Mr. Corbin and Mr. Sullivan. Gentlemen, may I introduce my friend, Chloe?”

We removed our hats and nodded. Between Parker and me, I was the quieter and much more patient one, and even he wasn’t pushing Mary into giving answers. There were too many, but they would come. If not, we’d spank them out of her readily enough. I doubted anyone in the building would take offense if I sat down and put her over my knee, tossed up her skirts and turned her perfect ass a nice shade of pink.

“We need a place to stay tonight,” Mary told her friend.

Chloe eyed Mary closely. “I’ll need to get Miss Rose.”

She turned on her heel and left before Mary could say more than, “But—”

As we waited, I tugged her over to the back stairwell where there was a hint of privacy. With the stairs at her back and the two of us looming over her, Mary had no choice but to focus on us.

“Explain,” I said.

Only one word, but the tone was clear. Mary would answer.

She licked her lips and looked up at both of us through her lashes. “I’m part of the Ladies Auxiliary and over a year ago, I had the task of bringing charity—clothing, mittens and the like—to The Briar Rose. I met Chloe then and we became friends.”

My eyes widened as she spoke. “No one from the auxiliary knew you made return visits?” I asked.

“Or your father?” Parker added.

She shook her head. “My father doesn’t usually pay me much attention at all. His appearance on at the train station was an odd occurrence. That’s why I knew how serious his intentions are. I knew he wanted me to wed, had an idea it might be Mr. Benson, but I wasn’t sure until we arrived. That’s why I went to visit my grandmother.” She shuddered. “My father’s mother. You can probably imagine how enjoyable that month was.” She sighed. “But it was better than whatever machinations my father was planning. It was a delay tactic, but I am just a woman and do not have any true options.”

Her admission was telling to her situation; a woman’s freedom was limited, no matter how much money she had. While she didn’t have to work, she was trapped doing her father’s bidding, or once married, her husband’s.

“You are not just a woman,” I told her. “We’re standing in a fucking brothel. I have a feeling there are depths to you that we will have to plumb.”

Like her mouth, her pussy, and someday soon, her ass, but Mary didn’t discern the double entendre in my words.

A woman cleared her throat. Parker and I stepped back and faced the woman who was definitely the madame and I assumed Miss Rose. She wore a dress that rivaled Mary’s for its taste and quality. She was in her thirties, with fine lines on her beautiful face. From her shrewd assessment of us, I had to assume that not much got past her inspection.

“Mary Millard, when Chloe said you had two men with you and were requesting an upstairs room, I about fainted dead away.”

Mary stepped forward, looking contrite. I didn’t know if Mary had a mother or not, but the way she was being scolded, I had no doubt this woman could be a replacement.

“You are a good girl. While you peek through the peepholes to ease your curiosity, this is beyond the pale and certainly not like you.”

Mary tilted her chin and I could see her cheeks were a bright red.

“I—We had nowhere else to go.”

Miss Rose snapped her fingers and the girls at the table stood and left. The cook went out the back door so the five of us were alone. While Chloe stood quietly, she was avidly listening.

“You wish to hide an affair with two men by coming here?”