Their Bridgewater Brides Boxed Set E-Book

Vale Vanessa

• Herausgeber: Vanessa Vale
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The first three books in the USA Today bestselling Bridgewater Ménage series at one low price!

Their Kidnapped Bride-
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?

Their Wayward Bride
When Laurel Sinclair's uncaring father seeks to pawn her off in marriage as part of a business deal, she seeks to avoid her fate by fleeing. But running away in a Montana blizzard proves to be a terrible mistake.

When handsome ranchers Mason and Brody find the stranded redhead next to her injured horse, they take her in and immediately decide to make her theirs, convinced they can convert the beautiful stranger to an unusual arrangement of marrying them both.

The Bridgewater way of one woman marrying two husbands is foreign to Laurel, but she soon grows to love the two protective men who awaken her to a world of carnal pleasures she never knew existed. She grows to love them for their guidance and protection.

But will her happiness be threatened by the secret she harbors? Will Mason and Brody still love her if they discover who she is? And what will happen when her scheming father and the cruel man he wanted her to marry finally track her down?

Their Captivated Bride
The Bridgewater way of two men marrying one woman is uncommon in the Montana territory. But three men marrying one woman? That is unheard of, especially for beautiful Olivia Weston. Her fate, it seems, will have her married to one man - a man she doesn't love.

But when her betrothed treats her in a cruel manner, she rejects him and not long afterwards catches the eye of three handsome and virile ranchers. Cross, Rhys and Simon are as different as three men can be. But they have one thing in common; they are determined to offer Olivia the protection of marriage and the promise of endless carnal pleasures.

Olivia worries that her instant attraction and hasty agreement to marry three men stems from a defect in her character. What kind of woman not just love three men, but make the most intimate parts of herself available to their lustful attention? The chemistry between them is like lightning. Can she deny it? Or will Olivia submit to become the most sated Bridgewater wife in this ongoing ménage series?

This book contains Their Kidnapped Bride, Their Wayward Bride and Their Captivated Bride. If you own these three titles, do not purchase this book. It DOES NOT have any new content.
 

Leseprobe

Their Bridgewater Brides Boxed Set

Bridgewater Menage Series - Books 1-3

Vanessa Vale

Their Kidnapped Bride: Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa Vale

Their Wayward Bride: Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa Vale

Their Captivated Bride: Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa Vale

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design: Bridger Media

Cover photos: Bigstock- Lenor; Period Images

Contents

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Their Kidnapped Bride - Book 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Their Wayward Bride - Book 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Their Captivated Bride - Book 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

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About the Author

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Their Kidnapped Bride - Book 1

1

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 just 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 Iwanted 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."

2

EMMA

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 doubt 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."

"You are a virgin," she stated.

I blushed furiously, my cheeks hot.

"Yes, I can see by your reaction to that word alone that you are," she replied, going over to her desk, sitting down at the chair beside it. Her back was straight and she adjusted her full skirts. She might be a Madame, but she had the mannerisms of a lady.

I looked down at the pale blue morning dress I'd donned just this morning. I thought back, realizing Thomas must have laced my coffee with the laudanum. I took it black, so the bitter taste would have been well masked. The last I remember was eating a piece of toast with marmalade in the dining room.

"I suppose virginity is quite a commodity in your line of work. You are a Madame, are you not?" I countered, wanting to confirm her profession. I doubted she arranged for governesses.

She nodded once. "I am. Unlike your Mr. James, I offer you two choices."

I arched a brow as I waited to hear them. My options, which I doubted were going to be to my liking, might be better heard sitting down, so I returned to the end of the velvet covered chaise on which I awoke.

"You may work here to pay off your debt. As you are innocent, you will be quite popular, I assure you. You are also quite lovely, which will make your long-term appeal guaranteed. This is the finest brothel between Kansas City and San Francisco and we cater to more unusual requests. The other girls will teach you all that you need to know above and beyond basic fucking with regards to meeting the men's needs."

My mouth fell open at her base language, but I supposed it was relevant to her profession and part of her everyday conversation.

I glanced down at my hands in my lap trying to collect my thoughts. A dull throb filled my head, the lingering after effects of Thomas's deviousness, it made clear thinking difficult. "And...the other choice?"

"You can pay off your debt in one evening. Tonight, in fact."

This sounded appealing, but I knew there would be a high personal price. She might be selling carnal pleasures, but this was all business.

"Oh?" I queried, very nervous about what she would say.

"A marriage auction."

I paused and stared at Mrs. Pratt. Did she say marriage and auction together? As in I would be auctioned off to a potential groom?

"I beg your pardon?" I replied, confused.

Mrs. Pratt smiled softly. "I know of several men who are seeking a wife who can handle their more intense sexual natures and dominant personalities."

I frowned. I most certainly couldn't meet those requirements. "As you've said yourself, I am a virgin. I don't know anything about...intense sexual natures."

"Good." She gave a decisive head nod. "I didn't say you needed to know anything about that, but that you could handle it."

I frowned. "There's a difference?"

"Vastly." I waited for her to clarify, but she remained silent.

"How are you so sure I can handle these...expectations?"

"From what Mr. James mentioned, you were aroused by the sight of a woman being fucked. Is this an accurate statement?"

I tried my best not to squirm. To admit I'd been aroused by witnessing Clara's pleasure would mean I was just like any of Mrs. Pratt's girls. It meant I truly was a voyeur, a whore even. Perhaps I did belong in a brothel.

"Well?" Mrs. Pratt asked.

"The woman was pleasured by both men. I had no idea such things were possible."

Her eyes widened slightly. "There were two men then? And you were aroused as you watched this? Interesting." When I remained silent, afraid to let any more secrets slip, she continued. "So you were aroused?" She'd twisted my words around to fit her needs. "Come, Miss James, there's no need to fear speaking your feelings with me. I am a Madame. I've seen and heard it all. Nothing you, a virgin, could admit would shock me."

I couldn't voice the words, but nodded.

"Did you like watching?"

I nodded again. "I liked seeing the first man and the woman. I could have done without watching my stepbrother engaged in such activities."

"Wished it had been you that was being fucked?"

I met her clear gaze. Held it. "Yes," I whispered.

She stood, the satin sheen of her dress catching the light. "What choice do you make? Work here or marry the highest bidder?" Her blue eyes watched me. Waited.

Her words made my life seem so negligible, as if the choice were easy. I'd only woken up to this situation only minutes ago, my head still pounded from the after effects. I was now to choose my fate? "I will not marry myself to a man such as Thomas." I clenched my hands in my lap. "A multitude of men using my body is nothing in comparison to a lifetime of dishonesty, indifference and infidelity. It would be a prison without any means of escape. You met him. To suggest a permanent arrangement with the likes of him would make you of the same ilk."

A hint of emotion shown in the woman's eye. Admiration? Surprise? I couldn't be sure. "I would never marry a woman to a man who was anything but generous and caring. I am stringent in the men to whom I serve, yet protective of the women I provide. Remember, being dominant in the bedroom is quite the opposite of being cruel."

I didn't know what she meant by the last. "Why marriage? Why not just sell my virginity?"

"You would gain nothing after the first man breaching your maidenhead. You would be tarnished and your value would be that of every other girl in my employ. You would then be unmarriageable and your fate sealed. Marriage will maintain your respectability. I don't stand for men who only take from women and give nothing in return. Or you may remain here and work to earn your keep."

I had no interest in becoming a prostitute, the idea made me want to vomit, but I could only accept the woman's reassurance that I would not be shackled to a man such as Thomas on blind faith. Her oddly placed values – the need to marry me off to make money all the while maintaining my virtue – was an odd twist on my scenario and painted her in a slightly different light.

"I can imagine the life of a wife readily enough. Perhaps you can describe my other choice."

Her lip quirked up at my request. "Most girls work from six at night until six in the morning, servicing as many as twenty men. You'll soon discover your best skills and be known for them. At first, of course, it will be your innocence, but once that fades, you'll have to decide." She shrugged negligently. "Some go for straight fucking, others are known for their cock sucking. A few enjoy being fucked in the ass. Then there's being tied up, role playing, ménage, the list is quite long really."

I held up my hand, not able to keep up with her long list of services. In fact, I was still considering twenty men a night. Clearly, she was forcing my hand toward marriage. That, most likely, was her intention all along, allowing me to believe I had a choice. Licking my lips, I asked the relevant question. "How much money did you pay Thomas for me?"

"Seven hundred dollars."

My brows went up. That amount of money was a drop in the bucket for the James family and I could have paid her readily enough after a quick trip to the bank, although not any longer.

"At less than a dollar a roll, that would be hundreds of men. You'll most assuredly be here for a lengthy duration. After that...." She shrugged her shoulders and let what she didn't say speak for itself. "Or you could be gone tonight."

I pursed my lips. She, in a perverse and roundabout sort of way, was helping me. She couldn't just let me leave; too much money was at stake. Marriage helped me while she helped herself. There really wasn't much choice. The groom himself wasn't a choice either. It seemed Mrs. Pratt would decide that, or at least narrow the choices to a small cadre of eligible men who had the means to offer her the money she wanted. Based on her profession and business sense, their initial requirements included baser sexual needs and wealth. "You can guarantee the man I marry is not a drunk, geriatric or a beater?"

Her blue eyes met mine. "I can."

"I'll...um...I'll take the marriage auction."

"A wise choice." She moved and opened the door. "As I said, these men want you to fulfill very distinct, very clear needs. Being dominant is not akin to being cruel. Remembering that will serve you well."

3

EMMA

Hours later, I stood before a group of men in just my shift, the new one I'd purchased with such eagerness earlier in the week. Mrs. Pratt, while seemingly kind, felt it prudent to let the bidders see more of me than what my dress exposed. Now, I was berating the very feature I'd so admired, as the material was so fine as to be translucent. I couldn't look at any of the men, seeing the looks on their faces as they looked at my body as if inspecting a horse for purchase. I kept my focus lowered to the floor.

Looking down, it prompted me to what they could see of me. The color of my nipples was plainly visible, the tight tips poking out. My shift fell to the middle of my thighs and I was sure the dark color of the hair between my legs was clearly discernible. The fine embroidery detail along the hem only drew the men's eyes to the short length. It had been pleasurable to me to wear such decadence beneath my modest dresses, with secret knowledge of what was beneath, but to be exposed in such a way to a roomful of men was mortifying. Humiliating. Downright scary.

It was almost impossible not to cover myself with my arms, to tug on the hem with trembling fingers, but Mrs. Pratt had made it clear that my future husband wanted a good glimpse of what he would purchase. If this were the case, I should be naked, however I most certainly wasn't going to suggest such an idea. Fortunately, the small room wasn't overly bright, only lit by a few lamps, which cast a muted yellow glow. It wasn't cold, but goose flesh rose on my arms nonetheless. The slight odor of kerosene combined with tobacco filled the air.

And so I stood, hands by my side, fingertips rubbing together, eyes averted from all of the men as murmurs filled the air. Mrs. Pratt was the only other person in the room and I knew all eyes were on me, the men sitting in chairs in a semicircle around me. They could have any woman below stairs, so why me? Why an inexperienced virgin when a veritable courtesan could meet their every need without the burden of wedlock? Clearly, with that option available and not taken, these men were serious about their intentions. I'd briefly glimpsed four men as I entered, but refused to meet any of their eyes. It wasn't as if I was afraid I'd be an acquaintance of any of the men – the chances were remarkably slim being in Simms, and not Helena – but I didn't want to see their looks as they took in my dishabillé. I didn't want to see their expressions as they gazed upon me.

"She is a virgin?" a man asked to my right.

Mrs. Pratt, who stood behind me, spoke, her words clipped and surprisingly sharp. "Do not question the integrity of my auctions, Mr. Pierce."

The man made a sound in his throat of dissatisfaction, but did not reply.

"I want her naked," another man added.

"Emma," Mrs. Pratt addressed me instead of responding to the request. "What has a man seen of your body?"

I turned my head toward her voice, looked up at her through lowered lashes. "Ma'am?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Has a man ever seen your ankles?"

I flushed hotly at the very idea. "No." I dropped my gaze and concentrated on the carpet beneath my feet.

"A wrist?"

I shook my head. "No."

"This is the first time a man has seen you in just a shift?"

Why did she have to point out the extent of my innocence? I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. It felt as if it would beat right out of my chest. Licking my lips, I responded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then, Mr. Rivers, to witness her reaction to being naked with a man will be saved solely for her husband. Bid the highest and that man will be you."

A voice spoke from my left. "She has been trained to meet her husband's needs?"

"Of course not, Mr. Potter. Her training is her husband's responsibility."

"And pleasure." This man's voice came from directly in front of me. It was deep in timbre, rough, yet assured. I saw only his feet and lower legs. Leather boots, black pants. I refused to look higher. Pleasure, he'd said? This man would find pleasure in training me to meet his needs? A vision of Clara, her legs spread wide and being pleasured by Allen, came to mind. Had the maid been doing what the man wanted?

"Precisely," Mrs. Pratt added, her words returning me to the present. "Shall we begin? The bidding starts at one thousand dollars."

The price made me gasp. That much? No wonder Mrs. Pratt wanted to sell me to the highest bidder. She easily recouped her losses and would make a tidy profit.

The price climbed readily enough. I didn't dare to look up and see who bid. The weight of the situation was not lost on me. These voices were of men who wanted to marry me. Marry. And they were willing to offer a small fortune to do so. There was no courtship, no dinners, walks, or chaperoned outings. No whispered confidences, flirty smiles, stolen kisses. The men were bidding on me because of my purity, my looks and Mrs. Pratt's assurance that I would meet their sexual needs. I ran my fingers over my shift at my sides as I continued to study the paisley pattern in the carpet, willing my breath to even. This was stripping my ideals of marrying for love and replacing them with something seedy, something tawdry.

"Sold!" Mrs. Pratt said with finality, making me jump. It was over? It had happened so quickly, perhaps only a minute or two, yet my life had changed irrevocably. I was too frightened to look up and see the man who'd bid the highest. In fact, I wasn't sure who had won. Seeing his face would make it all the more real. "Mr. Kane, Mr. Monroe, congratulations. Please follow me. The doctor and Justice Of The Peace are waiting in my office."

Did she mention two men? That couldn't be. The woman took my arm and led me from the room. As we walked down the hallway I noticed the man with the boots and dark pants following. He was Mr. Kane? He was to be my husband? When we turned a corner I observed a second man following a little further behind. It was all so overwhelming, confusing. Quick. It seemed we were to wed immediately. Mrs. Pratt was a shrewd businesswoman and most certainly didn't want any chance of this man, Mr. Kane, backing out of the arrangement. Most assuredly wedding vows would see to that.

The Justice Of The Peace was a short, rotund man with a thin mustache. He had more hair above his lip than on his head. Bible in hand, he stood at our appearance. So did the doctor, or so I assumed. He was tall and trim, lanky in build, yet attractive in his dark suit. I glanced past the man with dark pants and boots, afraid that if I looked at him, all this would become real. The man who followed moved to stand unassuming in the corner. His clothes were less formal; dark pants, white shirt. His hair was longer than de rigeur and his skin was tanned as if he spent ample time outdoors. The color of his hair reminded me of a wheat field, where the locks were lightened by the summer sun. With his piercing green eyes focused directly on me, I felt exposed, a reminder I wore solely my shift. It was as if he could see through the fabric to my untouched skin. When his gaze held mine, I felt he could see into me, to read my very thoughts. I couldn't help but cross my arms over my chest in an attempt at modesty.

I felt my cheeks heat, my nipples tighten at the knowledge he was looking me over. When I glimpsed, from my periphery, the corner of his mouth tilting up, I knew he would not be my savior in this farce of a marriage.

"Doctor Carmichael, we will start with your examination," Mrs. Pratt said, and my gaze darted to hers.

I froze in place. Examination? Here? With these men? Curling up my shoulders, I tried to shield myself as much as possible. The doctor took a step toward me and I jumped back.

"Wait," Mr. Kane interrupted, holding up his hand, halting the other man's steps. I recognized his voice from the auction. "Don't you want to see the man you're marrying?" The man's voice was deep and stern and I realized he was speaking to me. A British accent laced his words, the vowels short and clipped. What was an Englishman doing so far from home, and in a brothel and wedding a complete stranger? The way he'd ignored not only Mrs. Pratt but the doctor as well, was indicative of his power, which had me curious about the man and fearful at the same time.

I shut my eyes briefly and swallowed. I couldn't avoid him any longer. Turning, I looked forward, but only looked upon the buttons of his white shirt. Tilting my chin up, I took the first glimpse of my groom, and sucked in a breath. The first thing I observed was his eyes. Dark, so dark as to be black, with a strong brow. He looked upon me with such intensity, such possession, that it was hard to even glance away. His hair was equally dark, so black as almost to have a blue cast. It was close cut on the sides, longer on top to fall over his forehead. His nose was narrow, but had a slight crook in it, as if being broken at some point. His jaw was wide, angular with a hint of dark whiskers. His lips were full and the corner tipped up as if he knew I was impressed by what I saw.

He was handsome, so very handsome. And tall – well over six feet – and also quite large. His shoulders were wide and defined beneath his white shirt, his chest broad, tapering to a narrow waist. His legs were long and blatantly muscular, something I hadn't noticed in the other room. If he hadn't spoken, I would not have known he was a foreigner.

In comparison to his large size, I was small, dainty even. This man, my groom, could hurt me easily if that was his desire, however the smoldering look in his eyes told me he wanted to fulfill other desires. With me. I gulped.

"There now. I can see your face. For such dark hair, your eyes are a surprising blue."

His cultured voice, although rough and a deep baritone, had an undercurrent of something – tenderness, perhaps – which was unexpected. His lip turned up at the corner and a dimple formed in his cheek.

"What is your name?" he queried.

"Emma. Emma James," I replied, his soft tone compelling it from me.

"I am Whitmore Kane, but everyone calls me Kane."

Kane. My groom's name was Kane and he was English. Would he take me off to England to live? The idea struck fear in me. I knew nothing about England, nothing about life outside of the Montana Territory.

"Ian," he said. The man in the corner stepped forward, pulled a folded stack of bills from his pants pocket, counted out an outlandish sum, then handed it to Mrs. Pratt. Was this man Kane's secretary just like Allen was for Thomas?

"We will not require the doctor's services," the man called Ian said to Mrs. Pratt once the transaction was complete. He was tall and broad as well, with light hair and serious eyes.

"You do not wish for me examine her to verify her virginity?" the doctor asked, as if I weren't even in the room. "It is a simple task. She will lie upon the chaise holding her knees up to her chest. I will put my fingers within to feel for the barrier. Surely you'll want proof after the tidy sum you've paid."

I blanched at the very idea the doctor presented. He wanted to touch me with three other men looking on, plus Mrs. Pratt? I took a step back and bumped into Ian. Thankfully, he was the one who'd said that unpleasant task was not necessary. Even so, I gasped at the contact and moved away. The room was too small!

"I assure you I can examine her myself," Kane countered.

The doctor did not look bothered by the response, only nodded his head in understanding. "Certainly."

"Let me get the door for ye, Doctor, so ye can be on yer way," Ian said congenially, his brogue thick.

Dr. Carmichael took a black satchel from Mrs. Pratt's desk and exited the door that Ian held open for him, then closed it firmly behind him.

I exhaled a pent up breath. Just having that man from the room eased some of my tension.

Mrs. Pratt turned to the Justice Of The Peace. "It appears we are ready for you, Mr. Molesly."

No, the tension had not diminished after all. I was going to marry a strange Englishman.

"After, I'd be happy to take you downstairs to avail yourself of one of my girls."

"Is Rachelle available?" he asked, his eyes bright with eagerness.

Mrs. Pratt nodded. "Most assuredly. She has been asking after you."

The man puffed up like a peacock at the flattering, yet most likely false, words. It did make the man eager to complete his task, however. It only led me to question to depth of his calling. He cleared his throat and began. "Dearly beloved...."

This morning I was an heiress eating her breakfast. And now, I stood in nothing but my shift and married a handsome stranger who had bought me at auction in the upstairs of a brothel.

4

EMMA

"You wish to inspect your purchase now, I'm sure," Mrs. Pratt commented. She'd ushered the Justice Of The Peace downstairs and in the direction of Rachelle. He had no qualms about performing the unusual ceremony, a task he'd most likely done before; no doubt Rachelle's services were always complimentary after.

Ian moved to stand beside Kane. Both were tall, broad shouldered. I had no knowledge of their profession, but it was most certainly something that involved using their muscles as they were both well formed. Brawny, even. These were not typical gentlemen who sat idly. By their bearing, the intensity they exuded, they were powerful men. And one of them was my husband. The other, he looked upon me in the same possessive glint. I also found them both very handsome.

"I do," Kane replied.

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open, and I retreated, a hand out in a poor reflection of defense. "Surely you don't expect–"

Kane held up his own hand to halt my words. "Wedding me undoubtedly prevented you from an unsavory situation in which you found yourself. I paid a hefty sum in doing so. Therefore, I have earned the right to inspect the merchandise."

Merchandise? My cheeks heated this time not from humiliation but indignation. "I am not some prized mare purchased for breeding."

Kane's dark brow arched. He pierced me with his equally dark eyes. "Aren't you?"

His words left me speechless and I turned away, not able to look at him.

"Here." Mrs. Pratt offered a glass jar to Ian. "This will ease the way."

"No need," Kane replied. "Her cunny will be wet when I check her."

Cunny? I'd never heard that term before, yet I knew it to be crude and an English euphemism for my woman's core. I pressed my legs together. He was going to stick his fingers in me. There. I had no idea what he was saying about being wet, but the man seemed confident.

"Nay worries, lass. Kane will have ye likin' it, to be sure. Leave us, please, Mrs. Pratt," Ian said. Not Kane, but Ian. He meant to remain within? Now? I swallowed down my fear of this dominant duo.

Us? I highly doubted I would like Kane to touch me as he planned. Handsome or not, I was wary, and rightly so. Today was too great a transition for me to be anything but.

Mrs. Pratt left readily enough; she'd made her money and was rid of me very tidily. With the vows said, not only legal but binding in God’s eyes as well, Kane couldn't change his mind.

The three of us remained, the room less crowded, yet with Kane and Ian's large size, I felt overly small. Threatened, overpowered.

"You are displeased in your husband?" Kane asked, humor lacing his voice.

The tone had me spinning around to face him, but saw from his expression that was what he'd intended. He wanted me to look at him. At both of them.

"With what you intend to do, yes."

"We are your husbands. We will touch you."

My eyes widened and I stepped away, now truly fearful. "We? Both of you? I must have misheard."

Both men shook their heads. "You did not." Kane pointed to himself, then at Ian. "We are your husbands."

That was preposterous and I was sure the expression on my face showed that. "I can't have two husbands!"

"Ye are legally wed to Kane, lass, yet ye are mine as well. I am Ian Stewart." Ian's voice was deeper than Kane's, darker and had a stronger accent.

I shook my head, the tears I'd held at bay for so long now filled my eyes, spilled over to run down my cheeks. "Why? I don't understand."

"As you can tell by our accents, we are British."

"Speak for yerself," Ian muttered. "I'm a Scot."

"I...I don't want to live in England," I said, shaking my head vehemently as I did so.

"Neither do we. We might be from another country, but we are home here in the Montana Territory."

He didn't seem the type of man to deceive, so I felt a small kernel of hope that I would not be living in a foreign country. I was only married to foreigners. What an insane notion!

Kane crossed his arms over his broad chest. "We're army men. Our lives have been spent defending the realm for Queen and country. This included a stretch in the small middle eastern country of Mohamir which broadened our perspective on the treatment and ownership of women."

Mohamir? I'd never heard of it, however I was not familiar with the further reaches of geography. "Ownership?"

Ian casually tossed the jar from hand to hand as he would a snowball in winter. "A wife belongs to her husband, ye ken? He can do with her as he sees fit. Abuse her, beat her, treat her poorly. Nothing can stop him, neither law nor God can protect a woman from her husband."

I felt all color drain from my face and I stumbled back. These men were like Thomas. Mrs. Pratt promised I would not suffer the fate Ian detailed. He stepped forward and took my elbow, his grip surprisingly gentle considering his size, his grim words.

"Easy, lass," he murmured.

"Please...please don't hurt me," I whispered, my face turned away, flinching from whatever the man would do to me next. I couldn't survive two men abusing me.

Kane stepped closer and I lifted my hand to cover my face.

"Emma. Emma, lass, look at me." Ian's voice was insistent, yet his hold remained gentle. Turning my head ever so slightly, I glanced at him – them – through my lashes. Both observed me intently, their jaws clamped tightly, a cord in Ian's neck bulging.

"We will never beat ye. Never be cruel," Ian vowed. "We will value and respect ye in the ways of the East. Ye will be cherished and protected."

"By both of us," Kane added, his words solemn. "As our wife, you belong to us. It is our job to keep you safe, to see to your happiness, to your pleasure. Beginning now."

"By validating my virginity. You doubt me and Mrs. Pratt," I countered.

"You will find pleasure when I find that validation, I guarantee." Kane sighed, probably when he saw the skepticism on my face. "Mrs. Pratt would not have left the room if she acted falsely, but I will know the truth. We will not leave this place until I do so."

"Why?" I asked, confused. Why did he need confirmation? "We are married and there's no undoing the vows. I am your wife, virgin or not." I glanced at both men as I said the last.

"We must know if you are a virgin so when we take you the first time, we do it right."

Not knowing what he meant, I asked, "You won't take my word on the matter?"

"We don't know you," Kane countered. "And we will change that readily enough."

I retreated a step, looked up at the man to whom I now belonged, eyes wide with fear. "You...you would force me?"

Ian and Kane glanced at each other, speaking without words, it seemed. Ian looked at the glass jar in his hand, considered something, then placed it on the desk.

"I will say this again," Kane repeated. "I am your husband. Ian is your husband. You will do as we bid in all things, but I can assure you, as can Ian, there will be no need for force. You will be well satisfied before we are done."

So arrogant! "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because you will be wet and want our hands on you. I am going to sink my fingers into your cunny to find your maidenhead and you will want them there. Then I will give you your first pleasure. Are you wet now?"

"You keep talking about being wet." I furrowed my brow in confusion. "I...I don't know what you mean."

Instead of approaching me, he moved to the comfortable chair in the corner and sat down. He leaned back, his forearms resting casually on the padded arms, his legs wide and stretched out before him.

"Mrs. Pratt said you watched a couple fucking and this is why you are here." My eyes widened, but he continued. "Were they in bed?"

"No! You are insinuating I snuck in and hid."

"They let you watch then?" Ian asked, still standing beside me.

"No!" I repeated, becoming fretful at the two men hounding me with their words. "I returned to the house and found them...in the kitchen."

"Ah. Did you see his cock?"

I didn't know how to answer this. Of course I saw his cock. They'd been...fucking! Would it make me soiled goods if I said yes?

"Was he fucking her cunny? Her mouth? Her arse?" Kane wondered.

"Mr. Kane, please!" I cried, my cheeks heating. I covered them with my palms. How could they talk about this so readily?

"Was her cunny wet, lass?" Ian prodded.

"I don't know–"

"Betwixt her legs." He cut me off, his voice deep. "Was she wet betwixt her legs?"

"Yes," I replied, frustrated and unused to being verbally bullied.

"Right now, is your cunny wet like hers was?"

I took another step back and I bumped into the desk. Grabbing hold, I clenched the wooden edge behind me. It was steadying – something to hold onto while my world spun around me. The question was, would it ever right itself?

"Of course not."

"Then I will get you wet so my fingers can slide in easily," Kane replied confidently.

"Why is it so important, this...being wet?" I asked, waving my hand before me.

"It tells us you are aroused. It is a sign, an indication of what arouses you, even when you may tell us otherwise."

"What? No." When he didn't move, didn't say anything, I continued. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask to be here. Thomas drugged me and I woke up here, the only option was to work for Mrs. Pratt or to marry you. I didn't want to do either, nor marry either of you. Both of you. How can you expect me to be aroused when it was not my choice?"

"Who is Thomas?" Ian asked, his eyes narrowed.

"My step-brother."

"He's the one you saw fucking?" Kane asked.

I licked my lips. "I saw his secretary first with one of the maids, then when he was done, Thomas took his turn, but I was caught and fled before I witnessed much of that."

Ian nodded. "I ken now. Your step-brother dinna sound like an honorable man. There's nay wonder ye are wary of men."

"You may not want it – this marriage or anything we do to you – your mind may be telling you to resist out of how you perceive you should react, but your body will show us the truth," Kane said.

I was skeptical. Doubtful. Was this what he spoke of? How my mind was questioning him, but could my body go against my very wishes and act at his command? It was impossible, yet so was being married to two men. I could control myself. I crossed my arms firmly over my chest. "How?"

"I know you're afraid." He paused, watched me closely. When I took a deep breath and nodded, he continued. "Answer my questions. I won't even touch you as I do so." He leaned forward, hands on knees and looked up at me, his dark gaze engaging.

"You won't touch me?" I repeated, wanting him to confirm what he said. It raised my hopes, but I let my pessimism show on my face, especially when I looked to Ian.

"Neither of us will. Yet," he clarified. "When your body is ready, then I will find your maidenhead."

I continued to eye him skeptically, doubting him as my body would never be ready, but he was so confident in this!

"Tell me, Emma, what did ye like about watching the couple fuck?" Ian asked. He moved to lean against the wall, ankles crossed, his stance relaxed. Positioned as he was by the door, there was no escape. "Nay your step-brother. The other."

I glanced at a letter opener on the table, my bare feet, the unlit fireplace, everywhere but at him. Them. My sensibilities were being tested.

"Answer me, please."

I couldn't avoid a response. It appeared he had a well of patience and would get what he wanted. They both did. As they said, I belonged to them. Oh dear lord, them! Kane's tone – the way he positioned himself across the room, the way Ian stood so casually – made them unthreatening, as if this was their intention. Even so, it was impossible to forget their purpose. This gentle approach was a plan to win me over, and it was only a matter of time before their real ways would come to light. This couldn't be as simple as just two men wanting me.

"I was returning for a child's lunch pail and at first didn't know what I was witnessing." When they quietly watched me with penetrating, dark gazes but did not respond, I continued. "It caught me by surprise. I never expected, never knew, this could occur in the kitchen."

"You didn't answer my question, but I'll let it pass. How was he fucking her?" Kane asked.

I closed my eyes briefly, completely unaccustomed to this line of query. "She was...on her back on the table. He held her ankles up and spread wide. His member–"

"Cock." I jumped when Ian said the word, interrupting me. "His cock. Say it, lass."

I licked my lips. "His...cock was big and hard and red and he was putting it in her, over and over."

"He was fucking her cunny with his cock." He said the words I couldn't.

I pushed a curl back from my face. "Yes."

"The woman was enjoying his attentions?"

I looked to Kane at his question, met his stare. "Yes. Yes, she was."

"Did you enjoy watching?"

I pushed off the edge of the desk, paced the small room, from the unlit fireplace to the bookshelf and back, steering clear of Ian. I couldn't tell them the truth. What would they think of me? I would be just like the girls below stairs if I admitted I'd felt...need course through me at their actions.

"Emma?"

"No. No, I didn't," I replied, averting my gaze.

"Emma." This time, when he said my name, it was laced with harshness, disappointment. "I will offer you this one opportunity to lie to me. In the future, if you lie, I promise you will not enjoy the consequences."