Their Kidnapped Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 1)

  Their Kidnapped Bride

  By Vanessa Vale

  © 2015 Vanessa Vale

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

  and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover Design: RomCon - www.romcon.com

  Cover Photos: Bigstock- Lenor; Period Images

  Emma James felt secure in her life. Money, social standing and the protection of her step-brother. Or so she thought. When she discovers his dark secrets, he turns on her and sells her to a western brothel to keep her quiet. There, she's forced to work or participate in an auction. A virgin auction...and she's the prize.

  One look at Emma James and Whitmore Kane and Ian Stewart know she would belong to them. Marriage was the only way to truly claim her...so they bid and bid well. As their bride, they return to the Bridgewater Ranch and teach her the ways to please not one husband, but two. But danger has tracked Ian around the world and threatens their newfound relationship. Together, can they fight the demons of the past while forging a future?

  This is the first book in the Bridgewater Ménage Series, where you'll meet all of the men in Kane and Ian's army regiment and discover their unusual beliefs on marriage. Read the entire series to follow along as the men, two or three at a time, claim their brides. Bridgewater: Where ménage meets marriage.

  THEIR KIDNAPPED BRIDE

  A Bridgewater Ménage

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMMA

  "You may do with her as you wish. I wash my hands of her."

  These were the words that I first comprehended as I awoke, my mind unusually foggy. Everything that came before was garbled as if I had cotton stuffed in my ears. My eyes felt as if lead weights were pressed upon them, too heavy to open, and a bitter taste coated my tongue. My head thumped in time with my beating heart. I didn't want to surface from the safe warmth of my slumber.

  "Surely she could be spoken for easily enough. A hasty marriage. Her face and body are more than appealing to any man." A woman responded to the man's insistent words.

  "No," his tone was emphatic, sharp. "That will not suffice. My money, if you please."

  My head was clearing enough to recognize the voice. It was my step-brother, Thomas. Who was he speaking with, and why? The topic was odd. Everything was odd. Why were they talking in my bedroom while I slept? It was time to discern the answer.

  Stirring, I pushed up from the bed to sit, my eyes fluttering open, then widening in surprise. This wasn't my bedroom! The walls were not robin's egg blue, but a garish ruby red. The room was gaudy and softly lit, equally red velvet drapes hung at the windows. The room imbued decadence, extravagance. Tawdry deeds. I rubbed at my sleepy eyes, making sure I was not dreaming, taking a moment to clear my head.

  Thomas stood tall with his erect bearing by the door, palm out, speaking with a woman over a foot shorter. She wore an emerald green satin gown that had her ample cleavage all but spilling over the top and showcased a narrow waist. Her jet black hair was piled high, creatively so, in the latest of styles with artful curls down her nape. She was beautiful, her skin an alabaster white, her lips tinged with coloring, her eyes darkened with kohl. She was as decadent as her surroundings.

  She moved gracefully to a large desk, situated before an unlit fireplace and smoothly opened the top drawer. Her eyes shifted to me and made notice that I was awake, but made no mention of it. She removed a small stack of bills and handed them to Thomas. He was a big man, broad and imposing, and could easily make the strongest of men nervous. But not this woman. She didn't cower. She didn't simper. She only tilted her chin up in a haughty way at the transaction.

  "Thomas." My voice came out scratchy and I cleared my throat. "Thomas," I repeated. "What is happening?"

  His dark eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on me. Only hatred showed in their inky depths. It had been disinterest that was usually there, this anger was new. His father married my mother when I was five and Thomas fifteen, both parents widowed years prior. The union was more for money than affection and when they died – he of a fall from a horse and she a year later of consumption – I was left under the guardianship of Thomas. Although he had never been affectionate or overly interested in me, I had wanted for nothing.

  "You are awake," he grumbled, his mouth turned down in a frown. "The laudanum dose was not as substantial as I expected."

  My mouth fell open. Laudanum? It was no wonder I struggled to comprehend. "What – I don't understand." I ran my hand over my hair, my severe bun having lost several of its pins and some long tendrils brushed along my neck. Licking my dry lips, I glanced between the strange woman and my Thomas.

  My step-brother was an attractive man, in a conservative, severe fashion. He was precise, concise and exacting. Strict would also be apt, as would severe. His suit was black, his dark hair slicked and shiny with pomade, his mustache full, yet fiercely maintained. Some said we looked similarly, even though we were not formally related, our eyes the same bright blue, hair dark as night, however our countenance was quite different. Thomas's emotions matched his attire: austere and tense, a trait also found in his father. I, however, was considered to be more placid, the peacemaker in the family. With our parents dead, I lived with Thomas and his wife, Mary, and their three children. A part of a hectic household, I was always able to maintain some semblance of lightheartedness in contrast to my sibling's less generous nature.

  Thomas sighed, as if wasting time on a recalcitrant child. "This is Mrs. Pratt. I relinquish my guardianship of you to her."

  Mrs. Pratt did not look like any married woman that I'd ever known. None I knew of wore a dress in such a color, sheen of fabric, or daring cut. Her expression remained neutral, as if she did not wish to be involved in this conversation.

  "I don't need a guardian, Thomas." I shifted to swing my legs over the side of the chaise on which I'd been sleeping. Not sleeping, drugged. The piece of furniture was an odd feature in what I surmised was Mrs. Pratt's office. This was not a topic of conversation to have lying down and I felt at a complete disadvantage. I straightened my dress and tried to tidy myself, but there was not much I could do without a mirror and a comb. "If you feel the house is too crowded, I can certainly find a home of my own. I am not without means."

  Our father had been the owner of a gold mine on the outskirts of Virginia City and money had, for a time, poured in. With well placed investments, our family wanted for nothing. Every extravagance was brought in by railroad, even to such a remote and small town in Montana. This fortune had even helped fund Thomas's position in the town's government. His interest in politics, and a future in Washington, called for the well placed spending of these funds.

  "No. Your money is gone." He glanced down at the nails on one hand.

  I stood at his words, stunned. The room spun for a moment and I grabbed hold of the chaise for support. The money was gone? The account was ample for anything I could ever need. "Gone? How?"

  He shrugged negligibly, flicking his gaze to mine for the briefest of moments. "I took it."

  "You can't take my money." My eyes widened, my stomach flipped, as much from the sour effects of the opiate laced drug as to my brother's words and banal tone.

  "I can and I have. As your guardian, it is within my rights to manage your funds. The bank cannot stop me."

  "Why?" I asked, incredulous. He knew I was not asking after the bank, but his claim on my inheritance.

  Mrs. Pratt j
ust stood and listened, her hands clasped together at her waist. It seemed I had no champion.

  "You witnessed something you shouldn't have. I need you gone."

  "Wit–" I shut my mouth after I realized his insinuation. I had seen something I shouldn't. The other morning, Mary and I had taken the children to school before joining the women's auxiliary to discuss the plans for the summer town picnic. One of the children had forgotten their lunch pail and I volunteered to return to the house and retrieve it while Mary continued on to the meeting. Tedious as those functions were, I was thankful for a reprieve from the matchmaking older women. At twenty-two, my unmarried state was their pet project. It was their goal to see me wed before my next birthday. I, on the other hand, was not in such a rush, especially based on the supercilious and unappealing men who were under consideration.

  Instead of finding Cook in the kitchen, I found Clara, the upstairs maid, lying upon the kitchen table. Her gray uniform was bunched up about her waist, her white cotton drawers dangling from one ankle as Allen, Thomas's personal secretary, stood between her spread thighs. His pants had been open to expose his manhood, which he thrust into Clara with vigor. I remained quiet and hidden in the doorway, the couple unaware of my presence, and watched their carnal actions. I knew of what happened between a man and woman in general terms, but had never seen it firsthand, and nothing like this. Not on a kitchen table!

  From what my mother had told me before she'd died it was done at night, in the dark, with only a minimal amount – and then only what was required – of skin exposed. By the intensity and vigor of Allen's motions, I thought Clara would complain or be in pain, but the look on her face, the way she tossed her head back and thrashed upon the wood surface had me thinking otherwise. He was pleasuring her. She liked it! Mother had said it was something to be endured, but Clara proved her statement false. The look of ecstasy upon her face could not be feigned.

  I'd felt a tingling between my legs at the idea of a man filling me in such a way, making me lost to everything but what he was doing. When Clara ran her hand over her covered breasts, my nipples had tightened, ached to be touched. She hadn't just been enjoying Allen's attentions. The way she arched her back and screamed, she'd loved it. I wanted to feel as she did. I wanted to scream in pleasure. I was aroused by the idea of being handled thusly by a man. Unfamiliar wetness had seeped from my woman's core and I'd reached down to run my hand over the swollen flesh, even through the thick fabric of my dress. When I felt an unfamiliar jolt of pleasure from the motion, I removed my hand in stunned surprise. If my touch alone had felt so heavenly, what would it feel like being taken care of by a virile man?

  Allen had thrust a few more times, and then stiffened, groaning as if injured. When he pulled his plum colored member, glistening and wet, from Clara's body, I saw not only her womanly folds, but copious white cream as well. He'd placed her feet on the very edge of the table so she was exposed and vulnerable, however the young woman didn't seem to care, either too well pleasured to bother with modesty, or she had none.

  I'd licked my lips at the sight of her wantonness, her sated body replete and well used. I wanted to feel that way and I wanted a man to do it. Not Allen, but a man that would be mine.

  My desire had been quickly doused when Thomas, previously hidden from view, came to take Allen's place between Clara's thighs. Leaning forward, he grabbed the front of her bodice and ripped, buttons skittering across the room. He lowered his head to her exposed nipples and suckled on one, then the other. I had no idea a man would do such a thing.

  His hands had moved to the button on his pants and pulled his own member free. It was bigger than Allen's, longer, and wetness seeped from the tip. The secretary stood to the side, his pants set back to rights and watched, arms over his chest. Thomas lined himself up and shifted his hips so that he thrust deep into Clara's body. The woman's back arched off the table as Thomas filled her, her moan of pleasure filling the room.

  I must have made a sound, a gasp, some noise that was different than the woman with whom he was fornicating because he turned his head and saw me peeking around the doorway. Instead of stopping, he pumped into her even harder, the woman's head thrashing about on the hard surface.

  "Watch, I don't mind," Thomas told me, grinning, placing his palms on the table to go even deeper. "In fact, I might like knowing a virgin is learning something."

  At his words I'd fled, the lunch pail forgotten.

  That had been a few days ago and I'd barely seen Thomas since, out of sheer avoidance on my part. I didn't know what to say to him, nor how I could even look him in the eye knowing he not only took women with his secretary, but had broken his marriage vows. Did Mary know of his indiscretions, for I could only assume this wasn't his first. The duo seemed to be comfortable in their endeavors in a way that indicated long term familiarity. I'd readily distanced myself from Clara and Allen as well.

  "I see you know to what I speak. I can't have you blathering about what you saw to the entire town. Besides, your voyeuristic tendencies are not normal for a woman of your station. I can't rightly marry you off to a friend of mine with such indecent proclivities."

  He hissed the last words as if I was the one who'd been involved in those base sexual acts instead of him. I was being accused of indecent proclivities? He was the one who had careless disregard for his wife!

  "Voyeurism? I wouldn't have watched if I'd known. It was the kitchen mid-morning. Thomas, I'd never–"

  He sliced a hand through the air, cutting off my words. "It is irrelevant anyway. Having you about is not a risk I can take with my career. One utterance of impropriety and my chances for Washington are dashed."

  "Men have mistresses, Thomas. It would come as no surprise," I countered. "Surely, Mary must know."

  He laughed coldly. "Mary? I'm not worried about my wife and what she thinks. She would not speak ill of me. I am within my rights to ensure that."

  I cringed at the thought of how he ensured her silence. Mary was a meek woman and I was coming to discover why. Mary had no grounds to protest or complain about a husband's peccadillo. A wife was completely at the mercy of her husband.

  "Surely you're worried that Allen or Clara would tell tales as well." I wasn't the only one who could reveal his extramarital tendencies.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. "Please, Clara was easily dispensable and Allen knows his place. He's just as driven as I am to be in Washington."

  I could only imagine how he'd dispensed of Clara if turning me over to Mrs. Pratt was how he dealt with a member of his own family. I began to wring my hands. Thomas seemed as serious about this as everything else, removing any problem or impediment from his way with ruthless precision. It appeared he was taking care of me in just such a fashion.

  I did not have to stay here and listen to him. I walked toward the door to leave, but he held up a hand. "You have no money, no connections. Only the clothes upon your back."

  I shook my head in doubt. "This is insanity, Thomas!" I waved my hands in the air, frustrated. "I have friends, a sister-in-law, neighbors! I have Father's money! I can just walk out that door and see someone on the street I know and they will help me."

  "Besides your lack of money, we're not in Helena."

  My arms fell to my side. My stomach plummeted. "What? You can't. I'm of age."

  "True, but your father's will stated I maintained control until you reach the age of twenty-five or upon your marriage. Since you have yet to wed, I can do what I wish with the money."

  "You've turned all my suitors away!" I cried out, realizing right then and there his master plan. "You've planned this all."

  He smiled, albeit coldly. "We are in Simms, in Mrs. Pratt's establishment. If you walk out that door, you will be on the streets of a strange town with no one to vouch for you, with no alternative but to return to her to survive. Besides, I doubt she would let you leave. Isn't that right, Mrs. Pratt?" He didn't wait for the woman to answer. "She has paid me a tidy sum for you and I have no doub
t you will need to earn your keep on your back." He sniffed. "The way you seemed to enjoy Clara's sexual awakening, I trust this will be a perfect fit for you." He eyed me from head to toe, then turned his attention to Mrs. Pratt. "Thank you for your business."

  "Mr. James," she replied with a small head nod, holding the door open for him. She was going to let him go?

  Thomas left, his void as big as the emptiness of my emotions. I'd been sold to a brothel! The very idea was ludicrous, unimaginable, yet here I was. Tears filled my eyes.

  "It's not all that bad, Miss James. You're no longer under that odious man's thumb." She pursed her lips as she shut the door behind him. It was as if life as I'd known it had ended, the door closed on it, a new one beginning. That was what was most fearful. What did my new life entail? Would I have to service men like Clara had Allen, or would I have to suffer beneath the cruel hands of a man such as Thomas? This was insanity!

  I wiped frantically at my wet cheeks. "Little consolation," I replied, looking down at the decadent Oriental rug. "The alternative, the way Thomas painted it, is not appealing either."

  "That man, your step-brother, sold you to me." She pointed toward the closed door. "He is not a man worthy of our attentions. I say good riddance." Her soft voice held a note of iron as she waved her hand through the air with finality.

  "Then why did you accept his business? Why did you buy me?"

  Her skirts swished as she crossed the room. "To make money, of course. Yet I have a soft spot for women whose lives have become endangered. Trust me, you are better off here with me than to linger another night beneath that man's roof."

  I tilted up my chin, not as confident in my situation as she. "I suspect it is dependent on what you wish to do with me."