Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2) (9 page)

              "Why? Why would you even want me now when you know I can't hold up my end of the bargain and you think I'm a horrible liar to boot?" she cried, as she spun away, turning her back on him. "The only reason you picked me was…"

"One of the reasons," he interrupted, running a hand through his hair.

"What do you mean one of the reasons? What else could there be?"

"Your picture," he sighed.

"What?" she asked, facing him.

"Damn it, I said your picture," he growled. Pulling it from his pocket he held it up to her.

              "You liked how I look?" she asked, moving closer to him and studying his face with a slight smile tipping the corner of her mouth. "So…"

              "Now don't go filling your head with all that mushy love stuff," he demanded sternly. "You're a pretty lass, that's all."

"What's pretty about me, Angus?" she asked, sidling closer.

              "Well, your hair for one thing," he replied with a cough. "I like the color and how it curls around your face."

"Is that all?"

              "No, if you must know, you have a very fine figure and your eyes have a sparkle in them a man doesn't see every day," he said crossly as he looked at the floor.

              Molly moved closer and before he knew what she intended, she was seated on his lap with her arms around his neck.

"Would you like to kiss me, Angus?" she asked softly.

              "Aye, lass, I would," he replied before taking her lips with his. His arms closed around her, fitting her to his body as his heart pounded fiercely. Lord she smelled like vanilla, and with her hair tumbling over his arm, he felt as though he was holding a flame. Heat raced through him and he lengthened so quickly beneath her bottom it was painful. Her small hands stroked his hair as he pulled her tighter, feeling the stays in her corset through her thin cotton dress.

              He had to stop, he knew that. She was young, virginal and inexperienced, at least he hoped she was, and even if she wasn't, she was going to be his wife and should not be treated like a woman of easy virtue. Slowly, his lips still clinging till the last possible second, he raised his head and looked at the woman sprawled on his lap. Her eyes were closed and she wore an expression on her face that convinced him she'd never really been kissed before.

"Molly?"

Slowly her eyes opened and she smiled, reaching for him again.

"Come on now, lass. We'd best get you back to the house," he said hoarsely.

"Not yet, Angus," she pleaded with a pout. "I want to stay out here a while longer."

"No," he repeated, trying to lift her off his lap.

Molly clung tightly to his neck, refusing to let go.

"No, I don't want to go back."

"Are you going to be a difficult, disobedient wife, Molly?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Possibly," she teased, nibbling at the corner of his mouth.

"I see, well then give me another kiss before I take you back," he ordered.

              Molly complied happily, snuggling into his strong arms as her hand cupped his cheek and brought his mouth to hers. Sighing in delight, she kissed him until he reached up and unclasped her arm from his neck. Looking at the self-satisfied expression on her face, it only took him a moment to make up his mind. In a single heartbeat he flipped her over his knees.

"What are you doing?" she stammered, screeching as he lifted her skirts.

"I want you, Molly. After this afternoon there can be no doubt about that, but I will have a wife who minds me, do you ken?" he asked as he swatted her bottom, the sting easily penetrating her thin drawers. "There will be no more lying or deceiving or whatever you want to call it. From this moment on there will be nothing but the truth between us, and the truth is I will not hesitate to spank your bottom when you deserve it."

              "Ow, stop, Angus, stop," she cried, trying to cover her cheeks and finding her hands trapped. Each slap stung like the dickens and though she wiggled and fought, she could not get him to budge an inch.

              "Don't think your beguiling ways will keep me from performing my duty as your husband," he continued amiably. "It won't. When you need a good lickin', that's just what you'll get no matter how prettily you plead."

              "Nooo," Molly howled. "I'll never marry you now, never, never, never," she screeched, kicking her feet wildly.

              "Oh yes you will," he promised her with a chuckle as he continued to roast her bottom thoroughly. Smack after smack fell, covering her from the crest of her rounded curves to the top of her thighs. "There'll be no more delays now that your secret is out. As a matter of fact, I'll be bringing the preacher to the barn dance to make it official."

              "You can go straight to hell, Angus McGuire," she roared just before she burst into sobs and collapsed over his lap.

              Angus gave her five more hearty spanks to make sure she was paying attention and then plucked her up and sat her on his lap.

              "Now that we have an understanding, I'll have another one of those sweet kisses, lass," he said, wiping her tears with his handkerchief.

Molly turned her head away and refused to look at him.

"You're not such a thick-headed Irish brat you don't know you deserved that," he insisted. "Tis a way of clearing the air between a husband and wife and wiping the slate clean."

"We're not husband and wife," she hissed, wiggling as she tried to escape his hold.

              "We soon will be, and if you don't want more of the same, you'll behave yourself from now on. Now give me a kiss, I need to get into town for supplies."

              Molly pecked his cheek, but he laughed and caught her chin in his fingers and claimed her lips. Ignoring her struggles, he stroked her back until she relaxed and kissed him back. Not satisfied, he pulled her close and nipped her lip until she opened her mouth. Sweeping in with his tongue, he teased hers into playing. His hand slid from her back to her breast, his fingers plucking her nipple until it became prominent, poking against the fabric of her dress. Finally he sighed and released her, standing before he set her on her feet.

              "Get on up to the house now, Molly, before I do something we'll both be sorry for," he said with a regretful sigh as he looked into her shocked eyes. "Don't be frightened, love. We've a passion between us that will only get stronger with time. Your body responds to me as mine does to you. We'll have a good marriage."

"Not if you keep spanking me," she sassed.

Angus laughed and pulled her toward the door.

"Be a good lass and I won't have any reason to spank you," he said firmly.

Molly snorted.

              "It seemed to me you were enjoying yourself. That makes me wonder if what you say is true."

"I'll admit it; I did enjoy setting fire to your bottom. You've had me dancin' to your tune long enough. A wee spanking is a small enough price to pay for your antics."

              "A wee spanking?" Molly objected as she climbed the back steps. "Spoken like a man who wasn't on the receiving end of it," she continued, rubbing her bottom. "How do I know that's the worst of it then? Once we're wed will you slap me around and call it discipline?"

              Angus bounded up the stairs and pulled her into his arms. Tipping her chin up, he looked directly into her eyes and spoke honestly.

              "I'll never do that, Molly. You have my solemn oath on the matter. Any skelping you get from me will be where the good Lord intended it, on your backside. I have no compunction in laying a man flat if I see him treating his woman that way. As my wife, you'll be entitled to my protection and I hold that sacred."

Relaxing in his arms, Molly sighed contentedly.

"Now, that being said, lass, I'm not above taking a stout hairbrush or a good Scottish tawse to you if the offense is mighty, but the most you'll have from me are aching buttocks and a good dose of embarrassment for your naughty actions."

              "Good heavens, what have I gotten myself into?" she asked, gently banging her forehead against his chest. "Will you help me with the cooking for the party?" she asked hopefully.

              "Aye, lass, I will and you might want to get someone in to look at the rest of those chickens. They look a might funny to me, staggering around like they are."

              "Oh, Angus," she said with her chin quivering. "I fear I've murdered the poor things with my biscuits."

"Have you or the girls eaten any chicken recently?"

"No, I've been quietly burying them out behind the barn.

Angus let out an enormous sigh of relief.

              "Good, don't eat any until we see how the rest of them fare. And, Molly, I believe I'll be takin' over your cooking lessons from now on," he said as he gently stroked her hair, hoping to take the sting out of his words.

"Yes, Angus," she replied, sweetly kissing his cheek.

              The train depot was shrouded in fog when they disembarked. Effie took this as a sign the fates were with them. For Grace, it simply meant another leg of their long journey had been completed. The spark of independence and excitement she felt when they began had been snuffed out somewhere between Omaha and the Rocky Mountains.

              Effie suspected it had a great deal more to do with Mr. Blackthorn than with being bored and weary of the journey as Grace told her each time she asked. It seemed the Pinkerton detective had broken more than Grace's trust; he'd broken her heart to some degree. How serious it was, Effie didn't know, but she suspected it went quite deep.

              Her lifelong friend had never shown an interest in any particular man, other than the normal gossiping between young girls. Grace always felt she was too tall, too curvy, too pale or too something to be truly attractive. It wasn't true of course. She was perfectly lovely, but years of her mother's nagging attempts to tame her wild red hair or bleach her freckles away had done some damage. What a shame that the first man to come along with a real appreciation of Grace's charms turned out to be a first rate imbecile.

              "Find us a hack, please," Effie said, snagging the porter's arm as she maneuvered them through the throng.

"Certainly, Miss, follow me."

              As soon as they were seated she handed over some bills. "Please keep our bags at the station until I send for them," she ordered. "For now, our valises will be sufficient. Driver, take us to a hotel."

"The Palace is the nicest San Francisco has to offer, Miss. Will that suit?"

"No, somewhere else, please."

"How about the Brooklyn?"

"That will do."

"Why aren't we staying at The Palace," Grace asked, peering nervously through the fog.

              "I think we need to avoid any place popular. If they are looking for you, they're sure to start at the best hotel in town. We need to lay low until we can book passage to Seattle."

              Grace nodded, apparently content to let Effie make the decisions. She registered them as Ermengarde and Hortense Basenfelder, two sisters traveling to the orient by way of San Francisco. Grace never raised an eyebrow.

"Are you hungry?" Effie asked looking toward the dining room.

"Not really, just tired."

"Perhaps we should call for a doctor," Effie suggested.

"No, I'm fine."

              "All right." Turning to the desk, she spoke to the clerk. "Please have someone show us to our room. We'd also like a tray sent up with tea and biscuits as soon as possible. Come along, Hortense," she drawled. She was beginning to wish she had shot Jonah Blackthorn.

* * * * *

The next morning Grace seemed a little perkier as they lingered over breakfast.

"Are you feeling better today?" Effie asked watching her friend closely.

"Yes, much."

              "Good, for a while I thought you might be in love with that man, which would be very foolish indeed, especially as he will most likely be in San Francisco tonight. We only have a short time to make our arrangements if we're going to rescue Amelia. You need to be on your toes today. We don't know who else might be looking for you."

              "Of course I'm not in love with him," Grace insisted, a blush staining her cheeks. "I hate him, absolutely detest him. How a man could be so callous is beyond me. If Jonah, I mean Mr. Blackthorn has his way, I'll be delivered right into the arms of one of the most odious men alive. Lord knows what Horace will do to me, if he ever gets his hands on me again. And did Mr. Blackthorn give even one tiny thought to what I might want, or what I might be feeling? No, he most certainly did not. If I never see Jonah Blackthorn again, it will still be too soon!"

"I'm very glad to hear that, Grace. For a while I was quite worried about you."

              "Don't give it another thought, Effie," Grace replied, straightening her back so stiffly even Mrs. Pettigrew would have been proud. "What do we need to do today?"

              "Well, the first thing we should do is find a way to disguise our identities. I think a trip to the theater district might be useful. We can say we're teachers, looking for costumes for a play."

              "That's a brilliant idea. You don't know how glad I'll be to be rid of this wig," she continued, slipping a finger under the back of her hair and scratching. "I hope we can find something that doesn't require one."

              "The only thing I can think of as far as that goes would be a Sister. Maybe we can find a habit or two. Then we wouldn't have to worry about men making advances; at least I don't think so."

"I'm ready when you are," Grace said, wiping her mouth.

* * * * *

              The two women who left the Baldwin Theater several hours later wouldn't have been recognized by their own mothers. Unfortunately there were no habits available, although the man in charge of costumes took pity on them when they explained they were off to rescue their dear friend who had fallen into the hands of a scoundrel. Embellishing their tale with accounts of his drunken behavior only aided their cause as the theater was putting on a play entitled 'Drink' which highlighted the downfall of the drunken man in society. He didn't want to take the money for transforming them into a very old woman and her middle-aged traveling companion, but Effie insisted. It was a fitting place to spend Mr. Blackthorn's money.

              "Sorry about the wig," Effie offered as she took Grace's elbow and helped her along at a snail's pace.

              "That's all right, dearie," Grace cackled as she hunched over her cane, tapping the ground. "Once we find our dear niece we can return home and by then I'll probably be bald anyway."

Snorting, Effie covered her mouth and tried to make her giggles sound like coughing.

"Grace, don't do that, you'll give us away," she hissed.

              "Anyone who looks at us and sees Effie Lane and Grace Wentworth has the senses of a bloodhound."

              Looking at Grace with her sagging bosom, thin silver hair and black dress, Effie had to agree.

              The earliest they could book passage on a ship to Seattle was in three days. Effie had their trunks sent to a different ship that was not sailing for five days, hoping to draw any one who was looking for them off their trail.

              They entered the hotel without notice and stayed in their room, ordering all their meals delivered. It wasn't until the afternoon before they sailed that Effie realized the danger they were in.  Deciding they should send a wire to Amelia, in case she was in dire straits and losing hope, Effie left Grace alone and made her way to the telegraph office. The message she sent would only be understood by their dear friend.

My Dear Niece. Stop. Do not lose hope. Stop. Hortense and I will be arriving soon. Stop.

Your loving Aunt Ermengarde.

              "Please send this on to Mrs. A. Jordan, Seattle," she told the operator in a shaky voice, passing him the paper and the fee. "It's confidential, if you please."

"Yes ma'am, I understand."

"Thank you, young man."

              Adjusting the spectacles on her nose so she could see over them, she turned and was nearly knocked down by the man who pushed his way past her.

              "I want to send a wire and be quick about it," he snapped in a condescending tone as he continued to the counter. The fact he didn't apologize for his rudeness was no surprise to Effie. Horace Remington always thought himself above convention.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" his companion asked, taking her arm to steady her.

"Yes, thank you, young man," Effie said quietly, keeping her eyes down. "Who is that rude man?"

              "Some dude from back East looking for his runaway fiancée," the man replied, taking off his Stetson and holding open the door for her. "We hooked up with him in Omaha," he continued as he went out with her. "Now that we've had time to take his measure, we can't say we blame the poor girl, ain't that right fellas?"

Effie quickly looked around at the three other cowboys waiting outside.

"Yeah, he's a regular high-tone bas… oh, pardon me, ma'am. I meant to say we don't much care for his ways."

              Effie hid her smile as she peeked up at a handsome man who appeared to be the youngest of the group.

"Apology accepted, young man," she replied gruffly. "Why don't you part ways then?"

              "We'd like too, but you see it's the money. He offered us a passel of money if we manage to track her down," explained the man who still gripped her elbow.

              "Money is the root of all evil," Effie insisted, shaking her head sadly. "If I were you, I'd follow my conscience. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

"Would you like me to escort you, ma'am? It's really no trouble at all."

              "No thank you," she replied, patting his arm with her gloved hand. "I've lived here most of my life and know my way around."

              Walking slowly back to the hotel was nerve-wracking. At any moment she expected to be grabbed by Horace demanding to know where Grace was. She made her way painstakingly up the stairs and into the lobby, forcing her feet to drag and wondering if she dare tell Grace Horace was in San Francisco. Deciding it would only upset her friend more, she vowed to keep it to herself until they were safely onboard the ship.

              Keeping her gaze down, she passed the front desk and nearly stumbled when she recognized a familiar voice.

              "One is a redhead about so high and the other a blonde. They're well dressed and both quite young. I believe they had a number of trunks."

              "No, sir, I haven't seen anyone who fits that description, but we have people checking in and out all the time. When did you say they would likely have arrived?"

"Two days ago."

"Well, I can check with the night clerk, but most likely I would have seen them coming or going. I'm at this desk from morning till night six days a week."

              "I'm not the only one looking for them and it's very important I find them first. If you should see them, please contact me immediately. I'm staying at The Palace."

"I'll do that, Mr. Blackthorn."

"Thank you."

              Effie was steaming mad as she continued up the stairs. Yes, it was very important he find Grace first, so he could deliver her friend into the hands of that reprobate and collect his money. She absolutely should have shot him.

              Arriving in the evening was a twist of fate she was grateful for. The clerk on that night was much older and nearly blind if the thickness of his glasses was any indication. He would probably have trouble describing his own mother. Pulling her key from her reticule, she unlocked the door and quickly slipped inside.

              "Did you get the wire sent?" Grace asked absently as she moved aside the lace curtains and looked out the window.

              "Come away from there," Effie snapped crossly, yanking off her gloves and removing her hat.

"What?"

"Close that curtain and come away from the window. I have something to tell you."

              "Are you unwell?" Grace asked, moving across the room. Her concern increased once she looked at Effie and noticed her pasty complexion. "I think you may have over done it a bit this morning with the powder. Either that or something's terribly wrong."

Taking Grace's hand, Effie drew her to the settee.

"At first I wasn't going to tell you," Effie admitted.

              "Tell me what?" Grace demanded. "I'm not a child, Effie. If something has gone awry I'm certain I can handle it."

              "It's not that, I just didn't want to worry you anymore than was necessary. After all, dear, you haven't been yourself since we left Omaha. But now I feel forewarned is forearmed."

              "For heaven's sake, Effie, spit it out. What has happened? Has Jonah caught up with us so quickly?"

              "I'm afraid it's worse than that, dear. I just ran into Horace, or rather he ran into me. He nearly knocked me down, the pompous ass. If it hadn't been for a young man, grabbing my arm to steady me, I might have lost my wig. And he has four men with him. Men hired to track you down and return you to him," she continued gently. "Now as far as the men go, they don't seem to care much for Horace and we should be able to turn that to our advantage if the need arises. They seem like reasonable men, but then again, money is involved," she added thoughtfully.

Feeling Grace trembling, Effie pulled her into her arms.

"You mustn't worry so," she pleaded. "I promise everything will turn out all right."

Grace nodded against her shoulder and hugged her back before straightening up.

              "Is there anything else?" she asked, biting her lip. "I have a feeling you aren't telling me everything."