Their Harlot Bride (Bridgewater Brides)

by Golden Angel

  Their Harlot Bride

  A Bridgewater Brides Novel

  Golden Angel

  Copyright © 2020 by Golden Angel, LLC

  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.

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  All rights reserved.

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  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.

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  Cover design: Bridger Media

  Cover graphic: Hot Damn Stock; DepositPhotos: Kotenko

  Welcome to Bridgewater, where one cowboy is never enough! Their Harlot Bride is published as part of the Bridgewater Brides World, which includes books by numerous authors inspired by Vanessa Vale’s USA Today bestselling series. This is a steamy standalone read. Enjoy!

  Contents

  Prologue - London

  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

  Epilogue

  Bridgewater Brides World

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Golden Angel

  Prologue - London

  Sassy

  * * *

  “Come here, you little whore,” Lord Carmichael snarled, his handsome face twisted in anger as he lunged at me. My heart was racing, my mouth dry with fear. I dared not let him get his hands on me, but I also knew this could only end one way. “I bloody own you now.”

  “I’m not for sale!”

  He laughed, a short, sharp bark of pure amusement and my cheeks flushed hot.

  My services were for sale, just like every other woman in Mrs. Burk’s House, but I was not. Mrs. Burk could not sell me. At least, that was what I told myself. She and Lord Carmichael disagreed.

  “I paid for you, and now, I’ll have you,” he vowed, his hazel eyes glowing hot, turning almost golden. A terrifying sight, I almost whimpered at the dangerous passion I saw reflected back at me.

  The others had warned me about him when they realized he’d taken a liking to me, warned me Lord Carmichael was dangerous. His handsome features hid a mean streak. He was cruel. Obsessive. Another tart had gone with him, promised a position as his mistress after he’d paid off her debts to Mrs. Burk. She’d disappeared after leaving the house with him, never to be seen or heard from again. A month later, he’d reappeared at Mrs. Burk’s, looking for another woman to bed.

  What was I to do?

  Mrs. Burk found me on the streets after my father died, and the landlord cast me out. I had just fled the laundry, the only place I’d been able to find work, and my hands had been chapped and bleeding. I’d been terrified after the manager had pushed me up against a wall, fumbling at my skirts. I’d fought him off and run, but I knew he’d be at me again the next day—I had no choice but to return. I needed the money.

  She’d cooed over my hands, held me while I cried as I told her my sad story, and promised me I could have a better life in her house. I would have a doctor to see to my hands, a room of my own, three meals a day, and beautiful dresses. I would be safe. There would be friends.

  I knew what kind of house she was taking me to, but what did it matter? The laundry manager had wanted the same thing from me. At least this way, I would have a room with a bed and a full belly, too, two things I had not had since my father died.

  She had cleaned me up, brought the doctor, taught me how to please a man, then arranged for my first night with one. It had been more pleasant than working in the laundry. The other ‘ladies’ had been wary of me at first, but when I did not cause trouble or try to poach their callers, they had begun to relax. They warned me about several of the gentlemen who frequented Mrs. Burk’s, including Lord Carmichael. I had begun to feel at home, and the work was certainly no worse than at the laundry, although I never experienced the bliss in my pussy some of the ladies claimed could happen.

  Of course, there were debts. I owed her for the doctor, for my room and board, and for my dresses. She kept a strict accounting of every farthing she spent on all her ladies.

  Lord Carmichael had paid that debt, and as he saw it, had transferred that debt to himself.

  There was only one way this could end, and we both knew it, but I could not stop myself from trying to run from him. He was going to hurt me when he got his hands on me. It would not be the first time. Lord Carmichael liked to make women cry. The last time he’d chosen my services, I’d been left with bruises, welts, and a bite mark on my breast that had taken days to heal.

  He’d had to pay extra before Mrs. Burk would let him back in the house. She’d been forced to call the doctor for me again, and I hadn’t been able to work for several days.

  The knowledge that she had kept him somewhat in line only terrified me more. What would he do now that he felt he owned me?

  I did not want to find out.

  Tears sparked the back of my eyes at the hopelessness of my situation.

  “Come here, Sassy, or else you will regret it,” Lord Carmichael said, almost crooning the words. The sadistic glint in his eyes told me I would regret it either way.

  Still, I hesitated. The table between us was no real shield. If I ran to the door, I could not undo the lock before he caught me. I was trapped. Should I not at least try to placate him? And perhaps I could escape later…

  He took advantage of my hesitation, and I screamed as he practically vaulted over the table. I turned, trying to flee, but his hand caught my long black hair, and I fell to the ground as he jerked me back, my scalp burning from the cruel pull. My hands went to my head to try to relieve the pain as tears spilled over onto my cheeks.

  “Stupid cunt,” he growled, his hand wrapping around my throat as he pulled me up and back against him, cutting off my air. I tried to scream, but no sound emerged. My fingers scrabbled against his, nails digging into his flesh, but his grip did not loosen. “I’m going to fuck all your holes bloody, then I’m going to take you back to my home and use you until I’ve had my fill. Then I’ll turn you over to my men and let them have you.”

  Panic, already beating against my chest, turned me utterly frantic. He let go of my throat to spin me around and shove me into the table I’d been hiding behind. The edge slammed into my stomach, knocking my breath from me, my upper body flopping down across its hard surface.

  Behind me, I heard fabric shift, giving me a rush of energy.

  Run, run, run, run…

  The word echoed in my head. I had to run. I had to get out of there. I would not meet that awful end he’d described. I would not. And I could not risk waiting to escape.

  Spinning, I rolled off the table onto all fours next to the fireplace, wincing as he shouted. A hand grabbed my ankle, and I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the first thing they found—the hot poker in the fire.

  He spun me around, and my arm arced in front of me, wielding the poker like a club, and he screamed when it connected with his face. Skin sizzled, and he fell back, hands to his face. The smell… God, the smell… I nearly choked on it.

  Run, run, run…

  A lord… I’
d just attacked a lord. I would hang for sure if they caught me—if he didn’t get to me first.

  Run, run, run, run, Sassy, run, and never look back.

  I scrambled to my feet, leaving the poker beside him. He was lying on his back, moaning faintly. I could see the blistered skin of his face between his fingers. Gulping, I forced myself to look away.

  I had to run. But where? Anywhere I went, I would need money…

  His purse.

  It was by the bed, along with his coat, which he’d taken off when he first came into the room. Rushing over, I picked it up. A sick feeling roiled in my stomach. Assaulting a lord, stealing from him… I had no choice, but if I was caught…

  I could not think about it.

  I stuffed his purse down the front of my low-cut dress and ran to the door, hurriedly unlocking it as Lord Carmichael’s groans began to grow louder. Dashing into the hall, it was blessedly empty, so I ran.

  I ran down the stairs, past the startled expressions of my fellow whores and the men they were entertaining in the common room, and out the front door into the night. The shouts that followed me spurred me to run faster, and for some reason, I began to laugh, the sound slightly hysterical.

  I was free.

  1

  William

  * * *

  “I can’t believe someone answered the ad,” Clive muttered under his breath as he climbed onto the bench of their wagon and picked up the reins. I was already waiting, a small bouquet of wildflowers for our new wife on my lap. I bit my tongue against snapping back at him because I knew he didn’t mean it personally. He wasn’t insulting me, even though it felt that way.

  I was the one who had written the ad.

  I was the one who had told him someone would answer.

  I was right.

  Clive didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a wife, we both wanted a woman in our lives, but he didn’t like that my way had worked when he’d told me it wouldn’t.

  As much as my fingers itched to be the one driving, for once, I didn’t fight him on it. He was already on edge over the woman arriving today. He couldn’t control who she was, what she looked like, or what kind of wife she’d be, but he could control the horses. Over the years, I’d learned to pick my battles. Sometimes, I thought he still saw me as the scrawny teenager I’d been when he’d rescued me from the gang of men intent on stealing my week’s pay.

  Back then, he’d been twenty-two, four years older than me, bigger and stronger than most young men his age. With regular meals and working the ranch we shared, I’d caught up to him in weight and muscle, but he didn’t seem to notice, and to be truthful, I had trouble pushing him on it. Since I owed him my life, was it really too much to let him take the lead when it was something that didn’t matter much?

  He was more than my partner—he was the brother I’d never had and the man I was going to share my wife with, in the Bridgewater manner. When we’d heard about Bridgewater and the way they married, two men to one woman, we’d known it was the place for us. We shared everything else, so it just made sense.

  Today, I was getting my way, and our new wife was arriving. My dick was already hardening in anticipation. It had been far too long since we’d had a woman between us. I doubted any woman would be ready to jump in the middle of us immediately, but we would enjoy working her up to it and drowning her with pleasure in the meantime. When I answered him, there was no bite to my tone because I’d already won.

  “There was nothing wrong with the ad. At least I didn’t say she had to come with a horse like Justin and Caleb did.”

  Of course, somehow, they’d received an answer to their ad before we had, so the requirement hadn’t set them back. I still didn’t know why my ad had taken longer to find us a woman, but it had worked in the end, and that was what was important.

  Clive sent me a mulish look, his dark eyes full of skepticism before he flicked the reins, getting the horses started down the lane. It felt odd to be on the wagon rather than horseback, but it made the most sense. We had no way of knowing whether or not our bride could ride, and she’d likely be arriving with luggage. It would also be easier to talk to her and get to know her a bit better if she was seated between us for the ride home.

  I knew part of Clive’s worry came from the unknown. Literally, everything about Miss Sassy McCloud was unknown to us except her name. I found it exciting—Clive didn’t.

  If she met the requirements of the ad, we’d both be happy.

  Owners of the NorthWest Ranch in Bridgewater, Montana Territory, desire a wife, age eighteen to twenty-five, pretty, healthy, and able to work hard. In return, wife will be cherished and protected. No portrait necessary.

  Neither of us had a preference for weight, height, hair color, eye color… we liked women. Period. Even though Clive could never be described as easygoing, I figured we could make it work with any woman sent our way if she was of the right age and constitution.

  Clive

  * * *

  William was getting that dreamy-eyed look on his face again, and I didn’t know whether to sigh or smack him on the back of his fool head to knock some sense into him. The boy was a romantic and an optimist, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but could grate on me when he ignored the realities of a situation.

  Like right now.

  He truly thought we were going to walk up to the train station in Travis Point and find a pretty little thing waiting for us, and we’d both fall head over heels in love with her and she with us. Then we’d get hitched in town, take her to the hotel, and pleasure her all night long.

  Well… that last part didn’t sound so bad, but I had no illusions about life. More likely, we were about to meet a woman with a face like a horse and the temperament of a shrew. My cock might not be able to even rise to the occasion. Sure, the other women who had come west to marry the men of Bridgewater had been fine, some of them even real pretty, but they’d had better ads.

  It had taken so long for anyone to even answer William’s ad, I’d begun to think no one would. I’d even been a little disappointed, although I would never tell him. I didn’t think the ad had been a good idea from the beginning, but I hadn’t had a better one.

  The wagon rumbled along the road, passing the fields of cattle and crops as we sat in silence. I could tell he had something on his mind, but I had no inclination to ask him what. He’d speak up when he was ready.

  “Don’t you want a wife?” William finally asked, about a mile outside of town. He sounded a little worried. Considering the way I’d been acting, I guess I couldn’t blame him.

  I did want a wife, but one I’d picked out—we’d picked out together. Marrying the only woman to answer the mail-order ad seemed like a recipe for disaster, but meeting a woman around here we’d want to marry, who wasn’t already claimed, would require as much luck as getting a good woman from an ad.

  “I’m sure I’ll feel better when I meet her,” I said, which was about as cheery as I could make myself. I knew I would be much improved, even if she was a nightmare, because at least then I’d know. Not knowing anything was like an itch in the center of my back I couldn’t reach.

  The telegram she’d sent had been short and to the point, which I would have appreciated any other time. She was coming from New York and claimed to be a hard worker, healthy, and was considered comely. Whether any of that would be true remained to be seen. Still, my heart began to beat a little faster as the wagon came closer and closer to town.

  Our woman, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. Our wife.

  A thread of excitement trickled through me, even as I tried to push it back. There was no point in getting excited until we saw her… and she saw us. Hell, she might not even want us once she realized it was an ‘us.’

  William thought his ad had made it clear we were looking for a wife, but outside of this territory, who would believe such a thing?

  Sassy

  * * *

  I spre
ad the ad and the last telegram over my lap, re-reading the small scrap of paper over and over again.

  Will meet you at the train station in Travis Point. Will have flowers for you. – William

  Knowing how to look for him made me feel a bit easier, but only a bit. I glanced out the window to the golden fields rolling by. So open and empty, they went on for miles, making me feel even smaller than I already did. How could someone hide when there was nothing to hide behind? It was nothing like London or New York City, nothing like anything I’d ever known. I had to hope the difference and the many miles would be enough to keep me safe.

  Heavy boots tramped down the train aisle, and I flinched, ducking my head as the man passed by my bench seat. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything, anyway. I had tucked myself between the window and a large woman who was both taller and broader, and I was still wearing my bonnet to hide my face.

  My fingers shook as I looked down at the ad again.

  Protected.

  That had been the word I’d responded to. I wanted to feel safe again, even if I had to cross an ocean and go all the way to the Montana Territory to do it.

  New York City hadn’t been safe. Lord Carmichael’s money got me there, and I’d found a job sewing in a factory until I decided my next move. I hadn’t dared ply my former trade. Part of me hoped Lord Carmichael might forget about me, but when I remembered his screams, the blood on his face, and the smell of his burned flesh, I knew I couldn’t trust that hope. For a man like him, I doubted an ocean could keep me from his vengeance. From the first, I’d known the city would be the very first place he’d look for me, so my only hope was to disappear.