Their Conquered Bride. Grace Goodwin

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 to ruin this chance for us if I didn’t get myself back under control. What would Mr. Jenkins say if he knew the naughty thoughts filling my head to overflowing? And still…

      Hope flared in my chest. If this was the caliber of man to be had in the Montana Territory, I couldn’t wait to meet my new husband. Perhaps he, too, would be ruggedly handsome. Strong. Perhaps he would make my heart skip a beat and my nipples peak beneath my dress like these two did.

      Perhaps one of these men was Mr. Jenkins himself?

      Surely not. It couldn’t be possible, could it? At our last stop, I’d sent a message ahead to Mr. Jenkins telling him we would arrive in three days’ time. I felt a small twinge of guilt for lying to my betrothed, as it had been only two since I sent the message. Mr. Jenkins was not expecting us today, and I was eager to hurry along, to have Judith and Rebekah safely settled in our hotel room, hidden from sight, until after the wedding was over. With only a few stagecoach runs to Hayes, worry took root in my chest. What if he were as anxious as I? What if he came a day early to look for me?

      Taking a deep breath, I relaxed my tense shoulders. No. Fate would not be so cruel to me, not after she had taken me this far. I could believe nothing else.

      That meant that none of the handsome men before us were Mr. Jenkins. As confirmation of that, none of the men, while they enjoyed looking at the three of us, stepped forward to claim me. I had been sure to send Mr. Jenkins a recent photograph, so he had my likeness, but none of these men had two small sons in tow either. Disappointment was bitter on my tongue as I pasted a smile onto my lips and lifted my chin high. Mr. Jenkins would be wonderful. He simply must be. I was sure of it.

      The driver dropped our bags at our feet with the disinterest of a man who had ten more miles to ride before bed. I afforded him a small smile of thanks, then picked up the bag that held my meager belongings. The summer day was warm, but a slight breeze reminded me that fall was on the way. I was thankful for my thin coat, but knew we would need my husband to purchase heavier winter things for us before the ice and snow took hold.

      “Let’s find our hotel,” I said to my sisters, offering them a small smile.

      The cruelty of our uncle may have pushed me to agree to marry a man and be mother to his children through a newspaper advertisement as a means of escape, but I wanted to at least freshen myself and have a good night’s sleep before I faced my future. Tomorrow, I would be strong again. Tomorrow, I would meet my new family for the first time and allow myself to fall in love with my new sons. Tonight, I would close my eyes, put my feet up and enjoy my last day of freedom.

      I urged my sisters to walk ahead of me onto the boardwalk, passing them as we carried our bags to the hotel. The two men I’d noticed earlier turned their heads and continued to look at me as I went by, tipping their hats. I told myself not to look. I swear I did. But it was like they possessed a secret power over my body and my eyes refused to listen to my head. I glanced at the closest man and a shiver raced down my spine at the intense interest I saw there. His friend, a few steps farther, drew my attention directly thereafter. His gaze was dark and thoughtful, but he looked at me as if he knew me, as if he knew my secrets and could see straight into my soul.

      I held my breath as I passed in a vain attempt to avoid the spicy scent of their bodies. They smelled so much better than I’d expected. Sweat and dust and the odor of horses clung to the air, yet these men smelled of wild pine trees and earth.

      “Miss,” the second man said, his voice rough and dark and deep.

      Up close, I could see that the first had green eyes; the other’s were dark as coffee. I should have been wary or even fearful of their unswerving attention. Instead, I felt… hot all over. Lightheaded, as if I would faint. My heart was practically beating out of my chest and my nipples tightened beneath my corset. I pulled my thin wool coat closed around me, thankful it would hide that embarrassing fact, and forced my feet to carry me forward.

      As I turned away from them and headed toward the hotel at the end of the block, I could feel them watching me, their gazes like fire tracing a mark on my back. Once in the hotel room, my sisters took over the bed to rest. I stripped out of my dusty clothes. Standing before the mirror, I saw my scrubbed complexion. No matter how much soap I used, how much I scrubbed, I would always feel dirty. Years and years of living with my uncle had reinforced that notion.

      Tears of exhaustion filled СКАЧАТЬ