Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 7) (3 page)

“Name’s Sully.” He ran a hand down her arm. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you. Always.”

Taking a deep breath—which made her breasts swell beneath her dress—she rolled her shoulders back and tilted her pert chin as if she were royalty. I could sense her nervousness and fear, but she hid it well. I just had to wonder
why
she’d had to perfect the skill.

Her father and Benson approached, their shined shoes loud on the brick. I knew the moment they first saw Miss Millard—shit, we didn’t know
her
given name—but I was even more aware of when they discerned Sully’s possessive hold on her.

While her father was short and round, his bespoke suit fit perfectly. His gray hair was thinning and the shiny skin of his scalp was red and freckled from the sun. Loose jowls formed his neck. Along with his hefty weight, he was not a man to deny himself anything. That meant he would not be happy when he learned that Benson would not be marrying his daughter.

Benson was the opposite of Millard. Tall and thin, he had the gaunt look of a man who didn’t need to lift a finger. His word, his command, brought immediate results. He, too, was dressed immaculately, in a crisp suit as black as his hair and mustache; he appeared to be in mourning.

“Mary,” Mr. Millard said to his daughter.

Mary.
The tone he imbued in that one word held so much meaning. None of it was pleasure at seeing his daughter after a month’s separation. He did not pull her in for a hug; he did not put a hand on her shoulder for a simple squeeze. He didn’t even smile. Mary, though, took a small step closer to me.

“Hello, Father. Mr. Benson.” She tilted her head in greeting. “It was very thoughtful of you to meet me at the station, but unnecessary.”

“I trust your visit with your grandmother was pleasant.”

From what Mary—I liked it much better than calling her Miss Millard—had said about her visit, the woman was definitely this man’s mother. She sounded like an old bat.

“Yes, quite.”

She could lie to her father, but once we were married, she would be put over my knee if she kept the truth of her feelings from us.

Millard glanced at Sully, then dismissed him readily. I tried to hide a smile, for the man had no idea who Sully was, who he’d just spurned.

“Then we should be going. Mr. Benson is eager to join us for dinner and will escort you home afterward.”

Mr. Benson looked at Mary absently, almost clinically, not of a fiancé eager for her return after a month’s separation.

Mary shook her head, but Sully spoke for her. “That’s not going to happen, Mr. Millard.”

Both men deigned him with some attention after all. “And who are you to dictate Mary’s actions? To question my authority over her?”

He offered a small shrug, and I could see he kept his anger at the supercilious man hidden. “I’m her husband, so I believe it is my authority she follows now.”

Mary tensed at that, but I knew it was the way Millard thought of his daughter, as a minion who had to follow commands without hesitation.

Millard’s skin turned a bilious shade of red and I worried he’d have apoplexy on the train platform. Benson wasn’t quite so… internal with his emotions.

If Sully had offered his name, they’d have given a completely different reaction. He didn’t and it was telling how they felt about this turn of events.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but Mary Millard is my intended.” Benson’s voice carried on the crowded platform and passersby turned to look.

“Was, Benson. She
was
your intended. She’s
married
to me. If you’ll excuse us, please.”

Sully took a step toward the station’s entrance, keeping Mary close, but the man held up his hand. I didn’t expect it to end that easily.

“I want proof,” Benson said.

I looked at Mary, saw the fear there. Was she worried that Sully would change his mind and give her to these two? There wasn’t a chance in hell. To get to her, Benson would have to kill me first, then Sully, because he wouldn’t let harm befall her either.

Kissing Mary’s temple, Sully murmured, “Tell them, sweetheart.”

From where I stood behind them, her scent filled my nose, all flowery and bright sunshine. I could only imagine how silky soft her hair was against Sully’s lips. I was eager to be rid these men and get her alone with Sully, my fingers itching to hold her as well.

“I… I’m married. He’s my husband.” Her chin tipped up another notch.

Benson offered Mary a quick glance, then ignored her. “That’s not the proof I’m looking for.”

“Is it the blood on the bed sheet you’re seeking? I promise she’s well and properly mine,” Sully baldly stated.

In a surprise burst of bravery after the discussion of the bloody proof of her virginity, Mary spoke. “He fucked me. Is that what you wanted to know? The first time, he let me be on top. The second time, he couldn’t hold back and took me from behind.”

Both Benson and her father were as stunned by her words as I was, for they just blinked at her. Where the hell did she learn to talk like that?

“Crude,” Benson muttered, as if she were now abhorrent.

I
thought she was now even more intriguing than ever. She knew about fucking, but her very demeanor indicated innocence. What was she, harlot or virgin? I wanted rid of these bastards so Sully and I could find out.

 “I want the marriage certificate,” Benson commanded.

Sully shrugged negligently. He had the power—without even using his infamous name—and wanted to make it clear that they didn’t scare him. They didn’t scare me either, not in the least, but I didn’t want them to scare Mary any more. If lying for her would do it, it made Sully no less a gentleman.

“There is none,” Sully told the bastard. “You can check the church register in Billings. First Presbyterian at the corner of Main and Fourth.” Most likely added to irritate the man further, Sully said, “My cock needs relief. You’re keeping me from fucking my bride.”

Sully dipped his hand about her waist, placing it lower than proper so his little finger brushed over the delectable curve of her ass. It did not go unnoticed.

The stationmaster blew his whistle and the train began to hiss and chug, the noise of the train cars tugging and pulling each other into motion was too loud to talk over. While neither Benson nor Millard had muscle—or guns—they had money and could hire both. Sully’s life was on the line now. He knew it. I could see it in their harsh glares. They didn’t need to say a thing, to insinuate anything. Before the train was completely away, they’d turned and left. While I wished it was the last I’d see of them, I knew that wasn’t to be the case.

Sully moved Mary away so we could both look at her. “Are you all right?”

She tilted her head back and glanced between the two of us, nodded. She took a deep breath, then another. “I appreciate your assistance, but I fear I’ve probably put you in some danger.”

I laughed. “They can try, sweetheart. They can try. I don’t think we should stay in town though.”

“Mmm, yes,” Mary commented. “I’m sure we’ll be banned from all hotels, restaurants, even boardinghouses within the hour. My father’s reach is vast.”

She didn’t seem fearful anymore, or angry. Dejected, perhaps.

I glanced at Sully. “We’ll go to Bridgewater where it’s safe. I assume you have no reason to stay in Butte any longer.”

She looked up at Sully and frowned. “You’ve… you’ve done your job. I’ve gotten both men to leave me alone, and now that they believe we’re… intimate, Mr. Benson won’t want me anymore.”

Sully laughed then. “I still want you, virgin or not. It’s not your pussy Benson’s after, but your inheritance. For me, it’s definitely the other way around.”

Her mouth fell open at his crude words. She was definitely a virgin. I’d bet fifty dollars on it.

“There’s no chance we’re leaving you here in Butte to fend for yourself,” Sully added. “You’ll be married to Benson at first light if he gets his hands on you, and that’s only going to happen if we’re dead. I said I’d help you, that I’d be your husband and I’m following through with it.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” I added, running a gentle hand up and down her arm, shifting so she stood between us, right where she belonged. “You’re stuck with us.”

“At Bridgewater, we’ll be prepared if your father or Benson sends men,” Sully added.

“Oh God, he’ll kill you to get to me.” Color leached from her face.

I took hold of her shoulders and stooped so we were eye to eye. “He’ll try, but he won’t succeed. Do you doubt that Sully and I can take care of ourselves, that we can take care of you?”

She looked over her shoulder at Sully, then back at me. “No.”

I smiled then. “Good girl.”

“The sun’s setting and we have no supplies,” Sully commented.

“Which I doubt we’ll be able to collect. Horses, either,” I added. If Benson and Millard had their way, we’d be banned from every business, livery or even a Chinese laundry by morning. They had their own kind of power.

“We need a place to stay tonight. Someplace safe. Someplace they’ll never look,” I added, looking to Sully for ideas.

Mary turned on her heel and started walking. The platform was practically empty now that the train was gone and we caught up to her quickly with our long strides.

“I know just the place,” she said. “Gentlemen, how do you feel about whores?”

CHAPTER THREE

SULLY

“Sweetheart, you’ve got some explaining to do,” I leaned down and whispered in Mary’s ear.

She’d led us across town to the back door of The Briar Rose brothel. There hadn’t been enough time for Millard or Benson to send out some goons to harass us so our walk had been uneventful. I hated Butte. Any city for that matter. There were too many people, too many ways to get in trouble. I went out of my way to avoid trouble, but today, it happened upon us in the form of a blond-haired vixen. Oh, she was innocent all right, but she tempted me—and Parker—all the same. There had been no question that she was the woman for us, problems and all.

So instead of avoiding conflict or any chance of additional strife in my life, I accepted Mary’s as my own. What troubled her, troubled me. What was intending to hurt her, I took care of. There was no way she could be anything but my wife. With my fucking history, I was the safest choice for her. No one would bother her based on being married to me alone. But Mary seemed to lead us from one surprise to another. What virgin miss knew about the kitchen door of a brothel? What innocent was welcomed within with a familiarity that proved she’d visited before?

“A brothel?” Parker asked.

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.”