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

  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.”

  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?”

  Mary’s mouth fell open. “What? No!”

  Miss Rose pursed her lips. “Explain.”

  The corner of my mouth ticked up as she used my exact word from minutes earlier. We were very similar, not ones to use long sentences when one word would suffice. It boded well for our marriage if Mary responded well to my short and quick commands, for she would learn that Parker and I would be in charge. Not only in the bedroom—or anywhere else we fucked her—but in her safety and well-being, too. Like now, Miss Rose was assuring to her well-being. A good girl like Mary didn’t bring two men to a brothel so she could spend a quick hour in a naked tussle.

  Mary gave a succinct recounting of her plight, Miss Rose listening intently.

  “It was a smart decision, for Mr. Benson has been banned and knows he cannot gain entry. As for your father, he enjoys the ladies to come to him,” Miss Rose replied and I saw Mary squirm at that unpalatable mention of her father. “You are welcome here.”

  Mary smiled and turned toward the stairs.

  “Wait,” Miss Rose said, holding up her hand. Mary turned back, waiting anxiously.

  “Gentlemen, what are your intentions toward this
woman? I assume you are not dolts, therefore know she is not a whore.”

  “No, ma’am, she’s not,” I told her. “We intend to marry her.”

  Chloe and Miss Rose said at the same time, “Both of you?”

  Miss Rose was not stunned in the least, while Chloe looked like she’d never heard of a ménage before. In her profession, there was not much she hadn’t seen, I was sure.

  “Both of you?” Mary repeated.

  “Yes, both of us. We told you as much at the train station,” I added.

  Mary frowned. “You said you’d be my temporary husband, that’s all.”

  I slowly shook my head. “We said we’d take care of you, that we’d protect you. That means marriage. Like Miss Rose said, you’re a good girl and will remain as such until we’re wed. Then we’ll show you how to be a bad girl.” I couldn’t help but grin at all the wicked things we’d show her. And she’d love them all.

  Her mouth fell open in astonishment.

  “These men?” Chloe asked. She patted Mary on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. They’re as handsome as can be. These two will make it good for you. Trust me, you’re going to like two men at once.”

  She giggled then and Mary flushed even darker.

  “You must be from Bridgewater,” Miss Rose surmised, glancing between the two of us.

  I nodded. While we did not make our customs public knowledge, it did not surprise me that Miss Rose knew. She held secrets probably better than even the priests at the Catholic Church and I did not fear she would change her ways now. Surely she held more… tantalizing confidences than a woman being married to two men who were faithful and loving.

  “Then I approve,” she added with a decisive nod.

  Mary finally claimed her voice. “Miss Rose, you can’t mean that you think marrying two men is a good idea!”

  “I do,” she replied. “These are difficult times and Butte is a rough town. It’s hard to be a woman in these parts. Even with your money, you were never happy. Why else would you come here? These men want you. Both of them. Some women dream of one man to protect them, but you have the good fortune of two.”

  Mary stepped closer to Miss Rose and whispered, “But… two. I’ve never seen… I don’t know what to do with two.”

  The older woman smiled then. “Don’t worry. I have no doubt they do.”

  Yes, we certainly did.

  “But—”

  Miss Rose held up her hand. “If you wish to spend the night here with these men, you will marry first.”

  Her ultimatum pleased me immensely. It would get our ring on her finger so we could truly protect her from Benson and her father. We could do nothing until she legally belonged to us and I wouldn’t tarnish her virtue by expecting anything less.

  “But… all the girls. None of them marry the men they take upstairs!” Mary’s voice rose as she became upset. “Why me?”

  “Are you a whore?” Miss Rose asked bluntly.

  Mary looked away. “No,” she whispered.

  “Then you will marry. I will not allow you to accept anything less. If your mother were alive, she would agree.”

  The idea of Mary alone with her father, of his ruthless plans for her, made me even more eager to get this wedding done.

  Mary looked at both of us. “I… just met you today,” she admitted. “How can you be so sure of this?”

  I moved to stand directly in front of her. If she took a deep breath, her breasts would touch my chest. I ran my knuckles down her soft cheek. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head into the touch.

  She wanted us; she was just too innocent to understand what she was feeling. It was overwhelming and fast, but right.

  “You’ve known Benson for quite some time. Length of acquaintance does not guarantee a good match.”

  Chloe patted her arm. “It’s true, honey. Sometimes you just have a connection. When you do, grab hold of the man—or men—and never let go.”

  Mary didn’t seem swayed all that much, but she surprised me when she tilted her chin up, looked at Parker, then at me.

  “I won’t marry a man… or men, who cheat. Visiting Chloe here over the past year has opened my eyes to the number of married men—men I know from church even—who are philanderers. I can’t abide by that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Miss Rose. “You can’t force me to marry them if that is the case.”

  She was adamant and fiery about her opinion and while I should have been offended by her negative assumptions of our honor, I respected her for it. Miss Rose couldn’t argue; clearly she only wanted the best for Mary and that was not a cheat for a husband.

  “Mary.” Parker put his hand on his chest, directly over his heart. “You’re ours. While you’ll be legally wed to Sully, you will be my wife, too. I will want no other. I swear I will be faithful.”

  “As do I,” I added.

  Mary angled her head toward me. Her mind was working, debating, considering.

  Miss Rose looked at us, then at Mary, waiting.

  Mary’s eyes held no confusion, no fear, nothing but determination as she considered our vows. These words were more important than the marriage ceremony that was to come.

  “All right.” She nodded her head, as if she needed that gesture to accompany the words. To me, her declaration was enough. “We can’t go to the church. My father will know.”

  Miss Rose waved her hand through the air. “Your father may be powerful in this town, but I have connections.” She angled her chin toward the door to the front parlor. “Out there is Judge Rathbone. I have no doubt he’ll be happy to preside over your nuptials.”

  The way Miss Rose worded the last, I assumed she would entice the judge into participating.

  Chloe dashed out of the kitchen, much more eager for this wedding than the bride.

  It didn’t take long for the judge to appear, being dragged within against his will by Chloe. For one so small, she was quite strong. The judge was in his fifties and quite gray, overweight and had short, stubby legs. He was missing his suit jacket and his tie was askew, as if he’d been occupied before he was pulled away. He took in the three of us and his eyes widened at the sight of Mary.

  “Miss Millard,” he said, his words full of surprise.

  “I’m sure this little ceremony will be something we all forget, won’t it, Judge?” Miss Rose asked, her voice as sweet as honey. “Isn’t your wife on the Ladies Auxiliary with Miss Millard?”

  The judge’s jowls wobbled as he nodded.

  “Then I’m sure Miss Millard and these men will keep secret not only your presence here at The Briar Rose but the things you’ve done tonight with Elise?”

  The judge’s eyes widened slightly. He swallowed, thinking about the repercussions. Rolling his shoulders back and taking on a more judge-like bearing, he said, “Who is the groom?”

  I stepped forward and took position beside Mary. “I am.”

  Just this morning I had no idea I would marry. But here I was, with Parker beside me. We were committing our lives to this woman and there was no going back. I glanced down at Mary; she looked calm and… beautiful. Her blond hair was still as neat as a pin, her dress crisp and her hat still at the perfect angle. She looked completely unaffected by the past two hours, completely resolute. I was, too.

  “Good,” the judge said, glancing at Parker. “You brought a witness.”

  I was not going to clarify that he was much more than a witness, for I did not want all of our secrets to be shared. I felt confident that the man would not go blabbering about the Millard heiress’ secret wedding, for whatever he did with Elise had to be quite licentious to ensure it. But that didn’t mean I wished for him to have anything to hold over us.

  The judge looked to me. “While I know Miss Millard, please state your name.”

  “Adam Sullivan.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he swallowed visibly. “Adam… Sullivan?” The judge practically squeaked the last and took a small step back. Mary looked up at me
, a frown creasing her smooth brow. It was obvious she did not know me or what I’d done. “Gregory Millard’s daughter is marrying Shooter Sullivan?”

  I took a step toward the judge and the older man cowered. Yes, he knew of me well. “Is there a problem, Judge?”

  The judge shook his head so hard his lips quivered.

  Miss Rose’s eyebrow winged up and then she laughed. “This is… excellent.”

  Mary frowned. “What? I don’t understand. Do you all know each other?”

  “Your husband-to-be is quite famous in these parts. An outlaw, some say,” Miss Rose informed Mary. Her shrewd gaze flicked up to me. “How many of your own men did you kill?”

  She didn’t look horrified by my dangerous past, instead quite amused.

  “Four,” I replied, stepping back and immediately taking hold of Mary’s elbow.

  She tried to retreat, but I would have none of it. Without the details, my actions sounded horrific, and I could only imagine what she was imagining.

  I’d been part of the US Cavalry and some of the men had gone rogue, taking Indian relations into their own hands. When I’d come upon the men raping and killing at one Indian encampment, I’d defended the innocent. I shot the four men before they could do any more harm. They weren’t army men, they were bastards who preyed on the weak. They’d been sick in the head and I’d kill them all over again.

  Before the inquest, I’d been painted the enemy, instead of the men who’d done such horrible deeds. Ultimately, I’d been cleared, but released from service. They’d considered me a danger. After that, the story of what I did spread and changed, making me into an aggressive beast of a man, killing anything and anyone that angered me.

  Thus, the judge’s fear, for he believed the tall tales. In this instance, I was glad the man was so afraid, for he had much more at stake—at least he assumed so—than his wife discovering his infidelity.

  I didn’t care about the stories or the legend I’d become. I wanted a quiet life, a simple life. And I’d have it, if we could just get the judge to get on with it. But Mary’s fears needed to be allayed. I wouldn’t have her afraid of me.