Their Conquered Bride. Grace Goodwin
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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.
The daughter of a tainted woman, inheritor of both her wicked tongue and wanton blood. Neither made me acceptable company in our small, God-fearing community. If our father hadn’t been the minister, I’m sure I would have been stoned to death by age fourteen.
Still, the two men near the wagon looked at me and I saw desire darken their eyes. They looked at me now the way the two men I’d seen the night before looked at the naked beauty between them, with want. Lust. Need. The memories of what I’d witnessed were what made today’s stage journey tolerable. I couldn’t think of much else. What maiden could? Instead of being horrified, as I should, I was envious. I tried to clear the image from my mind, but it was too late. All I could think about was being shared by them, just as naked, wanton and wild as the woman I’d seen.
My heart leapt into my throat as they continued to eye me and I fought for breath. The man tossed the sack into the back of a wagon with an ease that showcased his strength and the breadth of his shoulders. The other continued to coil the length of rope, watching me, slow and patient as a cat stalking a mouse. Every long inch of them screamed rugged cowboy and I made fists of my hands so I would not reach out to touch what did not now, and never would, belong to me.
I lowered my eyes and turned my attention to the tattered tips of my shoes, ashamed. I was ogling men who were not my intended husband. My wicked blood was going