Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 7) (2 page)

Yes, it was an impetuous, yet desperate gesture. But in a matter of a minute, they would find me and take me away.

I looked up frantically at the man. “I… I need your help.”

Mr. Corbin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at my grip on his arm before searching the area around us for hidden dangers. He tucked me behind him, sheltering me.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, his pale eyes finally meeting mine. I swallowed, for he was just too attractive for his own good and quite concerned. His protectiveness did not go unnoticed, nor did the overly familiar endearment.

“My father is here with a man I do not wish to… offer my attentions.”

He glanced down the length of the platform. While there was much commotion, I knew he’d honed in on the duo searching for me. I was glad, for once, that Butte was such a busy place.

“One’s the size of a pot-bellied stove, the other has slicked-back hair and mustache?” he asked.

I nodded and kept my face averted, shivering at the description of Mr. Benson. Mr. Corbin turned us so his body blocked the approaching men’s view of me, affording me a few more moments’ reprieve. He was so big I was well hidden behind his broad shoulders and chest. I barely reached his shoulders. I felt protected and oddly safe. 

“Yes. There is much to tell and no time, but my father will marry me to him, the one with the mustache.”

“You do not wish it.” His voice was low and deep, clear and calm, unlike my frantic one. My palms were damp and my heart was pounding frantically in my chest.

I shuddered at the idea of becoming Mr. Benson’s wife. “I could not… could not bear his touch.”

Mr. Corbin somehow grew taller, more alert. “If he’s done something inappropriate, I will kill him.”

His sharp-edged words made my mouth tip up in a small smile, but I worried that he was being quite truthful. I didn’t fear that he offered to murder someone, but instead found it protective and reassuring.

With a quick peek around Mr. Corbin’s shoulder, I saw they were getting closer. “Pretend to be my intended,” I hastily said. The idea was preposterous, but the first thing that came to me. It could work. Mr. Corbin was the right age, he was not married—at least he did not mention a wife during our train ride—and was of an appropriate station in society to make it believable to my father and Mr. Benson.

It was his turn to smile. “When someone proposes to me, they should at least get down on one knee.”

Pursing my lips, I struggled with his flippancy at a time like this. “My father is marrying me to the man to broaden his mine holdings. I will be the man’s third wife; the first died in childbirth and the second disappeared mysteriously.”

All amusement slid off Mr. Corbin’s face.

“Your assistance will delay what they see as inevitable, but it will allow me time to escape.”

“Escape?” he said, his voice cold.

“I stalled by spending the month with my grandmother in Billings, but the men are both impatient. They would not come to the station for me otherwise. It is not in their nature to tend to anyone but themselves.”

“You fear him that much?” he asked. His eyes roved over my face as if assessing the truth of my words.

I darted my eyes to the buttons on the man’s shirt so I didn’t have to look him in the eye as I said, “Fear him?” I nodded my head. “Absolutely. I’ve also seen him with whores and I know that we are not… well suited. What he desires and what I long for are opposing.”

There was no time to elaborate on Mr. Benson’s cruelty.

Mr. Corbin’s pale brow winged up. “I’d like to hear about what you long for, but at another time.” He glanced behind him. “If your father is so eager to wed you to this man, a fiancé is not going to deter him. I recognize your name, sweetheart, and your father’s a powerful one in these parts.”

My shoulders slumped and tears filled my eyes. He wasn’t going to help me. No one would go against Mr. Gregory Millard. As soon as my father found me, I was doomed for marriage to a dreadful man. The very idea of Mr. Benson naked and on top of me, touching me, fucking me,
hurting
me, made me cringe.

“What’s the trouble?” Mr. Sullivan alighted the train and stood alongside us. He was Mr. Corbin’s travel companion and had joined us in conversation and lunch. His voice was deep and smooth, his shoulders broad and well-muscled. He was a touch taller than Mr. Corbin, and much more intimidating.

Side by side, their large bodies shielded me from the sun, and hopefully from my father.

I knew from the journey they traveled from Miles City and were also getting off in Butte, but continuing on by horse to Bridgewater. I’d heard of the community, which was a few hours’ ride from town, but had never met anyone from there before. They’d been pleasant and good conversationalists.

I glanced up at Mr. Sullivan, all dark hair and cool manners. He placed two leather satchels on the ground at his feet. Where Mr. Corbin was cheerful and amiable, Mr. Sullivan rarely smiled. It was difficult to read his thoughts, to discern if he’d found my presence in the dining car a nuisance or not. He just stared, then stared some more. It had been unnerving to say the least, as if the man could see every dark secret I held. In the dining car, Mr. Corbin had slapped his friend on the back and assured me he was just a brooder with everyone.

“Miss Millard does not wish to court the man approaching with her father. She asked that I assist her by playing her intended, but it won’t work.”

Mr. Sullivan searched the crowd and while I couldn’t see, I knew the moment he found them. “Benson. Shit, woman, you’re being married Reggie Benson?”

My mouth fell open in surprise and not because of the swearing either. While neither were poor men trying to find a job to survive, they weren’t garbed in the finest fashions like the truly wealthy. They didn’t seem like the type to associate with Mr. Benson, but it was possible I was in error. Who were these men and was I insane to engage in their assistance?

I cleared my throat and met Mr. Sullivan’s dark eyes. “Yes, my father is very insistent on growing his mining empire. Since Mr. Benson owns the Beauty Belle operation, I’m confident of his intentions.”

Mr. Sullivan nodded decisively. “Then we should just kill him.”

Before I could even sputter a reply at the… violent way both of them wished to solve my problem, Mr. Corbin spoke. “I offered that already.”

Mr. Sullivan grunted. “Parker is right, Miss Millard. An engagement will not deter Benson.”

So much for my idea. I looked at the ground, dejected. I had no doubt within the month I would be Mrs. Benson. Clearing my throat, I pasted on my best fake smile. I was quite adept at feigning happiness. “Yes, I understand. It was a silly notion. Thank you both for helping me pass the time on the train, gentlemen, but I must—”

Mr. Sullivan cut me off. “An engagement will not deter the man,” he repeated. “But a marriage will. Not to Parker. On paper, legally, you should be married to me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If he is as you say, then I can’t, in good conscience, let you marry him.”

I flicked a look to Mr. Corbin and he nodded his agreement.

My shock was obvious in my voice. “Yes, but by you marrying me in his stead?”

Mr. Sullivan placed his fingertips on my lips and my eyes widened at the bold touch.

He grinned then, brilliantly and wickedly. “Yes, exactly. Fair warning, I’m not like Benson. I will make demands on you, but I would never harm you. Marry me and I will protect you with my life.”

If his fingers hadn’t pressed against my lips, my mouth would have fallen open in surprise at his vehemence.

CHAPTER TWO

PARKER

The moment Miss Millard entered the train car in Billings, I knew she was the one. While the porter followed behind her carrying her small bag, she stumbled down the aisle as the train picked up speed. Pitching about, she used her hands on the backs of the seats for balance. I stood immediately, drawing Sully’s eyes from the book in his lap to the woman we would marry.

The dress she wore was of the finest cut, in a pale green silk with a bright sheen to it that, beneath my fingers, wouldn’t be as soft as the skin on her long neck. I didn’t have to be female to know the latest style or the expense of the materials. Her little hat, angled just so on her head of blond curls, matched perfectly. The gown was completely modest, from the long sleeves to the high collar, but it did nothing to hide her enticing curves.

For one so petite—she only came up to my shoulder—she had full breasts and wide hips. She was lush and just a bit shy of plump, but that was how I liked my woman. When she rode my cock—and she
would—
I’d be able to get a good grip on her lush hips. When I spanked her ass—based on her gentle nature it would be more for pleasure than punishment—it would quiver beneath my palm and turn a perfect shade of pink. Her breasts would be a delicious handful and I could only imagine her eyes blurring with passion when I tugged on her hardened nipples.

Stepping forward, I took the bag from the porter, then pulled a coin for him from my pocket. With a quick nod, he turned on his heel and left the car. Placing her bag beneath the seat, I gestured for her to sit across from us. While the car was not full and she could select her own seat, I removed that option for her. Her good manners dictated she accept the placement. Sully respectfully rose to his feet, ducking his head as he was so tall, and gestured for her to join us. As she settled in, adjusting her long skirts, I glanced at Sully. A slight nod was all I needed to know he was in agreement.

Within one minute, our lives changed. Inalterably. This fair-haired beauty would be ours. And so we’d talked with her from Billings to Butte. Well, I did. Sully was not one for many words and passed the time by watching her closely. I noticed the slight turn of her lip when she smiled, every freckle across her nose, the dainty swirl of her ears. We spoke of everything from her staid visit with her grandmother for the past month, to books, to politics in the Montana Territory. She was well versed, clearly well educated. While my cock wanted her for her body, I was glad she had a sharp wit and gentle spirit inside such a delectable package.

It was easy to fantasize how it would be with her as I listened to her soft voice, imagined how it would sound crying out my name as I brought her pleasure, how she’d beg Sully to take her. Harder. Deeper. Faster.

Fortunately, a surprising herd of elk were visible in the distance. As she watched them, I adjusted my cock, fair near to bursting within the tight confines of my pants. Sully just smirked.

It was then, once we’d pulled into Butte and I helped her down from the train, that I was pleased that she turned to me. At the time, I hadn’t known why she’d panicked, but I’d already considered her as mine and I would solve all of her problems. Sully, too. When I discovered who she was, that she was a copper heiress with an uncaring father set on using her for a business deal, my protective instincts took over. When I found out she was to marry that asshole, Benson, I was glad that Sully had joined us.

Benson was ruthless. A callous businessman, he considered money before men. His mine wasn’t safe; collapses occurred with dangerous frequency, knowing one dead man could easily be replaced with two more desperate ones. Copper was pulled out at a pace that made him richer than even those who owned the railroad. Assessing Miss Millard’s father, I had to guess that he might be even richer.

Men with avaricious business practices used people like pawns, even innocent daughters for marriage alliances. Miss Millard had laughed and warmed to our witty conversation on the train, so I knew she’d become a skittish and fearfully submissive woman if married to Benson. There would be no humor, no caring, no loving. There’d be fucking, surely, but she would not enjoy it, would not feel one bit of desire. Benson had worked his way through two wives and all the whores in Butte. He was infamous for his cruelty—infamous enough that even the innocent Miss Millard knew of it—and only the most jaded and darkly inclined whore could enjoy his needs.

Miss Millard was a passionate woman, I had no doubt. It would be our pleasure to awaken her every desire. To discover what she liked, what made her pant my name, to scream Sully’s, as we took her. But only a ring on her finger and her desperate need for our protection from Benson guaranteed that. While she expected a temporary arrangement, in her panic she could not see that
temporary
would not work. An end to an engagement would only delay her father’s plans. A
real
marriage was the only way to prevent the inevitable.

A real marriage she would get. Sully, as her husband, would afford her more protection than I would. It was a quick and smart decision, to shift the legal aspects of our union to him. As her husband, he’d protect her from the likes of Benson and her father with just his name alone. With his background, his notoriety, no one would dare impede.

When he’d warned her that he was not like Benson, that he would make demands on her, she would discover what those kinds of demands were, in time. It involved letting two dominant men control her in the bedroom, and quite a few places outside of it. Yes, Benson would have been a controlling spouse, but he would not be loving. From this moment forward, Miss Millard was the center of our world and she was right where she should be—between us.

When Sully lifted his finger from her mouth, he leaned in and said, “Smile, love. You’re not alone any longer.”

That was correct. She would not be alone again. Would not have to stand up to her father by herself, would not have to associate with the likes of Benson. They couldn’t touch her. Not physically, not emotionally.

Being married to two husbands was not the societal norm, especially for Butte. On the ranch at Bridgewater, that was not the case. Everyone was married in such a fashion: two—or more—men for every bride.

“I don’t even know your given name,” she murmured, offering Sully a quick, nervous glance before facing the approaching men. I watched as her hands fiddled with her dress, that she bit her lip, eyes wide with trepidation.