Desperate Hearts (19 page)

Emma was surprised that she didn’t mind him holding her the way he did. “But he’s rich and powerful, Mitch. He knows all the right people and he always gets his way, and I was so scared you’d send me back to New York or that he’d follow me here. I’m
still
scared he’ll find
me.”

Mitch rested on his elbows, kissing her eyes, her cheeks. “I hope he
does
follow you here. This isn’t New York, Emma. This is Montana,
my
jurisdiction. Here
I’m
the one with the power. He’ll have me to deal with if he shows up
here!”

She studied his eyes, wondering why it didn’t frighten her to have him over her the way he was. “You truly believe
me?”

“Of course I believe you. I
love
you.”

He kissed her again, this time on the lips…so gently…and she wasn’t afraid. She felt joy and relief and love. Yes, she loved him. She moved her arms around his neck. “Don’t let him ever touch me again, Mitch.”

“He’ll never touch you
again.”

“Say it
again.”

“He’ll never touch you, and in a way, he never did. You’ve only been touched that way when
you
want to be touched that way. And from now on, I’m the man who will be doing the touching, and it will be because I love you and not because I want to hurt
you.”

She felt lost in him then as he kissed her again, this kiss much deeper. He moved his lips to her neck. “It doesn’t have to be a terrible thing, Emma, not if you’re in love.” He kissed her again. “Marry me, Emma. I’ll love and protect you forever, and I’ll settle this thing with Alan Radcliffe once and for
all.”

He kissed her again, a long, delicious kiss that made her wonder what it would be like to take a man she really wanted. “Marry me,” he repeated. “I want to make you mine, Emma.” A deeper kiss, gentle touches. He had a way of taking away all the fear and
ugliness.

“Will you truly marry me?” she
whispered.

“I’ll marry you today…right
now.”

“But I don’t want to stop,” she whispered. “I don’t want this feeling to
end.”

“Then I’ll stay right here and show you what it will be like to be Mitch Brady’s wife…and tomorrow at the picnic we’ll make it legal. By this time tomorrow you’ll
be
Mitch Brady’s wife, and I’ll protect you with my life, Emma.”

“Please don’t be
lying.”

“You already know I don’t
lie.”

Another kiss. He had a way of taking command, not through violence but through kisses and the way he touched her. He moved a hand under her skirt and along her thigh in a way that brought out a need she’d never felt
before.

Emma closed her eyes. “I want it to be nice, Mitch.”

“It will be, but if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.” More kisses. “It won’t be easy, but I never want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do
something.”

“No. Don’t stop.” She kept her eyes closed as he pushed up her skirt and slipped her bloomers down her legs, over her ankles. He moved back over her, kissing her neck. She met his gaze and realized he’d really stop if she didn’t want this. She knew by the honesty in those mesmerizing blue eyes that he was sincere and determined and filled with desire. He wanted her in a way that went beyond just having his way with her. It was nothing like what Alan Radcliffe had done to
her.

“I never thought I could feel that way about a man.” She sucked in her breath when he touched her in that place Alan Radcliffe had so rudely and violently hurt her. It wasn’t like that this time. Mitch smothered her with the most gentle, delicious kisses while at the same time touching forbidden places with an exquisite expertise that made her want more. In moments she felt the most pleasant, exotic explosion deep inside that made her gasp with want for
him.

Mitch moved between her legs, his powerful frame making her feel small and at his mercy, yet she didn’t mind. He reached down and loosened his cotton pants, and the next thing Emma knew, Mitch Brady was inside her. His first thrust startled her and she dug her fingers into his
arms.

“Don’t be afraid of it, Emma,” he whispered into her
ear.

Their lips met, and Emma felt as though they were one body. Something rippled through her, an intense longing to please him, a hungry desire to be filled with him. He buried himself deep and she welcomed his fullness, amazed at her own eager desires as he moved with a perfect rhythm that took away all her inhibitions. She wanted to pull him deeper, as though taking him into her
soul.

She felt Mitch’s life surging into her then, but it was beautiful and sweet, not ugly and
unwanted.

He relaxed beside her, and they lay there quietly for a
moment.

“Are you all right?” Mitch
asked.

“Yes.” She couldn’t get over the fact that he’d actually asked. She kissed his neck. “Please stay, Mitch,” she whispered, shocked at her own words. It felt so good to actually want a man, to feel loved, to be held and
protected.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me
to.”

“I want to undress and be under the covers with
you.”

“You
sure?”

“I’m sure. I just want you to hold
me.”

Mitch sat up and removed his shirt, pants, and underwear, taking his time. Emma sensed that he feared that if he moved too fast, the spell would be broken. He told her to sit up then and she obeyed, letting him unbutton her dress and slip it down to her waist. He removed her camisole, so carefully, as though she were made of china. She lay down and let him pull everything down over her hips, then over her legs and all the way off. He pulled off her stockings, and she blushed at her nakedness, closing her eyes and feeling an unexpected excitement at letting him see her this way. The next thing she knew, they were both moving under the covers and Mitch was gently fondling her breasts. She let him kiss her there, amazed at the passion he awakened in her—daring desires she never thought any man could bring out of her after her earlier terrible experiences. That hell had been replaced by pure heaven. Mitch moved on top of her again, and again she let him inside, wishing they could stay right here the rest of the day and all night and
forever.

Alan Radcliffe moved off his bed and pulled on a silk robe, glancing at the naked beauty lying in his bed. He smiled with satisfaction at the memory of what he’d enjoyed last night with the young Andrea Tate. The girl rubbed at her eyes in groggy confusion, then blinked as she looked at
Alan.

“What happened?” she asked. “I feel terrible, and I
hurt.”

“You’re fine, dear. You should be happy that you’re a woman
now.”

The girl looked down at herself and gasped at the sight of blood on the sheets, then yanked the blankets up to her neck. “What did you do?” She looked around the bedroom. “How did I get here? All I remember is you telling my father you’d see that I’d get home safely after the cotillion last
night.”

“And you
are
safe. And thanks to you, your father has paid me for a gambling
debt.”

Andrea blinked against tears that started trickling down her cheeks. “What do you
mean?”

Alan’s countenance darkened as he walked closer and grasped a bedpost, leaning close to the girl’s face. “I mean, my dear, that your father owed me enough money to bankrupt himself if he had to pay it. That debt is now paid, so you can go on living in luxury and you can marry any young man of your choosing and go on with life as though this never happened. But if you tell anyone about this—your mother, a friend, whoever—I’ll still come after your father for what he owes
me.”

“I
will
tell!” Andrea screamed. “I
will
! I
will
! You…you’ve raped
me!”

Alan grabbed a fistful of her blond hair and jerked her head back. “You won’t tell a goddamn soul,” he snarled. “Do you want to end up a
whore
in the streets? Do you want to end up someone’s
maid
?”

Andrea winced with pain. “You bastard! You’ve ruined me! You filthy old
man!”

Alan kept hold of her hair and also grabbed her forearm with his other arm, jerking her closer and then bending her arm up behind her back with a painful twist. “You aren’t ruined, you little bitch! You’re just a woman now. In fact, when you marry, you’ll be able to show your husband a good time on your wedding night, because I’ve already taken care of the uncomfortable part. Now
listen
! You aren’t dead. You aren’t even hurt. And you’ve done your father a great favor in keeping the family from poverty! By the time you bathe and dress and go home, you’ll be over this and you’ll realize none of this was all that
bad.”

He let go of her, roughly tossing her backward. “Be glad I drugged you so you didn’t have to be awake when I made a woman of you. I would much rather have had you fight me and writhe underneath me and know what it’s like to have a man master your body and soul. But your father and I are good friends, and I decided to spare you that part. Be
grateful!”

He drew in a breath to calm himself. He walked over to his closet while Andrea curled into a pillow and sobbed. He pulled on some underwear and pants but left his silk robe on, then walked to a mirror to smooth back his hair. “Clean yourself up and get dressed,” he ordered, heading for the door. “I’ll have a carriage made ready, and my driver will take you
home.”

He walked out the door, closing it behind him and wishing he could keep the girl there another night or two, but her father had agreed to only one night, and Alan had accepted that as payment. He headed down the wide, winding staircase that led to the lower rooms of the mansion and into the kitchen, where he asked the cook for coffee and breakfast in his
office.

“Yes, sir.”

“Matilda.”

The heavy-set, plain-faced widow turned to meet his gaze, obvious disgust in her tired eyes. “Yes?”

“You do know I spent the night here alone, right?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I need my job, Mr. Radcliffe. Yes, you spent the night here
alone.”

Alan grinned and went to his office, sitting down in his large, leather chair. He took a cigar from a silver box and lit it, taking a couple of puffs before going through some bills. He would rather have had John Tate’s money, because he was getting low again, but his taste for young women had overtaken that problem and made him settle for a night with Tate’s daughter. That left him with the eternal problem of paying his bills and still being able to gamble heavily, which he dearly loved
doing.

If he could have found his dead wife’s valuable necklace, it would have been a tremendous help. Not only that, but that damn daughter of hers had stolen some of his money. When Mary died, everything should have gone to him…including her
daughter.

Damn Emma Radcliffe! Where in hell was that little bitch? Weeks of searching had turned up nothing. Not only had she stolen the necklace and money, but she’d ruined his plans for keeping her there and giving her everything she might want, as long as he could have her in his bed. How could she turn down the life of a wealthy, privileged woman and run off to who knew where and surely live the life of a
commoner?

She was bound to run out of money eventually. Then what? She’d have to work as a maid or a cook…or perhaps sell her body. After all, she was no longer a virgin, so what difference did it make? And if she thought she was going to marry for survival, she’d damn well lose her husband once the man found out she was wanted in New York for murder and
theft.

Emma Radcliffe was doomed. That was his only comfort. It might take him a while to find her, but find her he
would!

He pulled a cord that rang a bell in the maid’s quarters. He picked up a newspaper and began reading as he smoked his cigar, waiting for Bess to come see what he wanted. He was down to just her, a stableman, and a cook now, which was embarrassing. All his friends had several house servants. He’d given the excuse that with his wife dead and his daughter absent, he didn’t need as much help because he was the only one living in the house. Truth was, he couldn’t afford more than what he
had.

Bess finally arrived, bowing slightly. “Yes, sir?”

“There is a young lady upstairs in my bedroom. Help her get cleaned up and do her hair for her. I want her looking perfectly neat and clean by the time she leaves here. I’ll have Pete out in the stables get a buggy ready so he can drive her
home.”

“Yes, sir,” Bess answered with a nod. As always, the obedient woman showed no sign of disgust or criticism. She’d even seen Andrea Tate completely passed out in his arms when he carried the girl upstairs to his room, and she’d said nothing. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen such things, but she knew better than to tell a
soul.

***

Bess went upstairs to find a naked Andrea Tate shaking and crying in the bathing room off of Alan Radcliffe’s bedroom. Blood ran down the inside of her legs and dripped onto the tile floor. Bess well knew the horror the girl was suffering. She hurriedly found her some clean towels. “Let me help you, Miss
Tate.”

“Don’t look at
me!”

“It’s all right. I’ve been through this
before.”

“
Before?
What does that mean? Does Mr. Radcliffe make a habit of bringing young virgins up here and drugging them and then disgracing
them?”

“I can’t say, ma’am.”

Andrea angrily washed herself and pulled on her bloomers, stuffing a small towel inside them because she was still bleeding. Bess picked her clothes up from the bedroom floor and laid them out on a large stuffed chair, then began removing the
bedding.

“Stop!” Andrea ordered, with the tone of a rich young woman accustomed to giving orders to
maids.

Bess turned. “Ma’am?”

“Don’t put that in the laundry. I want
it.”

Bess was surprised at the dark, determined look in the eyes of a young girl who before now Bess had known to be only sweet and innocent and even kind to the servants. This was a different Andrea. The girl walked over to the chair and began dressing. “I’m keeping that sheet for
proof.”

“Proof?”

“I’m going to the prosecutor and I’m telling him what Alan Radcliffe did to me.” She straightened. “Come cinch my camisole for
me.”

Bess
obeyed.

“I’ll bet that bastard has raped you, too, hasn’t he, Bess?”

“No, ma’am.”

Andrea whirled. “Don’t you lie to me! He
has
, hasn’t
he?”

Bess’s eyes teared. “I could lose my job. That might not mean much to somebody like you, but it’s everything to me. Mr. Radcliffe has ways
of—”

“He’s a brute and a
rapist
! I don’t care if my father
does
end up broke for what I’m going to do! I’ll hate my father forever for what he allowed Alan Radcliffe to do to me last night! Alan told me he’d make sure my father lost everything if I told, but I don’t care now.” She grasped Bess’s arms. “
Help
me, Bess. I promise you, it will be worth it. Whatever happens to my father, my mother has a fortune of her own and we’ll be all right. I promise you that if you help me get Alan Radcliffe arrested, you’ll always have a home and a job with me and my mother. You have an old grandmother you help take care of, don’t
you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then we’ll take her in, too, and make sure she gets medical
help.”

“I… How can I believe
you?”

“Look at me, Bess.
Look
at me! Can’t you see I mean
it?”

Bess took strength in the girl’s determination. “Yes, ma’am, I believe you
do.”

“Tell me, Bess. Has he raped you, too?”

Bess’s eyes teared as she slowly
nodded.

“More than once, I’ll bet. What happened to Emma Radcliffe? Why isn’t she around
anymore?”

“She ran
off.”

“Why? Did he rape her, too?”

Bess slowly
nodded.

“And what about Emma’s mother? Everybody is wondering what really happened to her and why Emma ran
off.”

“I… He pushed her down the stairs. I saw it. He told Emma he’d say she did it out of jealousy, that she wanted him for herself, wanted to be sure of Radcliffe money for
life.”

Andrea turned around so Bess could continue lacing her up. “Emma would never hurt her mother. And Alan thinks he’s irresistible to women—that when he rapes them, they
like
it! He thinks nothing of it. He told me he hadn’t hurt me at all, that all he did was break me in, so when I marry I can show my husband a good time.” She broke into tears. “I was…saving myself. No decent man will want me
now.”

Bess finished lacing up Andrea’s camisole, and the girl stepped into her slips, then raised her arms so Bess could put her dress over her head. Bess pulled it down and began buttoning it for
Andrea.

“Go with me to the prosecutor,” Andrea pleaded. “My mother will support us. I know she will. When she finds out what happened here last night, she’ll divorce my father and she’ll make sure Alan Radcliffe gets what’s coming to him. He thinks I’m just another simpering, frightened young girl who’s worried about what people will think, but I’m not like that. I don’t care what people say! I want Alan Radcliffe to
pay
for this, and I want people to know what he did to his
wife!”

“They might not believe me,” Bess objected. “I’m just a
maid.”

“I’ll back you up. I’ll save that sheet for evidence. If we could find Emma, I’ll bet she could put the final nail in Alan Radcliffe’s coffin. She must be running scared somewhere. Do you have any idea where she might have
gone?”

Bess swallowed. Could she really trust Andrea Tate? She’d never considered that someone of her class could actually team up with a lowly street girl to go after a man like Alan Radcliffe. The thought of exposing the man’s evils was a pleasant one indeed. “I…I think I might know
where.”

Andrea’s eyes lit up. “Where, Bess? We have to find her! Maybe the prosecutor can have someone go after her and bring her
back.”

Bess looked toward the door. “Wait here. I have to get something from my room.” She hurried out, looking over the railing downstairs to make sure Alan was nowhere around. She ran up the narrow stairs to her attic room, then grabbed the folded newspaper and brought it back to Alan’s room, where Andrea was re-pinning her hair. “Here.” She handed the newspaper to Andrea. “I found this in Emma’s bedroom closet, and when I saw where it was folded to, I thought maybe that’s where she went. I don’t even know for sure why I saved it. I just thought it might be important someday, but I didn’t want Mr. Radcliffe to see
it.”

Andrea took the paper and scanned it. “What am I supposed to be looking
for?”

Bess pointed to a small ad. “Right there. I’m sure Miss Emma meant to take it with her but
forgot.”

Andrea read the ad Bess had pointed
out.

Wives, cooks, laundresses, and help maids wanted. Payment in gold nuggets! Young ladies, widows, women of any age and proficiency are welcome to come to Alder Gulch and get rich! Come to beautiful Montana and enjoy wealth and
freedom!

She looked at Bess. “Do you really think this is where Emma
went?”

“She could have. She’s smart. I think she figured she’d be safe there because Mr. Radcliffe would never think to look for her in a place like
that.”

“So he doesn’t know about
this?”

“No, ma’am.”

Andrea raised her chin. “We’ll take it to the prosecutor and we’ll tell him
everything.”

“But Mr. Radcliffe will beat me to death if I do
that!”

“No he won’t, because you’ll be with us. I promise, Bess, with all my heart, that nothing will happen to
you.”

Bess thought about Prosecutor Hayes’s own promise to protect her if she told him the truth about what had happened to Mary Radcliffe. She thought how wonderful it would be to escape the clutches of Alan Radcliffe, even more wonderful to see the man go to prison. “I…I think Matilda can also testify. She has seen and heard a lot of things, too.”

“Then I’ll have my mother send for her secretly and we’ll find out what she
knows.”

“She hates Mr. Radcliffe. I know that for
certain.”

Andrea glared at a painting of Alan Radcliffe that hung over the bed. “He’ll not get away with any of this,” she nearly growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to become one of his victims. Not
me
! I told him I’d get him for this, and I will!” She turned to Bess. “You just go on like nothing happened and wait till I send for you. Put that sheet in a laundry bag and save it in a closet somewhere. Promise me, Bess.”