Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Menage Series Book 7) Read Online Free Page B

caught up to her quickly with our long strides.
    “I know just the place,” she said. “Gentlemen, how do you feel about whores?”

 
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    SULLY
     
    “Sweetheart, you’ve got some explaining to do,” I leaned down and whispered in Mary’s ear.
    She’d led us across town to the back door of The Briar Rose brothel. There hadn’t been enough time for Millard or Benson to send out some goons to harass us so our walk had been uneventful. I hated Butte. Any city for that matter. There were too many people, too many ways to get in trouble. I went out of my way to avoid trouble, but today, it happened upon us in the form of a blond-haired vixen. Oh, she was innocent all right, but she tempted me—and Parker—all the same. There had been no question that she was the woman for us, problems and all.
    So instead of avoiding conflict or any chance of additional strife in my life, I accepted Mary’s as my own. What troubled her, troubled me. What was intending to hurt her, I took care of. There was no way she could be anything but my wife. With my fucking history, I was the safest choice for her. No one would bother her based on being married to me alone. But Mary seemed to lead us from one surprise to another. What virgin miss knew about the kitchen door of a brothel? What innocent was welcomed within with a familiarity that proved she’d visited before?
    “A brothel?” Parker asked.
    While neither Parker nor I had been to this particular establishment before, it was much like any other. In the past, we entered by the front door. Tonight, we found ourselves gaining entry off the alley and into the crowded kitchen. The cook was stirring something that smelled an awful lot like boiled cabbage on the stove. Two whores sat at the large table in just their corsets and petticoats eating. Another girl came into the room, saw Mary, then fled.
    Mary said hello to one of the whores and refused a bowl of the cabbage from the cook. How the fucking hell was Mary mixed up with a brothel? By the way she’d behaved on the train and her complete distaste and obvious fear of Benson, I’d have bet anything that she was a virgin. But what virgin was on a familiar level with those in a brothel?
    A woman in just a snug corset and bloomers came through the swinging doorway. Piano music followed her, but was muffled when the door closed. She was of middle height with full breasts almost spilling from the corset. Her legs were long and shapely, her skin creamy and pale. It was her fiery red hair that set her apart from other women. Clearly a whore, she was most likely very successful in drawing attention.
    “Mary!” she cried, running over and pulling our bride—we would be married before the night was through—into a boisterous hug.
    They grinned and clearly knew each other. With one blond and the other a redhead, there was no family resemblance. They were not related. How did these two women, from completely different backgrounds, become friends?
    “I… need your help,” Mary admitted.
    The woman glanced at Parker and me. We were big and looming and the kitchen felt small with us in it. She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll say.”
    When her friend’s giggling subsided, Mary made introductions. “This is Mr. Corbin and Mr. Sullivan. Gentlemen, may I introduce my friend, Chloe?”
    We removed our hats and nodded. Between Parker and me, I was the quieter and much more patient one, and even he wasn’t pushing Mary into giving answers. There were too many, but they would come. If not, we’d spank them out of her readily enough. I doubted anyone in the building would take offense if I sat down and put her over my knee, tossed up her skirts and turned her perfect ass a nice shade of pink.
    “We need a place to stay tonight,” Mary told her friend.
    Chloe eyed Mary closely. “I’ll need to get Miss Rose.”
    She turned on her heel and left before Mary could say more than, “But—”
    As we waited, I tugged her over