Jenkins shook his head as if disappointed. “You don’t know what you’re missing. My boys here, they like a woman between them, but the whores upstairs—” he glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the working girls being fucked while we spoke, “—aren’t that eager anymore. It was over a long, cold winter night we came up with the idea for a mail-order bride.”
I wanted confirmation of their intentions. “Am I to understand you hired an agency to find brides for all three of you?”
“You talk funny,” the youngest one commented.
“I’m not from the Montana Territory,” I replied, as if people spoke with British accents elsewhere in the country. We didn’t need to draw attention to ourselves and our accents were easily noticeable. We came halfway around the world for a quiet life. We’d all had enough trouble to last a lifetime. My closest friend, the man with whom I would share a bride with, was an orphan. Logan’s father passed from a bad flu when he was only nine years old. He’d run the streets of Manchester begging for food and money, trying to help his mother survive. But she had faded away right before his eyes. After she died, he’d joined the military to start over.
When our regiment arrived in Mohamir, he’d been the first one of us to see the wisdom of their ways. Two husbands meant safety and comfort for a widow and her children. That was something Logan admired and respected about their society and I agreed.
The drunken sot sitting across from me, Harry, seemed to accept my excuse and my strange accent. He turned away from me and nodded his head at his father, seemingly content with my response. Bloody idiot.
Tad called for another card, stuck it into his hand, then said, “We didn’t use no agency. A newspaper advertisement was all it took.”
“And it’s not three brides,” Jenkins clarified, then pointed to himself and his sons. “Only one. Why the hell do we want three noisy women in the house when we only need one?”
I saw Logan’s eyebrows go up. He leaned forward, placed his forearms on the table. “You’re telling me you placed an advertisement for a bride to share? And you received a reply?”
I shifted in my seat, eager to hear the answer. If a simple advertisement would bring a willing woman to us, a woman content to marry two men instead of one, our bride problem could be easily solved. Apparently, Logan also saw the possibilities. Was this how it was done in America? I was used to arranged marriages among the upper class in England, but those matches were meant to preserve genetic lineage and station. This country broke from king and country a century before to avoid such legacies.
“She must be a hundred-year-old hag,” Evan said, rolling his eyes.
Logan chuckled, but Jenkins held his hand in a fist, shaking it in Evan’s face as if my friend were an idiot. “Now hold on. Of course not! She’s a nice young virgin. Twenty and five. And I got her likeness right here.” Jenkins dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick photograph with ripped edges for Logan to see. Both Evan and I leaned forward for a glimpse of the woman, but Tad had other ideas. He ripped the photograph from his father’s hand before any of us could take a look.
“Damn it, Pa. They’ll try to steal her away.”
Jenkins looked to Logan, who shook his head in disgust and lied through his teeth, his thick American accent as fake as the smile on his face. “I already got a wife. Why would I want yours?”
Jenkins raised an eyebrow and Tad spit a wad of black slime onto the floor near my feet as his father preened like a peacock. “She thinks she’s marrying a forty-year-old widower with wee sons to take care of. And that part’s true.” He grinned and his eyes narrowed. “She’ll be takin’ care of my boys, just not in the way she thinks.”
Tad chuckled and looked to his younger brother. “She’ll be taking very special care of us with that pussy of hers.”
It was a good thing I only had one shot of that rotgut whiskey, for my stomach heaved at the plan these men had devised. The father was going to marry a woman and, without her knowing, planned to share her with his two grown sons. The poor woman thought she would be getting a younger man with small children. The elder Jenkins had to be fifty if he were a day.
My own mother had been married to an old man, a man in his sixties and she just eighteen. She was the second wife of my father, the marquess of Barton. It had been a loveless marriage, a marriage solely to link two families. My mother had been a pawn, just like this Jenkins’ bride. Where my mother had no power to deny her fate, this woman was choosing to become Jenkins’ bride. But why? What drove a woman to marry a man sight unseen? Desperation, if I had to venture a guess.
That didn’t make the situation any better.
“Taking care of you two with her pussy?” Evan pointed from Tad to Harry, his back stiff as a giant oak, but none of the Jenkins men noticed.
“It’s all in the family. We’ll all fuck her. Little Harry here has an itch that needs to be scratched. A virgin itch. Well, not quite virgin, since I’ll break her in first.” Jenkins winked at his youngest, Little Harry, who was well over six feet of solid muscle, his massive size no doubt acquired over weeks and months of moving rock in the mines.
“I doubt this woman will be too keen on the idea,” I said, keeping my voice neutral despite the gut-churning desire I had to pound Jenkins’ face into dust. My mother hadn’t been forced to bed other men. In fact, once I was born, the heir, I doubted she bedded any man ever again.
Logan and I would share a bride someday, but it would be for our wife’s benefit, not ours. When we claimed her, she’d be the center of our universe. We’d cherish her, love her, protect her, never do anything to defile her or betray her trust. We would be nothing like these men. If something happened to me, I was comforted to know that my future bride, and any children we might have, would be safe and cared for by Logan. I knew he felt the same.
I was the marquess of Barton, had been for the past five years when my father had died at the ripe age of eighty-eight. A bride didn’t stay safe and warm because of a title. It was the man who’d inherited it that she needed.
Bloody fucking hell. I’d left England to avoid these kinds of shenanigans and we were in the thick of it now. None of us could walk away with the information these men were imparting. The west was a rough place. Wild. A man’s world. It was hard enough for a woman to survive and no woman deserved to be preyed upon by the likes of the Jenkins men.
I didn’t even need to look at Logan to know he agreed with me. Evan was having a harder time keeping his feelings in check. He tossed his cards on the table. “I fold. I need a drink.”
He stood, his chair scraping across the scarred wood floor. Glancing at me first, then at Logan, Evan shook his head. “I’ll see you later.”
I lifted my chin in response and the Jenkins men watched him leave.
“What’s his problem?” old man Jenkins asked. He didn’t wait for me to respond, only leaned forward, then looked left and right. “We’re keeping it in the family. It’s not like we’ll let anyone fuck her. Any seed that fills that pussy will belong to a Jenkins.”
“And her ass. You said an ass fuck is even tighter than a virgin pussy,” Little Harry countered. The eagerness I saw on his face made me sick.
Tad grinned and made a crude gesture with his hands. “You two can have her pussy. I’m taking that virgin ass.”
I was ready to reach across the table and punch Tad in the nose, but that wouldn’t help the woman who was unaware of their intentions. While I had to agree that ass fucking was the tightest fuck ever, Logan and I would only do it after much preparation and only when the woman was so damn hot she begged us to take her completely. I doubted Tad could arouse a woman, let alone prepare her properly.
“You think the people in this town will like knowing what you’re doing?” I asked.
Little Harry grinned. “We’re not tellin’ people. It’s our secret. Ain’t like she’ll talk neither. Since talking would ruin her reputation and all.”
Clearly, none of
them could hold their whiskey for their secret was now ours. While we wouldn’t go off and tell the sheriff of their perverted plans, we could certainly intervene on behalf of the woman. Once the vows were said, these men could do whatever they wanted with the bride. Beat her, share her, fuck her. She belonged to her husband in the eyes of the law and there was nothing that said he couldn’t share with his sons.
“When is she expected to arrive?” Logan asked.
Ah, he was right there with me. We weren’t letting these men anywhere near the woman who was coming halfway across the country with expectations of a real marriage. What would drive a woman to accept an advertisement for a husband, sight unseen? She had to be desperate. Alone. The more I thought about this bastard’s plans, the angrier I became.
Old man Jenkins shrugged. “Day after tomorrow. Coming in on the stage from Omaha.”
I raised my hand and signaled to the bartender to bring another bottle of whiskey. He brought it over quickly and I took it from him in exchange for a few coins.
“Gentlemen, this is in honor of you and your future bride.” I filled their shot glasses to the brim as I choked out the words.
Little Harry whooped as old man Jenkins reached across and slapped Logan on the shoulder. “I’d say you’re welcome to stop by later in the week and partake of our bride.” He winked. “But she’ll already be more than busy enough riding three cocks.”
They lifted their glasses and tossed the bitter brew back. I refilled again and again as we played cards for the next few hours, ensuring the bottle was empty and none of them would be conscious tomorrow morning when Logan and I headed out of town to intercept that stage.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth
As the coach pulled to a stop after hours of rocking and swaying, I was eager for a hotel room and a bath. My back ached nearly as much as my bottom, and I knew when I lay down to sleep later, the world would still feel as if it moved beneath me.
But, we had arrived. Finally! My sisters and I were hundreds of miles away from my vile uncle. I would meet my husband and my sisters and I would be safe. Protected. For once in my life, I would be taken care of by a man who wanted me.
I needed a bath, but I wouldn’t be choosy. I’d settle for a basin and ewer with fresh water to rid me of the miles of travel dust. I’d seen the never-ending open prairie, the tall grass turning toward gold. Hayes was much smaller than Omaha, and the first thing we couldn’t miss on the edge of town was a church, the sacred house of worship where I would soon take my solemn vows.
A schoolhouse stood guard over a yard full of a dozen playing children and a long row of shops and houses lined the main thoroughfare of this quaint western town. The stage stopped in front of the mercantile, and I sighed in relief as the stage stumbled to a stop. A week of waiting threatened to make me daft. Waiting and wondering.
With each mile we traveled over the last few days, I worried. Would my husband find me beautiful despite my dark skin and eyes? Would he desire me? Would he be kind or cruel? I did not worry over his looks, for I knew a handsome face could hide an evil heart. My entire life, I had been treated as an outcast, the bastard child of a wanton woman’s wicked pleasure. Tainted. I could withstand harsh judgment, but hoped for kindness. In the deepest, darkest place in my soul, I hoped for a man’s love, but that was too grand a dream to ever speak aloud.
No. I worried most what my husband would think of my two sisters. They would be a surprise, something he had not expected. I hadn’t been able to leave them behind with our uncle though. Because of my wanton ways, he was going to marry me to a man with six grown children. From what my uncle had told me, I was to be Mr. Partridge’s third wife and as such, he wanted a lusty bed partner and not a simpering virgin. My uncle had told him of my unfortunate, licentious leanings, of my immoral background and the man had still been more than eager.
I, however, was repulsed. Mr. Partridge was fifty-two. He was obese and had jowls. Food fell from his lips as he talked during a meal, landing unceremoniously on his shirt. To make the man even more odious and the arrangement completely ironic, he was very pious and committed to the church, which meant he expected me to be demure and meek when in public.
And a harlot in private.
I wondered if he expected me to eat his leftover dinner off his shirt as I undressed him for bed.
The only way to escape him was to flee Omaha. But if I left either Judith or Rebekah behind, surely our uncle would marry one of them off to him—or someone just like him—instead.
Accepting the offer made in that advertisement had been my last desperate attempt to save myself and my sisters. I understood, too well, that a man with two sons to raise didn’t need additional mouths to feed, but we’d been desperate, so desperate, to get away.
Because of this, I would keep Judith and Rebekah a secret until after I was wed tomorrow. Only then could my new husband not send all three of us home. I’d gone mad, surely, but our uncle had finally pushed me too far. I took a deep breath, let it out. I could do this. I could do anything as long as I wasn’t in Omaha. My husband might reject my sisters, but if I married, they could remain in Hayes as respectable women with the hopes of finding employment, or even husbands of their own.
If my new husband refused to help us? Well, the little money I had saved would keep us reputable for a few months. Hopefully, that would be long enough to see them properly wed. After that, I didn’t much care what happened to me. I would survive, as I always had. As long as I was away from the pious Mr. Partridge.
In a rush to be free of the cramped quarters, we stepped down and landed in the middle of a group of men who were busy loading sacks of flour, tins of food and other supplies into the back of a wagon. They paused and looked our way, each and every man tipping his hat in our direction.
The group was large, at least ten men. Judith and Rebekah froze in place at the sight of them all, for they were quite large and very formidable. They exuded an aura of… power. It appeared that they were traveling, just passing through town to purchase supplies. I tried to imagine all of them housed under one roof at a hotel or boardinghouse, but rejected the idea. There was something wild and untamed about these men. Fearless and bold, like I imagined a great grizzly bear would be, ambling through the forest. I suspected men such as these slept beneath the stars with loaded guns at their sides.
“There isn’t much to this town, Lizzie.” Rebekah picked up her cream-colored skirts and looked around with a frown, clearly not as intrigued by the men as I. The top half of her dress was cut of a dark, velvet brown that brought out the gold streaks in her hair.
“I told you two the town was small.” I tried to keep my voice low as I studied the men’s laden saddlebags and filled wagon. While we were at our final destination, these men seemed to have a long way to go.
Pity. One or two of them might have made fine husbands for my sisters.
“It’s nothing like Omaha, that’s the truth.” Judith stood next to her sister, her blue traveling dress stained around the hem, but the dress’ color a vibrant match for the cornflower blue of her eyes. “I hope your Jenkins is worth it, Lizzie. I’m going to miss having tea at Mrs. Dodd’s house. Do they even have a hotel?”
My sisters didn’t know of my uncle’s arrangement with Mr. Partridge. They’d only fret or offer themselves up in my stead. As I wanted none of us yoked with that man, here we stood.
“Of course.” I had asked the stage driver three towns back. If not, I’d planned on leaving my sisters at the last stop, in a reputable hotel, until I was a married woman and could safely retrieve them. Having them in Hayes was better. I wanted them close. Safe.
“Hotel’s just up the street, ladies.” All the air was sucked from my lungs at the deep, silky voice that slid over my skin like a caress. I recognized the accent from a trip to New York. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was British, and these men were a long, long way from home.
“Thank you.” I smiled because I couldn’t help myself as
I studied the two men standing side by side, one with a sack of flour over his shoulder. The other, the man who had spoken, was busy winding up a length of rope in large, rough-looking hands. My attention was drawn to the smooth glide of the rope under his hardened knuckles and I imagined the rough drag of those strong hands over my sensitive skin. Both men were both dark-haired and tall with closely trimmed black beards creating an air of danger and mystery that made me shiver. They were handsome. Intense, almost brooding… and looking directly at me.
They looked me over—me, not my sisters—taking in every inch of my body, their gazes tracking every curve of the simple yellow fabric that covered my ample breasts and wide hips. I flushed, remembering how bedraggled and filthy I must look. I’d never been at the receiving end of such blatant stares. How long had they been on the trail? Too long, if they found me more appealing than either of my younger, fairer sisters.
Judith and Rebekah were beautiful with their pale hair and creamy skin. They were just over a year apart in age and were often mistaken for twins, except Judith’s eyes were a pale blue and Rebekah’s green as spring grass. I looked more like a complete stranger than their sister. While they took after our mother in size and coloring, I had the darker looks of my father, who I had been told was my mother’s biggest mistake.
As golden as my sisters’ hair was, mine was black and straight. My skin was warmly brown year round and tanned at the lightest kiss of the sun. My sisters were petite and classically beautiful while I looked like a giantess standing a half head taller, my shoulders wider, my breasts and hips full. If my sisters were lovely reeds swaying in the river’s wind, I was the large, sturdy cottonwood lining its banks. We were as different as night and day. We shared a last name because our father had adopted me when he married my mother. We were the Lewis sisters, but I was the bastard. The black sheep.
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