Their Conquered Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 9) (Grace Goodwin)

Bloody fucking hell. I’d left England to avoid these kinds of shenanigans and we were in the thick of it now. None of us could walk away with the information these men were imparting. The west was a rough place. Wild. A man’s world. It was hard enough for a woman to survive and no woman deserved to be preyed upon by the likes of the Jenkins men.

I didn’t even need to look at Logan to know he agreed with me. Evan was having a harder time keeping his feelings in check. He tossed his cards on the table. “I fold. I need a drink.”

He stood, his chair scraping across the scarred wood floor. Glancing at me first, then at Logan, Evan shook his head. “I’ll see you later.”

I lifted my chin in response and the Jenkins men watched him leave.

“What’s his problem?” old man Jenkins asked. He didn’t wait for me to respond, only leaned forward, then looked left and right. “We’re keeping it in the family. It’s not like we’ll let anyone fuck her. Any seed that fills that pussy will belong to a Jenkins.”

“And her ass. You said an ass fuck is even tighter than a virgin pussy,” Little Harry countered. The eagerness I saw on his face made me sick.

Tad grinned and made a crude gesture with his hands. “You two can have her pussy. I’m taking that virgin ass.”

I was ready to reach across the table and punch Tad in the nose, but that wouldn’t help the woman who was unaware of their intentions. While I had to agree that ass fucking was the tightest fuck ever, Logan and I would only do it after much preparation and only when the woman was so damn hot she begged us to take her completely. I doubted Tad could arouse a woman, let alone prepare her properly.

“You think the people in this town will like knowing what you’re doing?” I asked.

Little Harry grinned. “We’re not tellin’ people. It’s our secret. Ain’t like she’ll talk neither. Since talking would ruin her reputation and all.”

Clearly, none of

them could hold their whiskey for their secret was now ours. While we wouldn’t go off and tell the sheriff of their perverted plans, we could certainly intervene on behalf of the woman. Once the vows were said, these men could do whatever they wanted with the bride. Beat her, share her, fuck her. She belonged to her husband in the eyes of the law and there was nothing that said he couldn’t share with his sons.

“When is she expected to arrive?” Logan asked.

Ah, he was right there with me. We weren’t letting these men anywhere near the woman who was coming halfway across the country with expectations of a real marriage. What would drive a woman to accept an advertisement for a husband, sight unseen? She had to be desperate. Alone. The more I thought about this bastard’s plans, the angrier I became.

Old man Jenkins shrugged. “Day after tomorrow. Coming in on the stage from Omaha.”

I raised my hand and signaled to the bartender to bring another bottle of whiskey. He brought it over quickly and I took it from him in exchange for a few coins.

“Gentlemen, this is in honor of you and your future bride.” I filled their shot glasses to the brim as I choked out the words.

Little Harry whooped as old man Jenkins reached across and slapped Logan on the shoulder. “I’d say you’re welcome to stop by later in the week and partake of our bride.” He winked. “But she’ll already be more than busy enough riding three cocks.”

They lifted their glasses and tossed the bitter brew back. I refilled again and again as we played cards for the next few hours, ensuring the bottle was empty and none of them would be conscious tomorrow morning when Logan and I headed out of town to intercept that stage.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth

As the coach pulled to a stop after hours of rocking and swaying, I was eager for a hotel room and a bath. My back ached nearly as much as my bottom, and I knew when I lay down to sleep later, the world would still feel as if it moved beneath me.

But, we had arrived. Finally! My sisters and I were hundreds of miles away from my vile uncle. I would meet my husband and my sisters and I would be safe. Protected. For once in my life, I would be taken care of by a man who wanted me.

I needed a bath, but I wouldn’t be choosy. I’d settle for a basin and ewer with fresh water to rid me of the miles of travel dust. I’d seen the never-ending open prairie, the tall grass turning toward gold. Hayes was much smaller than Omaha, and the first thing we couldn’t miss on the edge of town was a church, the sacred house of worship where I would soon take my solemn vows.

A schoolhouse stood guard over a yard full of a dozen playing children and a long row of shops and houses lined the main thoroughfare of this quaint western town. The stage stopped in front of the mercantile, and I sighed in relief as the stage stumbled to a stop. A week of waiting threatened to make me daft. Waiting and wondering.

With each mile we traveled over the last few days, I worried. Would my husband find me beautiful despite my dark skin and eyes? Would he desire me? Would he be kind or cruel? I did not worry over his looks, for I knew a handsome face could hide an evil heart. My entire life, I had been treated as an outcast, the bastard child of a wanton woman’s wicked pleasure. Tainted. I could withstand harsh judgment, but hoped for kindness. In the deepest, darkest place in my soul, I hoped for a man’s love, but that was too grand a dream to ever speak aloud.

No. I worried most what my husband would think of my two sisters. They would be a surprise, something he had not expected. I hadn’t been able to leave them behind with our uncle though. Because of my wanton ways, he was going to marry me to a man with six grown children. From what my uncle had told me, I was to be Mr. Partridge’s third wife and as such, he wanted a lusty bed partner and not a simpering virgin. My uncle had told him of my unfortunate, licentious leanings, of my immoral background and the man had still been more than eager.

I, however, was repulsed. Mr. Partridge was fifty-two. He was obese and had jowls. Food fell from his lips as he talked during a meal, landing unceremoniously on his shirt. To make the man even more odious and the arrangement completely ironic, he was very pious and committed to the church, which meant he expected me to be demure and meek when in public.

And a harlot in private.

I wondered if he expected me to eat his leftover dinner off his shirt as I undressed him for bed.