Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2) (6 page)

"Oh, oh I am sorry, Duncan," Tempest gasped, clutching a pillow. "I'll be good."

              "That you will," he informed her, slapping each cheek in turn. "And dinna for a moment think this is a hardship on me, my love. I find it quite exciting to give my dominant nature free reign outside the bedroom after so many years together. The sight of your naughty, well-spanked bottom inspires a burning in my loins I have no intention of denying. When we are done here you are to go upstairs and wait for me to come to you."

"Oui," she whispered, sagging in relief when his hand began to caress her burning globes.

              Spreading her legs he slipped his big hand between her thighs, and ignoring her tears and wiggles, prodded her opening with his finger until the dewy moisture coated his digit.

              In a second, he was deep inside her, stroking in and out firmly while she clamped down trying uselessly to keep him out.

              "None of that," he ordered, withdrawing briefly to land several hard spanks on her ass as she cried out. "Do you think I don't know it excites you when I take you in hand?"

Tempest slumped in shame, her tears falling rapidly.

              "It's all right, love. Give yourself to me, your needs and your fears. I'll take them all," he whispered gently. "I have nothing but love for you in my heart, Lass. Dinna be afraid."

              For the next several minutes he teased his wife, coaxing her closer and closer to climax with his thick fingers stroking her clit before plunging into her core. He smiled as her bottom rose to meet his thrusts, quivering each time he returned to manipulate her hidden nub. Finally, just as he sensed she was about to go over the edge, and feeling her begin to contract around him, he stopped and applied several more swats to her glowing bottom.

              "Duncan," she moaned, obviously willing to ignore the painful spanking if he would just return to his other pursuits.

"No, this is a punishment."

              "I need you," Tempest cried, looking at him over her shoulder with accusing tear-filled eyes.

              "I know, but you will learn you do not control everything and that your tantrums will bring you more than a red bottom if you don't behave. In fact, I find a great deal of my day is spent thinking of ways to discipline my naughty wife if she doesn't mind me."

"You do?" she gasped.

"Yes, I do. Now go upstairs and wait for me. I'll be there soon," he said as he helped her up and rose from the settee. "And don't touch yourself, Lass. I know you have brought yourself pleasure many times over the years when you were angry with me and wanted to punish me with your disinterest. Dinna do that today, or you're likely to find out just how determined I am to break you of your disobedience." Stooping, he pulled up her pantalets and smacked her bottom before letting her skirts drop.

              Tempest's face went from pale to red in seconds as the enormity of his promise registered. Swiftly she fled the room, her feet flying up the stairs. For once, she didn't slam their bedroom door.

              Molly Muldoon chewed nervously on her fingernail and looked around the huge kitchen. She knew this day was coming and had done everything she could to avoid it, including pretending to be sick and trading favors, but it was finally here and she couldn't think of any way to get out of it. It was her turn to cook dinner.

              Oh, she could make a delicious apple pie and molasses cookies that would have everyone shitting like a blue goose, but that was the extent of her culinary expertise. Why, why had she lied in her letter to Mr. Jordon?

             
Because you thought he was rich and although the likelihood of him wanting the likes of you was slim, there was always a chance. Thought you'd maybe marry a rich man and have servants to cook and fetch for you, didn't you, you silly girl?

              "Oh shut up!" Molly hated it when her conscience got the best of her. It was a sarcastic voice in her head that wouldn't or couldn't be quiet. "I should have told Angus the truth when I had the chance," she mumbled, looking in cupboards for something to inspire her.

             
Yes you should have, you deceitful little baggage. You got yourself brought out here under false pretenses, now your goose is cooked. When he finds out you can't cook, he'll toss you out on your ear!

              "But his letter was so sweet," she sighed. "The way he talked about working side by side and building a future together and maybe having a few children. I guess I got caught up in his dream."

Y
ou got caught all right. Right between a rock and a hard place.

"Oh, for the love of Mike, will you shut up! You're not helping anything."

              "Molly, are you all right in here?" Martha asked sticking her head in the doorway. "I thought I heard yelling."

              "Oh, yes… I just cut myself," Molly said, grimacing as she clutched her finger in her apron.

Little liar.

              "Oh dear, let me see. Jane is out for a buggy ride with Dr. Martin, but they should be back soon."

As Martha approached, Molly backed up.

              "No, no it will be all right. I just don't know if I can make dinner tonight, what with all the bleeding."

              "I'd better take a look at it," Martha insisted. Reaching out she took hold of Molly's forearm and tugged. "Come on, Molly. Don't be such a ninny."

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Molly released her finger and showed it to Martha.

"Why I don't see a thing wrong with it," Martha observed. "Are you feeling all right in the head?" she asked, laying the back of her hand against Molly's forehead.

              "I'm fine," Molly snapped as she pulled away. "I'm just in a fine fix is all and I don't know what to do."

              "What kind of a fix?" Martha eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. "You're not in some kind of trouble are you?"

              "Oh, I'm in trouble, but not the kind you're thinkin'. I'm not havin' a baby or in trouble with the law or anything like that," Molly insisted, brushing her red hair off her damp forehead. Walking to the big worktable she hoisted herself up and sat.

"Then what is it? Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"I can't cook."

"Pardon me?"

"I said I can't cook."

"At all?" Martha gasped.

              "Well, I can cook a little, for a small family maybe. I don't think anyone would starve or die or anything, but that's about it."

              "But Molly, Mr. McGuire is building that new cabin for you. He thinks you're going to live on the mountain and help him feed the men."

Molly nodded dejectedly.

"Why did you lie? There were no requirements of that sort in Mr. Jordon's advertisement. Why make up a story?"

              "I don't know," Molly replied, twisting her hands. "I felt desperate. I figured I wasn't high class enough for him to choose me so I just sort of threw that in there, thinkin' he might have a job for me, being a big timber baron and all."

              "I thought it was Mr. McGuire who wrote to you and paid your fare out here. Surely he must have explained what he was looking for in a wife."

              "He did. Angus was completely honest. It's me who's the big fat liar. I knew all along he needed someone to be a helpmate to him, yet I never told him the truth. As I said, I was desperate. I'd been living with my brother Toby and his wife in a two room shack. They already have four children and another on the way. I couldn't be a burden to them any longer so I took a room over the tavern where I worked serving drink to seamen.

              "Lately some of the men started thinkin' I was good for more than a song or two and a pinch on the backside. Then one night I overheard some of them plotting, talkin' about what a pretty young thing I was and how people in certain ports would pay dearly for a redhead with fair white skin. That night after my shift, I went to my room, packed my bags and climbed out the window onto the metal stairs. I ran back to my brother's and two days later the fare arrived from Angus. You better believe I was on the first train I could get."

              "Oh Molly, I'm so sorry. If I had only known you then, I could have offered assistance. My home and shop were probably no more than five miles away from the wharf. So that's why you wouldn't go with Mr. McGuire when he came to fetch you?"

              "Yes, and he didn't look like the kind of man who could take a joke. It seemed best to put him off as long as I could and try to figure something out. Now the cabin is nearly completed and time is running out." Jumping down from the table she looked at Martha with panic in her eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

              "I'm going to run away," she said with bravado, squaring her shoulders. "I'll get a job somewhere and pay Mr. McGuire back if it's the last thing I do."

              "Molly, that's a horrible plan," Martha insisted, taking hold of Molly's shoulders. "Why you're likely to end up in the same position you ran away from in the first place. There are unsavory men all over, and you are very pretty. I'm sure the places that would hire you in Seattle pose their own dangers. No, we must think of something else," she drawled thoughtfully.

"Why not just tell Mr. McGuire the truth?"

              "What? The man's a mountain, and he doesn't appear to have much of a sense of humor. I might fare better with a bear. No, I simply can't throw myself on his mercy when I'm not sure he has any. It's really a cryin' shame because I did so want to get married and have a family of my own. Angus seems like the kind of man who would protect his woman with his life and I wouldn't have to be afraid of anyone. Now I'm afraid of him," she finished sadly.

              ""What about telling him he has to marry you before you go up the mountain? That way by the time he finds out you lied, it will be too late to get rid of you," Martha suggested.

Molly laughed.

              "Martha, I'm surprised you would even suggest something so underhanded, but I couldn't do it anyway. He deserves to get what he paid for and that's not me. No, it's best if I just disappear. Maybe then he'll up and marry one of the other girls." Molly wiped a tear away from her cheek and stiffened her spine.

'Maybe none of them can cook either," Martha offered.

"Most any woman can cook," Molly snorted.

"Yes, but not everyone can provide meals for forty men, three times a day."

              "That's true, but at least Angus will know it before he weds. With me, it would always be between us, knowing I tricked him into sending for me and marrying me."

              "All right, I won't argue with you about this anymore today," Martha sighed unbuttoning the cuffs of her shirtwaist and pushing up her sleeves. "And I won't tell anyone either, but only if you wait until after the ball Mrs. Jordon is planning." Reaching into the ice box she pulled out a ham. "Maybe you will catch someone else's eyes who won't care if you can cook or not. See if you can find any cabbage and a few potatoes. I'm sure we can come up with something for supper between the two of us."

              "I'll wait as long as I can," Molly promised, "but no matter what happens, I'm glad you're my friend, Martha," Molly said with a watery smile.

              "Molly, can you sew?" Martha asked on a hopeful note. If she was forced to open a new shop to support herself, maybe Molly could work for her.

              "About as well as I can cook," was the muffled answer as Molly stuck the upper half of her body in a huge wooden bin and began to gather potatoes.

"Oh, that's too bad."

* * * * *

              By the time their train neared the station in Omaha, both Effie and Grace were convinced Jonah Blackthorn had more than a passing interest in Grace. Each time they left their compartment he magically appeared full of compliments as well as questions.  No matter when they went to the dining car, and they tried multiple unusual times, there he was.

              At first Grace was flattered, but as the train took them further west, she began to see his questions about their background and destination as much more than curiosity. Despite his good looks and charming manner, he'd become a prying annoyance and she'd told so many stories she feared she'd never be able to keep them straight.

              "You were right all along, Effie," Grace whispered, nodding as Jonah approached their table and pulled out a chair.

              "Well ladies, we should be in Omaha in a couple of hours. I take it you'll want to go directly to the fort to see your father, Miss Brown," he remarked, pouring coffee from the pot the porter brought to the table.

"Yes, I imagine so," Grace replied, watching Effie for guidance.

              "Good. I hope you'll allow me to escort you. I'd very much like to meet your father and I have business there."

Effie gave a tiny nod and Grace replied.

"It's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Blackthorn."

              "Please, Miss Brown. I thought we were beyond the formalities. Don't you remember you agreed to call me, Jonah?" he asked, smiling as he gently teased her.

"Of course, Jonah," she murmured.

"That's much better. Miss Crumb, will you be traveling to Fort Omaha also?"

Effie narrowed her eyes before forcing herself to relax.

              "Oh my yes, I wouldn't dream of abandoning my dear friend at this stage of the journey. Now if you'll excuse us, we have some packing to do." Laying down her napkin, Effie rose from her seat.

              "Certainly," Jonah replied as he stood. "I don't want you two ladies to worry about a thing. I'll arrange for a carriage and meet you inside the station where you can wait out of the hot sun."

"Thank you."

              "What are we going to do?" Grace hissed as they made their way back to their compartment. "I think you were right all along, he's a Pinkerton," she continued sadly.

              "Whether he is or he isn't, he's showing entirely too much interest in our plans for my peace of mind," Effie said as they closed the door behind them. "For all the talking he's done in the last few days, he's told us very little about himself. I don't trust a man who looks as good as he does and is a smooth talker besides. We need to get rid of him."

"What do you mean 'get rid of him'?" Grace gasped, grabbing Effie's arm.

"Relax, I'm not going to shoot him, just arrange for a little delay," Effie said with a laugh. "For heaven's sake, Grace. Oh Porter, how far is the fort from the station?" she asked, opening the door and stopping the man who had  taken care of their needs since leaving Chicago.

"Not far ma'am. I say less than ten miles, probably more like eight."

"I see, and how long is the wait before this train leaves to continue west?"

"We are in the station for about ninety minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

              "No… wait, I believe there is. I want you to make sure our baggage does not leave this train under any circumstances," she continued, turning to reach into her reticule. Pressing money into the man's hand she closed his fist around it. "Do you understand? We will be leaving the train for a short period of time, but we will return in time to board. I would appreciate it very much if you don't mention this conversation to anyone, and if anyone try's to remove our things, tell them someone from the fort will be along to take care of it."

"I understand, ma'am."

"Thank you, I'm counting on your discretion."

Closing the door, Effie sat and tapped her finger against her chin. "Hmm, that doesn't give me much time."

              "Please don't tell me what you're planning, Effie," Grace said with a shiver. "I have a feeling I won't like it."

              "You probably won't, but it's the only way we can be sure Jonah Blackthorn is not on this train when it leaves."

"You're not going to injure him are you?" Grace asked, fearfully.