Their Captivated Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 3) (4 page)

I ran my hand over my face again, and then turned into my room to throw on my clothes.

"Bloody hell. Was anyone hurt? Olivia?"

Simon stepped into the room. "We dinna ken for sure, but we've been told they are both fine."

The thought of Olivia being hurt in a fire had me dressing with additional haste. I stood, skipping a tie or even doing up all of my buttons. Tucking my shirt in was wasted effort. "Let's go."

Even if Allen Weston hadn't provided the address, the residence was not hard to find, based on the strong smell of smoke and the number of people milling about at such an hour.

The sight of Olivia, wearing a white robe, her hair long and unbound down her back, had my heart skipping a beat. If she weren't standing in front of her house that had been, from the looks of it, only partially ruined, I'd be quite pleased by her less than modest appearance. But no maiden should be seen in such a way—nor a wife for that matter—by the general public, and the idea of any man seeing her thusly had me stripping off my shirt and giving it to her.

"Take this." Those were my first words to her. Not overly comforting or reassuring, but she needed to be covered. Now. "Please put this on over your robe."

She froze in place as I started to unbutton my shirt, ogling my chest as it was revealed. Probably not my wisest of decisions, but she needed to be covered more than me.

"No," Mr. Weston said, undoing the sash of his dark, long robe and taking it off. He wore pants and a dress shirt, although some of the buttons at the collar were undone. It was as if he hadn't fully undressed from after the dance. "This will be more appropriate for everyone."

Cross took the robe from the man and moved to stand behind Olivia to help her into it.

Simon introduced himself to both of them and shook Allen Weston's hand. "Are either of you hurt? Burned?" he asked, looking Olivia over. It was the first time he'd seen her, and his gaze was more clinical that sexual.

She shook her head and looked over her shoulder at Cross as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. "No, we were both awake and in the kitchen."

"It was a rock. Broke the window," Mr. Weston said, glancing over to his house and where the damage had been done. Besides some streaks of soot on his face, he seemed fine. Angry, but fine. "Then he tossed in a flaming whiskey bottle. The floor in the foyer is stone, but the liquid spread and caught the walls."

I glanced at the house. It was two-story and made of quarried stone. The front door stood open and the front windows on either side of it were broken. The fire did not appear to have spread much, most likely due to sturdy construction. While the house was not overly large, there was no question that we stood in a well-to-do neighborhood. It was much smaller than Mr. Weston's vast means, but he did not seem the type of man to flaunt his wealth. Unfortunately, that wealth was most likely the motive for the fire.

Neighbors—no doubt awakened by the commotion—were standing about in various states of dress, watching and speaking to each other in hushed voices.

"Ye said
he
as if ye ken the person," Simon said. He accent was pure Scot, but when he became angry, the burr was much thicker.

Mr. Weston nodded. "I can't say with complete certainty, but I think it was Clayton Peters."

Olivia held the front of the robe closed, her hands up by her neck as if she were chilled. It was a warm night, so I was worried about shock, but she seemed calm enough. I would watch her closely though and at the first sign of unease, we'd whisk her away.

Cross took hold of Olivia's hand and slid the overly long sleeve of the robe back to look for the bruises I'd mentioned. There, on her slim wrist, I could see them, mottled and dark, even in the night. Her hand was so small, her wrist so narrow and delicate in Cross' hold, he could easily snap her bones. She'd been lucky with Peters. When I got my hands on him, he'd know what it felt like to fight someone of his own size.

"Because of this?" Cross asked.

Olivia tugged at my friend's hold and he let her go, the long sleeve covering her hand once again. Clearly she didn't want to be the reason for all of the destruction and Cross must have noticed it as well.

"This isn't your fault, love," Cross told her, carefully pulling her hair out from beneath the robe so it hung long down her back.

I was jealous of the man, for he knew what her hair felt like. I imagined it to be soft as silk.

"Oh, no, Olivia. This is Peters' doing. Not yours," her uncle said with certainty.

She nodded and stepped closer to her uncle. "If I hadn't made him angry, then—"

Mr. Weston shook his head. "No," he replied. "The only way to make him happy is if I hand over my money to him and that's not going to happen."

"He won't stop," she said, her eyes wide and wild.

With his hands on her shoulders, he looked at his niece. "No, I don't think he will. While this isn't your fault, I think it's more about you than me. He's angry at being rebuffed and he will, most likely, try something else."

I agreed with the older man.

"Then we must go away where he can't get us."

"I'm staying here, but you'll go."

She shook her head. "No, Uncle Allen, you can't. He's dangerous."

He cupped her jaw so she stilled her motion. "To me, he's not. He could, at a minimum, compromise you and then where would you be? Married to the damn bastard. I couldn't live if something like that happened."

Olivia pursed her lips for she knew the answer. So did the three of us. She would be married to the bastard, stuck with him for a lifetime of cruel treatment.

"If he resorted to setting fire to our house," he continued, "he could want to truly harm you."

"If he wants the money, he could...he could kill you to get it." Unshed tears filled her eyes, made them glisten in the moonlight.

"He won't get a dime, I promise."

I glanced at Simon, then at Cross. Both men nodded.

"She'll come with us back to Bridgewater. No harm will come to her," I said, vowing to protect her.

Mr. Weston looked at me over her shoulder, then at the other men. "Yes, Bridgewater is a safe place for you, Olivia."

"You want me to go off with three men? Three strangers?" She waved her hand in our direction.

"Their reputation precedes them. I know other men from their ranch and I'd trust them with my life. Yours, as well. They are honorable." He looked at me directly. "You have no idea how important she is to me."

"We will keep her safe," I vowed.

"Protected," Cross added.

A horse whinnied in the background, the fire brigade's pumper being pulled down the street and back to the station. With the fire out, there was not much more they could do.

"There is one stipulation." He took Olivia's shoulders and turned her to face us, her eyes wide, her body shrouded in the overly large robe. "You must marry her."

"What?" she cried, spinning back around, the robe swirling about her legs. "Uncle Allen, perhaps
they
are doing this for the money!"

She didn't dare glance at us, for it was clear she knew the words were insulting. The barb did not hit its mark, for we all knew she was under duress.

"We don't need your money. Bridgewater is self-sufficient," I said.

"Yes, but marriage, that's not necessary—"

"Olivia. Stop." At her uncle's words, Olivia quieted, but I could tell she wished to argue. The tone of the man's voice was enough to keep her from brooking further argument. "Lightning, remember?"

She bit her plump lower lip and nodded, glancing at the three of us in turn. I had no idea to what her uncle was referring regarding lightning, but Olivia did.

"But...but how do I choose?" she asked, her voice low, but I heard it readily enough. So had the others. The fear for her safety lessened, knowing that this man was giving his niece to us. He, too, was honorable if he expected marriage before letting us take her. While we'd honor whatever gentlemanly rules existed when it came to being in the presence of a maiden, her virtue would still be in tatters upon her return regardless of our good behavior. Three bachelors didn't just take an unmarried woman to their ranch, no matter the reason.

In this instance, Mr. Weston could feel confident in her safety, Olivia would know our intentions were honorable and we'd know that she belonged to us. I could see his request for more than just honor. If something did happen to him, she'd inherit all of the Weston fortune. But married, it would pass to her husband, therefore preventing Peters from getting a dime. It was an uncle's way of protecting his niece and I had to respect him for that.

We should have run away at the idea of Mr. Weston forcing us to marry Olivia, but for the first time, she was the woman we wanted. I flicked my gaze to Simon, who'd had the least interaction with her, but he nodded his head, his intentions silent but very clear.

"Choose?" Weston asked. "You don't have to."

OLIVIA

An hour later we were in the home of Uncle Allen's close friends Roger and Belinda Tannenbaum. If they were surprised to see us with three burly men in tow, they did not show it. When Uncle Allen announced I would wed all three of the men, they didn't blink an eye, which seemed quite odd. Was it because it was so late an hour and they were not fully awake? That was doubtful, since they sent one of their servants off to fetch the minister. It wasn't until then that I began to panic.

"I can't marry three men!" I cried, glancing between the formidable trio standing in the Tannenbaum's comfortable living room. "It isn't done."

"Actually, Olivia, it is," Uncle Allen replied.

I frowned, confused. Was I hearing him correctly? Had I hit my head in my rush to leave the burning house and I didn't remember?

He stood and went over to where the Tannenbaums sat across from us on a wide sofa and sat down with Belinda between the two men, placing his hand on top of hers in a surprising move. "This was what I wanted to tell you earlier before that damn rock was thrown." He took a deep breath, and then said, "Belinda is my wife, too."

He looked at the woman I'd known my whole life and gave her a sweet smile, then turned to me.

I stared at their joined hands, confused. "How can you be married to...to them? You live with me."

I could feel Mr. Rhys, Mr. Cross and Mr. McPherson watching the conversation unfold and they did not seem the least bit horrified by what my uncle was sharing. It was as if they already knew.

Nodding, Uncle Allen continued. "I do. When your parents died and you came to live with me, you were too young to understand the dynamic of two men claiming a bride and besides, the townspeople would not be forgiving. It was important to maintain appearances and give you a comfortable home, yet Roger and I, together, are married to Belinda. Those nights when I went out of town for business and Hattie stayed with you? Remember?"

It was as if a veil had been lifted off my face. "You came here, didn't you?"

"Yes. Do not be mad, or at least do not be mad at me just yet. Think on this for a little while. It's been a long night. These three men," he lifted his hand and indicated the men from Bridgewater, "will be your husbands. You felt a connection, what some call chemistry, with the two at the dance. It's all right to be enamored and attracted to more than one man, as Belinda can tell you. As I said, you don't have to choose one of them. You will have all three."

I glanced at the men. They were all so handsome, so big, so...breathtaking that the idea of belonging to all of them only made me panic more. I stood, shook my head and paced back and forth in front of the cold fireplace. "No, no, this is insane! I would have known, I would have—"

"Olivia," Belinda said, standing and coming before me. She was in her late forties with very pale hair, now pulled back in a simple braid for sleep. She'd donned a modest dress after our surprise arrival and I'd never seen her so simply put together. She took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. "I love them. I love them both. I
love
being married to both of them. Remember what your uncle always said about the man you are to marry? What I've always told you?"

She stood so close I could see the blueness of her eyes, the earnestness there. She'd always been kind to me, like a surrogate mother, involved in my life for as long as I could remember. Even as just a family friend, she'd answered all of my questions about becoming a woman. Even though Uncle Allen had been there for me regardless of my need, sometimes a girl needed a woman to confide in. She smiled softly. "What is it?" she prompted.

I pulled my hands free and wrapped them around my waist, as if I could keep myself from falling to pieces. "When I find the right man, it will feel like I've been struck by lightning." I sighed, then glanced over at the three men and I felt it again. They were not dressed as expected out in society, but none of us were. They wore no jackets, only their shirts and Cross' wasn't tucked in, Rhys' buttons weren't done up to his neck and Simon's sleeves were rolled up to show off tightly corded forearms dusted with dark hair. All were tall, serious and handsome. One fair and two dark haired men who intended to marry me. The idea was exhilarating and absolutely petrifying, as I'd never really felt the true interest of one man, let alone three, until now.