Special Smashwords Edition
Ruined Hearts
By
Natasha Perry
Special Smashwords Edition
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Published by
Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
Ruined Hearts, Natasha Perry, Copyright 2010, 2011
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Credits
Editor: Taylor Evans
Format Editor: Mae Powers
Cover Artist: Mae Powers
Ruined Hearts
By
Natasha Perry
Melissa Markham, daughter of an Englishman and a Chinese concubine, wants something her mother never had—respectability. Wealthy lumber baron, Ethan Trent, a man of erotic, dominating appetites, decides he wants the exotic woman for himself. Even though Melissa fights her attraction for Ethan, she also finds herself craving his domination. Can two headstrong people find a way to heal their ruined hearts, find love, and discover they both want to share the same thing—an unusual passion for each other?
* * * *
This novel is dedicated to my sister, Laura.
Thanks for always ‘being there’ for me.
http://natashaperry.blogspot.com/
Ms. Perry has been writing romance, under another pseudonym, for thirteen years. She is from the Midwest, where more snow flies than the sun shines, has raised a family of four children, and still works a day job. Her dream job is to be home writing eight hours a day.
Ruined Hearts
By
Natasha Perry
Chapter One
London, 1875
Mei Lin had no choice but to flee Great Britain.
For the past six months, she’d been a lofty bastard’s whore; and as Charles Litton, the Earl of Windhaven’s slave, Mei Lin’d had no choice but to obey. She hated every moment as his captive. If she didn’t fully cooperate with his sadistic desires, he’d beat her.
Her loss of pride was another matter, however. For too long she had suffered this man’s abuse. Mei Lin recalled her plans to escape, vowing they would work, or she would die trying. The opportunity had finally occurred, after several months of captivity. The earl had grown overconfident, believing she’d always be obedient, and, of late, had left her unguarded. Litton controlled her body, but he would never control her mind or her heart.
All during her horrid captivity with him, she’d never forgotten his betrayal to her and her mother. Her mother had protected her from learning how to become a concubine; wanting more for Mei Lin. Tears ran down Mei Lin’s cheeks as she recalled the last day she saw her mother; her poor mother had told her how the earl had promised Mei Lin a better life in England. The earl had betrayed both of them.
After six months, Mei Lin had found the strength, courage, and opportunity to make her escape. She had no intentions of failing. She’d laced the bastard’s Absinthe with laudanum, praying she’d put enough in his wine glass to leave him incapacitated. Hope filled her heart when he gulped down every drop. Then later, as he slipped into unconsciousness, Mei Lin made her escape. Once he became incapacitated, she’d rushed to her small dungeon of a room to change and gather her meager possessions, and tossing them into an old tapestry bag.
Once back in the library she stole the key to his safe out of one of his vest pockets. After opening the safe, she picked up one large, bound bundle of currency. The bastard earl owed her this much, if not more. Mei Lin jammed the money into the bag and fled the earl’s home and her bondage. Running down the road, she made a promise to herself; never again would she be a slave to any man, unless the choice was hers.
Mei Lin became very determined to make things change for the better in her life. There was no reason to return to China since there was no one there for her. Her mother had died months past, and her brother had gone to America several years ago to make a life for himself, promising to send for her and her mother once he did. They never heard from him again.
America was the only choice and there she would try and find her brother. First fury that he hadn’t sent for them tore through her, and then worry filled her heart that some misfortune had fallen upon him. Mei Lin had spent several months working as a maid to Lady Maureen Cavendish from Ireland. She’d accompanied the woman from England to her Ireland, learning how to be a lady. Mei Lin had stolen enough currency from the earl to make her way to America, but had secured the position as maid to Lady Cavendish, in order to learn proper manner of speech, dress, and style befitting a well-bred English woman. Mei Lin didn’t tarry too long in the position, for fear of being caught by the earl, who, no doubt, would be out for revenge.
Now, Mei Lin studied her reflection in the mirror of the tiny room she had rented near the docks. She’d bathed from a basin, then attired herself in a forest green silk bombazine traveling gown Lady Cavendish had helped her choose—and had purchased for her, even though Mei Lin had protested, to no avail. The Lady had assisted Mei Lin in also selecting black kid leather boots, stockings, corset, under drawers, and a cloak. Never had Mei Lin owned such beautiful clothing.
Dressed now in the fashionable clothing, her transformation was complete. Her long, thick hair, swept up in the most popular style of the day, gave her face a western look. It would take some time to glance at herself and not see her mother’s eyes staring back at her. However, her father’s features interested her, features her mother had explained to her when Mei Lin first realized she did not completely resemble the woman who bore her. How she’d longed to meet the man who fathered her, but alas, it never happened, because shortly after her arrival in England Mei Lin had learned he’d died in a carriage accident.
His fair hair made hers less coarse, black–softer, and browner. His high cheekbones, unlike her mother’s round, moon face, had given Mei Lin an exotic look; one that she knew turned heads. She would take his name. No longer would she be Mei Lin Kwan, daughter of a Chinese concubine. From now on, she would be Melissa Markham, daughter of an English lord.
Mei Lin fastened the velvet ribbon around her throat, pulled on her newly purchased black silk cape and stood, ready to go board the Britannica for America; ready to leave her old life behind.
* * * *
Calvin’s Saloon, Stillwater, Minnesota
September, 1875
Melissa Markham was nervous as she ambled down the boardwalk, ready to move on with her life.
She’d arrived in this small, but thriving town after having spent several weeks traveling across the ocean. After reaching New York City, a fascinating, but frightening place, Melissa quickly boarded a train for Minnesota. She’d secured information about her brother, and knew she had to avenge his death. Her brother’s murderer lived in this town, and Melissa meant to see him tried and hanged, or, at the very least, put behind bars. She spent her first few days in Stillwater learning from folks about her brother’s murderer, Ethan Trent, proprietor of Calvin’s Saloon, and now she was ready to confront him.
A late September sun strained against the windows of Calvin’s Saloon, forcing a weak band of light into a quiet, otherwise dimly lit room. It was early, too early for even the die-hard drinkers who often frequented the saloon before ten a.m., yet five men sat around a table focusing on their cards.
The feeble sunlight gleamed off a sign over the bar, announcing Ethan Trent as the new proprietor. Beneath the sign was the painting of a large breasted, full frontal nude woman reclining on a gaudy chaise. Dust motes danced in the light and the floor bore traces of the revelry from the night before—a scattering of cigarette butts, remnants of spilled liquor. Housekeeping was not high on the list of priorities, but the patrons did not seem to notice.
The door opened. No one bothered to see who it was—until the person spoke.
“Ethan Trent?”
The soft yet haughty English-accented words brought Trent’s gaze up from his poker hand. Five feet from his table stood a woman, holding a gun trained on his heart.
“You’ve found him, ma’am. Heck of a way to introduce yourself,” Ethan added as he tossed down his cards.
“I dreaded the day I’d meet you,” she spat, “but there was no other way to gain satisfaction, you black-hearted devil!”
The woman stepped closer, and he realized the weapon was a derringer, a small gun that could do significant damage.
Ethan tried to make out her features in the gloom and caught a trace of full lips, meant for kissing. Something about her stance and those tempting lips stirred a spark of remembrance.
Laughing softly, he looked at the other men at the table then at her, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “You sure it’s me you want?”
“Yes,” she seethed, “I’m talking to you, you low life, murdering worm.”
Ethan rubbed his hand over his face and swore. Recently retired as a U. S. Marshall, Ethan had hoped to put that life behind him. Apparently, that wasn’t to be.
“Satisfaction for what?” he snapped, struggled for patience.
“For the cold-blooded murder of my brother, you miserable swine!”
Damn, but the woman was exceptionally good at name-calling.
Ethan’s three poker cronies leapt from their chairs and stumbled out of the saloon. The woman drew nearer; that’s when Ethan recognized her as the new woman who’d arrived in town two days ago. He made it a habit to learn the name of every person, especially pretty women, who arrived in Stillwater, and Miss Markham was no exception.
Ethan studied her now. From the moment he’d set eyes on her exiting the train upon her arrival a few days ago, he’d wondered about her. Melissa Markham wasn’t pretty in the conventional manner. She was, however, unique, and passionate, at least about her brother’s alleged murder. That kind of passion often translated to heat behind closed doors. The fact that she was exotic looking with a generous dollop of something Oriental in her blood intrigued him.
Knowing he could easily have disarmed her, he remained in his chair.
“Miss Markham, I remember the name of every man I’ve ever killed, and trust me, Markham isn’t one of them.” The names of all his victims, and their faces, remained indelibly engraved in his soul, every one of them.
“Then you’re denying it?”
The shrillness of her voice grated on him. Miss Markham, like most women, in his opinion, required a muzzle. Women were easy on the eye, but many, once they opened their mouths, held little interest for him. A vision assailed him then; Miss Markham gagged and tied to his bed, limbs splayed, petals moist and throbbing with anticipation, awaiting his suckling lips and tongue. His cock hardened at the erotic image prompting him to reach down and adjust his trousers.
“Hands on the table or so help me I’ll shoot you where you sit,” she threatened.
Freezing at her warning, anger began to simmer inside him. “Ma’am, you have me mistaken for someone else.”
“I’m not mistaken, and I’m not a fool! You are my brother’s murderer, and you’ll hang for the deed. Have you no defense?”
“Damn it, woman, I don’t need a defense for something I didn’t do.”
Miss Markham narrowed her eyes, disgust written on her features. “Of course you would deny it. I knew you would.”
She was irritating the hell out of him. “Oh? And just how did you know that?”
“Because any man who kills without provocation is scum. My brother was innocent. A poor, young—” The woman broke off, clamped her lips together and turned away, as if suppressing a sob.
Suddenly appearing to remember her purpose, she took in a quick breath and once again aimed the derringer at Ethan—his head this time.
Mustering up more patience, Ethan offered her a false smile and nodded at a chair beside him. “Listen, we’re not going to get anywhere like this. Have a seat. I would like to see this proof of yours. Join me in a glass of sherry. Then we can discuss this further, like two civilized adults.”
The woman didn’t budge and looked at him with no expression. “Now why would I want to socialize with the man who murdered my brother?”
Ethan stifled another curse. “I didn’t kill your brother.”
She gave him a nasty smile. “You’ve killed so many I imagine it’s difficult to recall all of them.”
“You’re the one who claims to have all the information.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “You’ve tried and hanged me without allowing me a word of defense.”
It was true that he had killed many men during his days as a federal marshal, but that was all in the past. Now Ethan was satisfied to own this saloon and, with less satisfaction, the Trent family lumber business, which he had inherited upon his father’s death, though he hadn’t wanted it. He had wanted little to do with the man who had declared Ethan dead to him long ago, yet, ironically remembered him upon his death.
Melissa said nothing, just held the gun with confidence, arms stretched out in front of her, stance wide.
“Please. Join me,” he insisted.
“No, but I will walk with you to the jailhouse where I shall present my proof to the sheriff. A story from a respectable newspaper back East labels you as my brother’s cold-blooded murderer. Get up, Trent—slowly.”
Aw, shit. Ethan would eventually meet up with her and the sheriff about this mix-up, but not now—not yet. His sense of justice blared at him to teach this young woman a lesson she’d never forget. He snapped a quick glance to the right, counting on her to follow the movement. The woman didn’t disappoint him. Ethan leapt out of his chair and threw himself toward her, scrambling across the tabletop.
Damn it if the wench didn’t pull the trigger.
Chapter Two
Melissa couldn’t believe she’d missed him, and from such close range. Melissa spun away from Trent’s big body flying in the air toward her. She took two steps but suddenly his arms were around her waist and he hauled her against his powerful body. He squeezed her wrist and pain shot straight to her shoulder.
“Oh!” she screamed. Reflexively she pulled the trigger again and a bullet tore into the wood floor.
“Let go of the damned gun. Now!” he snapped.
Her ears rang from the close sound of the gunshot and her grip weakened as he continued to apply more pressure. Melissa could smell him and, in spite of her situation, caught the heady combination of his scent—smoke, alcohol, and male. The scent invaded her lungs and she coughed.
He squeezed her wrist harder, even as he forced her arm up toward the ceiling. Melissa’s fingers were getting numb; so in one last effort she pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. The bullets hit the ceiling and she dropped the gun, giving up.
He shoved her to the floor, covering her body with his own as plaster from the ceiling rained down on them. When all lay quiet, he rolled off her.
Melissa sat up and coughed, straightening her black skirts. Discovering him beside her, she scrambled away, but not before his big hard hands clamped around her waist and hauled her to her feet along with him.
The murdering bastard’s dark brown hair and swarthy-colored face were white from the dust of the falling plaster. She hoped he choked on it. He held onto her wrist as he kicked the gun across the floor.
“Ted,” he said to the man behind the bar, “get that damned gun out of here.” The bartender, who’d wisely been crouched down low behind the bar, rounded it and snatched up the weapon.
Ethan’s expression of rage made Melissa’s insides quail. He still held her arm, his grip like a vice. She pulled back and to her amazement, he released her. As she stumbled away, her eyes never left him.
“Keep going, Miss Markham.” He started after her. “I’d say you’re headed in the right direction.”
His sudden calmness stunned her. Moments ago, he was so angry smoke could have come from his ears! She whirled away from him and discovered a closed door straight ahead, gasping when his big hand pressed against her backside, propelling her forward.
Trent opened the door and pushed her into the room. Slamming the door with his booted foot, he locked it and pocketed the key, his enigmatic gaze on her.
He headed straight for her, wearing shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and a string tie. He was big and solid, from the width of his broad shoulders to his narrow hips, to the growing bulge in his tan-colored twill pants; pants that hugged his lean hips and muscular legs like a second skin.
“Now, then, about that proof you have. Let’s see it.” He stood in front of her, hand out, eyes glistening with a combination of interest and humor, his anger apparently gone.
Damn him. He found her amusing, “My brother’s death isn’t a laughing matter, Mr. Trent.” Her hand tightened on the cord of her reticule; she was amazed she’d managed to keep possession of it after the earlier tussle between them.
“I didn’t say it was. I just want to see your proof.”
She hugged her reticule to her chest. “I will only show you the proof in the presence of the sheriff.” The small scrap of newsprint she carried contained the story about him, the proof she required to have him jailed. There was even a small picture of him in the paper, accompanying the story. She wouldn’t show it to him now for fear of him damaging the evidence. It was all she had. According to several stories she’d read over the last few months, he’d killed six people in the past ten years—not a man to be taken lightly. How he had managed to escape justice was beyond her.
She backed up further and bumped into the bed. Her legs trembled and she sat down hard.
He uttered a wicked laugh. “Normally, I would take you up on the offer to bed you, but under the circumstances—
She gasped, outraged at the suggestion. “You pompous ass! I do not intend to crawl into bed with you.
“Now, now,” he interrupted. “No need for name calling.”
“You’re about as attractive to me as toad vomit,” she spat, her voice venomous. Anger and humiliation rose in her throat. Perhaps he meant nothing by it, but for too many years, men had wanted her, the last one, and the earl, taking her—forcing her—with no consideration or care.
“As I said, no need for name calling,” he said smoothly.
All right, perhaps she was over reacting. He had no reason to know of her background. She focused on the room, the bed’s red satin coverlet. Plump velvety pillows in pale and dark shades of red were scattered across the back. Mirrors had been strategically placed on the walls and ceiling. Several bottles of oils rested on a bedside table. Melissa narrowed her gaze, knowing well their purpose, although the earl had never used them to ease his entry inside her body.
Melissa had learned as much as she could about this adversary; knew he owned this saloon. She’d also learned he was well liked and respected in this community. She’d shrugged off people’s accolades about him, deciding he was making up for all of his past deeds. However, none of his good deeds now concerned her—but his past ones did, for he’d killed her brother, and he would pay.
Melissa glanced at the bastard again, able to believe a man such as he would have a whore’s bedroom. She would have guessed he’d have kept a stable full of beauties. With a frown, she thought about how, upon entering the saloon, she saw only men, no women. Not even a saloon girl.
Bending down he propped his hands on the mattress on either side of her, effectively trapping her. “Now what do we do?”
She leaned back on her elbows and glared at him, her skin prickling at his closeness. If she didn’t hate the blasted man so much she’d find him attractive. “What do you mean?”
“Let me see the proof of my alleged crime.”
Melissa smiled grimly and lifted her chin. “Not only have I the newspaper story, but I’ve the word of bystanders who say they saw you shoot my brother.”
“Sorry. Your sources provided you mistaken information.” He straightened and settled his hands on his hips. “I remember the names of all the men I’ve killed. Markham isn’t one of them.”
“My half-brother’s name was Kuan. Shi Ming Kuan. Does that name jog your memory?”
A deep-furrowed frown marred his handsome brow. Melissa felt a moment of triumph when his quizzical expression changed to surprise. He remembered!
She glared at him, daring him to deny it, tears filling her eyes as a debilitating sadness overwhelmed her. It was bad enough she’d never met her English father, and had lost her mother a short while ago, but to lose her brother as well meant she had no one left in the world.
“He couldn’t have been your brother,” Trent said. “He was Chinese.”
“As am I,” she said softly.
“But you don’t appear…and your name is Markham, hardly a Chinese name.”
“I said he was my half-brother. I took Markham, my father’s name, when I left England to travel to America. He was English.”
Silence. Melissa watched him, satisfied when his arrogance turned to discomfort. My Lord, was it possible the man possessed a conscience after all?
“He was a thief,” he finally said, his voice sounding low and gravelly, “and a murderer. I don’t regret killing him.”
“You’re wrong!” She swiped at a tear running down one cheek. “My brother would never harm anyone.” A nagging voice inside her said ‘How would you know? You haven’t seen him in years.’
“Unfortunately, he did,” Trent replied.
Melissa had no idea how to respond, for indeed, no communication had existed between her and her brother since he left home to seek his fortune. Doubt suddenly assailed her then left as quickly as it came.
Trent leaned against the bedpost and folded his arms across his broad chest. “You know, Miss Markham, pointing a gun at a man with intentions to shoot him is against the law.”
He had changed the topic to his advantage; his seemingly calm demeanor unnerved her. “I hadn’t planned on actually shooting you,” she said, her voice calm.
“I believe you did. Now, the way I see things, we can handle this situation a couple of different ways.” His gaze slid to the bed as he arched one eyebrow.
She stood quickly and smoothed her palms over her gown. “That,” she said, “will not happen.”
He gave her a lazy smile and shrugged. “Then I’ll accompany you to see the sheriff, gladly.”
But would he? She no longer had her weapon. “Why should I trust you?”
“I don’t see that you have a choice.”
Melissa lifted her chin. “Why’d you kill him?”
She saw how his eyes touched on her body and braced herself for his reply—an unexpected one. “I was doing my job,” he finally said, breaking the lengthy silence.
“Your job?”
“Yes, with the United States government.”
Her heart stilled at his words. “Wh…what?”
He studied her. “Until my recent retirement, I’d been a U. S. Marshal.”
Melissa gasped. “You were a law enforcer?”
He nodded.
Impending victory surged inside her, believing he lied. “Then why didn’t the newspaper accounting print that fact?”
“I’d been working…well…only recently have people learned I was the lawman who cleaned up several towns, disguised as a gunslinger.”
She stilled, unwilling to believe him, yet, at the same time, dreading that his information was true, which changed things. Still, she wasn’t ready to give up. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
He lifted a shoulder. “We can always ask the sheriff. He knows the truth of the matter.”
She sighed. “You may press charges against me, if you wish, though through no fault of my own, I’ve been ignorant of the truth.” She felt beaten down, tired of always having to fight for every inch she took in this world.
“Pressing charges won’t satisfy my personal sense of justice.”
Melissa met the hot, intent look in his eyes, one she immediately recognized. His particular sense of justice would likely be a combination of pain and pleasure. She knew men, and their needs, and guessed this man was no different from any other. Then she remembered her promise to herself; that she would never be any man’s slave again.
She drew upon some inner strength and straightened her shoulders. “Not that I really give a damn, but dare I ask what will appease you?”
A predatory smile crossed his lips as he straightened from the bedpost and moved toward her. It took all of her willpower to stay put.
“Let me make love to you and justice will be served,” he said in an uncompromising, yet oddly gentle tone.
Her eyes widened and she spat, “There’s no way on God’s green earth I’d allow you to lay a finger on me.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, yet she couldn’t miss the flash of coldness in his eyes. “Perhaps some jail time will give you second thoughts about pulling a gun on a stranger in the future.”
The earl used to beat her, not make love to her, except in his horrific beastly fashion. Memories of the beatings caused her skin to hurt, especially her bottom, where he’d always taken the greatest pleasure in punishing her. Even now, months later, her body hurt all over. Yet, how she craved a man’s gentle, loving hands on her body.
She cast a furtive glance at Trent and wondered how much difference there was between him and a lecherous, evil man like Charles Litton. Taking in his tall, muscular frame, and confident stance, she guessed the ex-lawman possessed a highly sensuous nature. Perhaps he was a lover of women, not a brutish rapist. Melissa shivered then at the thought of a man such as this one bedding her, somehow guessing he would indeed pleasure her. Nearly giving into his charm, she pulled herself, away from thoughts of sins of the flesh. She had no time for men in her life, at least not now, and especially not this one who’d killed her brother.
Inadvertently, she lowered her gaze to the bulge in the front of his trousers and knew he wanted her, as she wanted him.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She continued to stare with fascination at his growing bulge as heat flared through her body. What would it be like to have him…?
“Not there!”
Melissa looked into his eyes even as more heat encompassed her body.
His face was set, his eyes hard, yet his whole demeanor exuded an undeniable sensuousness about him. “Make a decision. Jail or bedding down with me.” He reached out and stroked her cheek before running a light finger over her earlobe. He traced her neck, stopping at the pulse that drummed at the base of her throat. She shivered and fought against her building attraction for him.
“No!” she finally managed.
“Ah, then it’s off to jail,” he said and sighed.
His smug expression made her blood boil. Even though she was wound up tight as a spring, she gave him a careless shrug. “Perhaps jail won’t be so bad.”
“Guess you’ll be interested in hearing the circuit judge only comes to town once a month. He left just the day before yesterday. How does a month of incarceration sound?”
Nothing like the hell I’ve already been through!
Again, memories of the earl assaulted her. When she refused his advances upon her arrival in England, he had kept her in his dungeon for several days. He’d beaten her daily, because she had refused to cooperate with his desire to subjugate her; Litton had wanted her for his personal slave, his concubine. Ultimately, he’d won. Yet, always in her heart, Melissa knew that no man owned her. No matter what vile acts the earl subjected her to, she vowed it would not last forever. Having refused to relent—to give in—the earl had continued to abuse her, slaking his lust, leaving her pain-ridden and exhausted. Eventually, in order to survive, she had succumbed to his desires, and hated herself for it.
Melissa could not give in to this stranger, even though the undeniable attraction lay there. “I believe being locked up won’t be such a bleak proposition compared to the alternative.”
She found herself eye-level with the wide expanse of his chest. Hesitantly she peered into his face and saw his dark look.
“You’re certain? You’d rather spend a month in jail than deal with me?”
She gave a jerky nod and he swept his hand before him.
“Come on, then. We’ll speak to the sheriff.”
Chapter Three
Melissa sat in Sheriff Tom Johnson’s office and listened to the kind, elderly man offer her condolences on her brother’s death, simultaneously exonerating Trent of any wrongdoing.
“I hope that satisfies you, Miss Markham. Those newspapers didn’t know Ethan was a lawman. But that’s why he was so successful at his job.” Gently, he added, “I’m sorry, but your brother was a murderer. The marshal here was forced to kill him when he resisted arrest.”
She felt Trent behind her, knew he was leaning against the door, and envisioned how he looked now; his dark hair curling slightly, his devilish brown eyes filled with satisfaction and self-righteousness.
“Be satisfied with the fond memories you have of your brother,” Trent murmured.
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped, swiveling on her chair to face him.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “I also have no family to call my own. I know how you feel.”
Melissa was surprised he’d been so forthcoming about himself. Perhaps he did understand. Still, she was completely alone in a foreign country and knew not a soul. Being so single minded about her mission, she hadn’t thought what she would do after it was completed. Though her appetite had been whetted after hearing passengers aboard the Brittania speak of America and all of its wonders—all of its opportunities—and she’d decided to stay and see and experience this foreign land for herself. Melissa had nothing in China or in England. America would be her home. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be here, in this pretty river town. She doubted that Stillwater would be big enough for her and Trent. He wanted her in his bed, and although it was an attractive idea, she didn’t think it was a good one, especially after the earl’s bad treatment. Still, it was difficult for her to conceal her attraction to him.
Though her mother had tried protecting her from learning the secrets of the concubine, she had learned through sight and sound, viewing her mother’s lovers through a small hole in the wall that separated their bedrooms in her home in China. Lucky for her she had watched and learned for she was convinced now she’d be dead. Charles Litton would have killed her if she hadn’t known how or what to do to pleasure him.
No, she couldn’t stay. Ethan Trent was too tempting and she had vowed to leave her old life behind her, along with her old name.
“Miss Markham? Is there anything else I can do for you?” the sheriff inquired.
Melissa rose and extended her hand. “Thank you, no.” She paused then and bit her lip.
“What is it, ma’am?” the sheriff inquired.
“Looking between the sheriff and Trent, she said, “Have either of you any idea where my brother is buried?”
Trent cleared his throat and said, “He’s in Pennsylvania.”
She sighed. “So far away then.”
“Some day you’ll travel there and see him,” Trent said smoothly.
“What city then?”
“In the pauper’s cemetery just north of Philadelphia. Perhaps I could arrange passage for you there and…”
“No. I’ve little funds to make another trip at this time in my life, I’m afraid.” She gave the sheriff a small smile. “Though I will be leaving town soon, so you won’t have to worry about my attacking anyone else.” Melissa headed for the door. Trent blocked her exit.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Markham? You can’t leave. Trent’s charging you with assault with intent to kill seeing as how you shot at him.”
“But…but I didn’t hit him!” Melissa swept Trent a disdainful look. “Isn’t that him standing right here, unharmed?”
“Sure is,” the sheriff replied, “and a good thing he is, for your sake. Now, old Judge Emerson will be by the beginning of next month.”
She gasped. “You mean you’re going to lock me up?”
The sheriff dug his finger between his collar and neck. “Ethan? You wanna drop those charges?”
“The lady has another option, Tom, but chose not to take it.”
“What option might that be?” the older man asked, confused.
Trent opened his mouth to reply but Melissa hurriedly inserted, “Lock me up, Sheriff. I won’t give you a bit of trouble.”
“Ma’am, you might want to listen to Ethan’s offer.”
“I’ve heard it and have declined, thank you.” In a dignified manner, Melissa strode toward the cells at the back of the jailhouse, wondering how she would endure a month of lock up when all she really wanted to do was high tail it out of town.
* * * *
Ethan was in a foul mood as he sat at a table in Calvin’s Saloon, glaring down at his card hand. His pride had been injured when the lady decided she’d rather spend a month in jail instead of suffering his touch.
Damn! Why in the hell not? Hadn’t she seen the passion in his eyes for her? Didn’t she realize what pleasure he could give her and how much he truly wanted her? Then he thought the woman deserved to have her bottom thrashed after attacking him. Besides, no woman had ever complained about being on the receiving end of his amatory attentions including a bit of over his knee time. He was a master at mixing pain with pleasure, and had been sought after by many women because of it. It was ironic that this woman he desired fiercely, didn’t want a thing to do with him, though he guessed she likely had good cause to feel that way.
He wanted her, more than any woman that had ever entered his life, which he didn’t understand did. Was Miss Markham so different from any other woman? He tried telling himself ‘no’ but his conscience blared, ‘yes’. She’s a lady, a priceless jewel—one of a kind—and he wanted her—badly.
It was three in the morning and he had yet to seek his bed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep this night, but would fall blindly into bed in the early morning hours, once he’d played off his anger with several hands of poker.
“I’m out,” Ted, the bartender and the last player said, throwing down his cards. The others had left after Ethan thoroughly trounced them. “You are one lucky bastard, you know that, Trent?”
Ethan gave the man a twisted smile. “Lucky? Hmm, I wonder about that.”
The man rose from his seat. “I’ll have that horse to you in the morning.”
Ethan stood up and threw down his cards. “Forget it. I’ve a stable full of horses.”
Ted scowled. “But you won fair and square.”
“I needed a diversion,” Ethan replied with a shrug. “By the way, don’t you have a brother who works for a lawyer in St. Paul?”
Ted nodded.
“I’ll tell you what, you talk to him, get a referral for the best investigator money can buy and your debt to me will be paid in full.”
“You got it!”
They shook on it. Ethan shrugged on his coat and headed for the door. He stopped short when Sheriff Johnson suddenly came tearing inside. The man’s barrel chest heaved and his face had gone red.
“I’m glad you’re still here, Ethan! You gotta come quick-like to the jail.”
Ethan raised his brow. Had Miss Markham changed her mind? “I do?”
“There’s something wrong with the little Miss.”
Ethan tensed. “What are you talking about?”
The sheriff grasped his arm. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
Within moments, they arrived at the jail. Ethan heard a mewling sound followed by wails of despair and his hair stood on end.
“What in the hell,” he growled, stopping outside Melissa’s cell. She was huddled on a cot, curled up in a ball one moment then thrashing about in the next. His gaze riveted on the creamy expanse of one calf exposed because of her raised black skirts. It was hot and muggy in the cell and he wondered how she’d managed to fall asleep in the first place fully dressed.
“I think the poor girl’s dreaming,” Tom whispered, “but she’s been doing it through most of the night. I haven’t gotten a lick of sleep ‘cause she’s been making all sorts of noise, too, like she’s scared or something.”
Ethan had seen enough. “I’m taking her out of here. Do you happen to know if she has a room in town anywhere?”
“Staying at the Sawyer House, I heard.”
Ethan nodded. “Open up and I’ll take her there.”
“But what about them charges?”
“To hell with the charges. We’ll keep that information between us. Now open up.”
The sheriff nodded and opened the door. Ethan entered the cell, gathered Melissa up in his arms, and strode out. She was small yet womanly, her gentle curves tempting him as he carried her. He moved swiftly, holding her securely as a twinge of guilt plagued him due to his earlier thoughts of punishing her.
He wanted this woman, any way he could have her—punishment or not. Soon he’d inform her that he dropped the charges. Then he’d take charge of the situation and state his terms to her once more. He had a feeling this time Miss Markham would accept them, he decided, gritting his teeth as he carried her outside.
It was a good thing she slept soundly. He knew the woman would put up a fuss if she realized who’d rescued her from her nightmares. Trent quickened his steps as he headed for his carriage in back of the saloon, all the while thinking how much he wanted her in his bed. He chastised himself. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had a woman in months. Just a week ago, he’d broken off with his last mistress—rather—she’d broken off with him since he’d convinced her she’d never hear a marriage proposal from him. He’d long ago decided, after having viewed his parents’ abysmal marriage he would never marry. There was just too much heartache in the institution.
Ted was just locking Calvin’s back door when Ethan entered the alley. “Who you got there, boss?”
Ethan said softly, “Miss Markham,” then strode to his carriage. “Will you drive us to the Sawyer House?”
“Sure thing,” Ted replied.
“Hold her a minute, then pass her in to me.”
During the ride, Ethan kept Miss Markham in his arms, enjoying her sweet curves tucked against him. Her suffering during her nightmares had torn him up, and he wondered what demons Miss Markham fought. The woman must be exhausted for she didn’t stir.
Her behavior let him know she’d likely been incarcerated at one time in her life, and still carried the emotional scars from it. Once again, the idea of making love to her assailed him. Chagrinned, he couldn’t recall when the last time a woman so intrigued him so early in the ‘game’. For that’s what the mating ritual was, a delectable game, one in which he always excelled—always won.
He admitted to the fact that part of the game was his chosen woman learning about his dominance and accepting it, then craving it. Gentle punishment had always been his form of foreplay, before making love to a woman, and none ever complained. He always left a woman satisfied and yearning for more.
Ethan fought with himself on the ride to her hotel. Fought against the desire to pass right on by and take her to his home—his bed. However, he couldn’t, at least not yet. Within moments, they arrived at the hotel. Ethan untangled himself from her warmth and shook her gently. “Miss Markham. We’re at your lodgings. Wake up.”
She didn’t stir so he shook her again. Melissa slowly opened her eyes from her slumped position beside him, a confused look on her face. “What?”
“I said we’ve arrived at the hotel. Are you awake enough to walk inside without assistance?”
Melissa glanced around, becoming a bit more alert when she noticed her surroundings. “I think I can manage,” she said softly.
He frowned down at her. “When was the last time you slept well?
She gave him a thoughtful look before replying, “Why, I suppose before leaving my home in China.”
Pity raged through him as he opened the carriage door and leaped outside, wondering what had plagued the woman for so long that she’d slept so little.
Reaching inside, he took her small-gloved hand and eased her from the carriage. She weaved a bit and he steadied her by winding an arm securely around her waist.
“Don’t wait for me, Ted. I’ll walk back to Calvin’s.”
“You sure? It’s just as easy for me to walk.”
Ethan nodded. “The walk will do me good.” He smiled at Miss Markham. “Come. I’ll help you up to your room. You need a good night’s sleep.”
As he entered the hotel, which stood quiet since it was four in the morning, though in another hour it would be bustling as guests arose, he escorted Miss Markham to the desk. Mrs. Mortenson, the desk clerk who’d worked at the Sawyerhouse Hotel for as long as Ethan could remember, smiled up at him.
“How are you, Mr. Trent?”
“Just fine, though Miss Markham is exhausted. He looked down and saw she seemed to be having difficulty keeping her eyes open. “Give me her key. I’ll escort her up to her room.
Mrs. Mortenson gave him a suspicious look but gave him the key.
As he walked toward the steps, his arm still supporting her, Mrs. Mortenson said, “No hanky-panky, Mr. Trent. None allowed in this establishment.”
Her words seemed to provoke the woman at his side into full wakefulness. “No need for you to see me to my room, Trent!” she gasped.
He paused at the first step and reluctantly released her. Scowling down at her, he gauged her wakefulness. “I’m not so certain about that. I asked you earlier, how long has it been since you slept well?”
Melissa sighed and held onto the banister. “I’d been seasick nearly the entire journey crossing the ocean from Great Britain. I’ve caught a few hours here and there. Apparently, I need a bit more.”
“Apparently,” he said, hearing the derisive tone in his voice. “Good evening, Miss Markham.”
He swiveled on his heel and headed for the door, pausing when she spoke.
“Thank you, Trent.”
Ethan swung his gaze to her and smiled. “We are far from through here. I’ll return tomorrow afternoon for further discussion of what I shall do about you.”
“Do?” She raised her brow. “Whatever are you talking about?”
Ethan caught Mrs. Mortenson’s keen-eyed gaze on them. Slowly, he paced the floor back to her, standing directly in front of her to block Mrs. Mortenson’s view. Reaching down, he cupped her chin and said softly, “Retribution, of course.”
“You won’t forget what I did, will you?”
“I’ve the memory of an elephant,” he boasted. “Until tomorrow afternoon.”
Chapter Four
Melissa awoke slowly, upon hearing the distant chiming of a clock. She broke out into a cold sweat at the sound and, panicking, lurched up. No! She wasn’t at the earl’s home in London any longer. She’d escaped. Her panic ceased when she began to recognize her hotel room.
Sitting up, she looked out the window, gasping when she noticed the sun was high. Glancing down at her wrinkled gown, she grimaced. She’d fallen asleep without removing it and had slept far too late. The thought made her pause; how in the world had she ended up in her hotel room when she recalled falling asleep in a jail cell? With growing wakefulness, she remembered that Trent had freed her from the jailhouse and escorted her to the hotel.
A knock on her door made her scramble from the bed.
Trent! No, she couldn’t face him again. “Yes?” she asked, pressing her palms against the wooden portal.
“Miz Markham? The kitchen is near to closing until the dinner hour. I just wondered if you wanted something since you’ve already missed breakfast,” Mrs. Mortenson informed her.
“Oh!” Melissa yanked open the door, then immediately regretted it for Mrs. Mortenson’s gaze swept over her black gown.
“You want someone to iron it for you?” was all the tactful woman said.
“I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. Have you the time?”
The older woman glanced at the watch pinned on her bodice. “One o’clock, Miss.”
“When does the next coach leave?”
Mrs. Mortenson shrugged. “Depends on where you’re headed.”
“To the train depot in St. Paul.”
“Ah, the next coach leaves in an hour.”
“Excellent. Would you please secure a coach for me?”
Mrs. Mortenson nodded. “If you hurry, you can catch the one leaving at three o’clock.”
“I’ll hurry. Please, just something light to eat would be fine.”
“As you wish,” the older woman said then turned and left.
Melissa closed the door, yanked her valise from beneath the bed, and quickly packed her belongings. Another knock on the door and Melissa, expecting her luncheon, opened it. Trent stood tall, big, and intimidating in the doorway, an irritable expression on his face.
He gently put her aside, stalked into her room, and scowled at her valise. “Just where in the hell do you think you’re going?”
Melissa bristled and shut the door behind him. “That is none of your business.” She picked up a stray camisole on the floor and Trent’s masculine scent combined with tobacco and liquor assailed her senses. The scents tantalized her, made her want to explore this wicked man. She couldn’t—wouldn’t. For hadn’t that been what happened between her and the earl? What began as innocent, friendly overtures from him turned into a brutality she had never envisioned or expected. Lord, but she wanted that man to pay for his crimes against her; but who would take the word of a half-breed girl such as she against the word of an earl?
She opened her valise to put the camisole inside when he snatched the garment away and tossed it on the floor.
“I didn’t spring you from jail just because I pitied you. You owe me, remember?” He removed his hat and threw it on the bed.
“And here I thought you’d, as you put it, sprung me from jail due to your conscience reminding you that you are a gentleman.”
“I am always a gentleman, when in the presence of a lady.”
Her cheeks flamed at his insinuating tone. Heavens, what had ever made her think he was attractive? Then she reminded herself he was also her brother’s murderer.
“You didn’t answer me. Where are you going?” he snapped.
Deciding distance was a necessity she crossed the room and sank down on a window seat, folding her hands primly in her lap. “I reiterate. It’s none of your affair where I go or what I do. Why did you have me released?”
He paced around the end of the bed, pausing directly in front of her. “Around three in the morning the sheriff came looking for me. Seems you were acting strange in your sleep and he didn’t know what to do with you.”
Melissa hadn’t dealt well with being incarcerated. She remembered the horrible dreams that nearly always plagued her—dreams about her imprisonment in the earl’s dungeon, the walls closing in on her. She wouldn’t go back to jail—she couldn’t, therefore, her only alternative was to deal with this man.
“So, by releasing me, you’re saying I’m free to leave.” Melissa knew well that wasn’t what he meant at all.
With a devilish grin, he backed away, sauntering over to the bed. There he leaned against one bed pole and said, “After I’ve been awarded my pound of flesh, you may.”
“What were my choices again?” she said, stalling, guessing now she couldn’t talk or bluff her way out of this situation. Oh, she could go back to jail, but she shuddered at the thought.
He gave her a twisted little smile. “I thought you’d be appreciative of the fact that I rescued you from that hell-hole.”
Melissa sighed. “I am grateful, though I have to admit I was in that hellhole because of you.”
“No, you were there due to your own impetuosity and irrationality.”
She had to admit she hadn’t thought things through as well as she should have, or planned how to approach her brother’s murderer. Now it seemed this man wanted, as he so indelicately put it, his pound of flesh from her.
Trembling at the thought of the earl’s cruelty, his words, and actions, and how he’d received such pleasure from causing her pain made her want nothing but revenge on the bastard. Lord, but it would be sweet justice. Now this man appeared to want the same thing from her. No! She wouldn’t allow him or any man to ravish her…unless it was her wish; wouldn’t allow any man to hurt her as the earl had, either. Ever again.
“I believe you said you wanted to bed me?”
“You had that opportunity the first time I made the offer, now I’m thinking a good old-fashioned spanking would better drive the seriousness of your mistake home.”
Melissa’s mouth gaped. “A spanking?” she asked, her voice trembling. At his nod, she added, “I’ve endured enough beatings in my life, and won’t suffer another.”
He frowned. “I wasn’t thinking of beating you, just giving you something your father should have years ago. Besides, no woman has ever complained about being put over my knee.”
“So you’ve done this before?” He nodded. “And did these women enjoy that treatment?”
He nodded again, his gaze penetrating. Melissa didn’t believe a word. Since when did striking someone, give pleasure and not pain. None of the earl’s beatings were pleasurable, nor had some of the attentions of the men who’d come to her mother’s bed, she remembered.
“Mr. Trent. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. I frankly can’t believe I’m sitting here with you having it. We are strangers!”
“I can’t think of a quicker, better way to get to know each other. Are you a virgin?”
“That is none of your business,” she fumed.
“I’d shake the world beneath your feet if I made love to you,” he boasted. “But you turned down my initial offer, so I’m afraid it’s off the table.”
Somehow, his conceited words didn’t fit. Could it be he wasn’t used to begging a woman for what he desired? Probably. Melissa could imagine women falling over each other for a chance to romp in bed with him. Undeniably, one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, but then, so was the earl. And he turned out to be the devil’s spawn.
“Sounds like an earthquake to me,” she replied. “You’ve quite a high opinion of your…skills, haven’t you?”
He merely smiled. “Did you know I had a gun on me the entire time?”
Melissa gasped again, “No.” Stupid! Stupid!
“No need to worry. I have never shot a woman and never will. I bided my time, after a while guessing you didn’t really want to shoot me. But then, I had to be sure since you wouldn’t be the first woman to threaten me with a gun.”
“I see. Then know where I stand. I refuse to be the victim of a beating, Marshal.”
“I’m no longer a law enforcer, Melissa. Call me Ethan, or Trent.”
“All right…Trent.”
“A spanking can be exquisitely sensual, though you haven’t earned that treat. No, a disciplinary spanking is what you need, Miss Markham.”
“I dare say,” she said softly, a thrill tearing through her as she leaned back in her seat, the cold from the window making her shiver.
Lord, what was wrong with her? She anticipated the feel of his hands on her—no matter how he touched her. A well-muscled man with large hands, Melissa guessed he’d be the sort of man who would maintain complete control and wouldn’t harm her, unlike the earl. After enduring so much pain at the hands of that cruel bastard, maybe Ethan would be good for her ruined heart, spanking, and all. Perhaps she required some exquisitely sensual attention in her life. No, impossible.
As a child, she’d received a few spankings from her mother. They’d hurt! Besides, she reminded herself, this was her brother’s murderer. Why did she have to keep reminding herself? Because this man had the ability to make her forget everything but him.
“You know of course, based on the information I had, it was an honest mistake on my part. I had no idea you were a lawman. If I had known I would have dug deeper into my brother’s death.”
“And how is that my problem?” he asked, raising his brow. “No more stalling. Your choice now is jail or over my knee. Which is it?”
She couldn’t spend another moment incarcerated. Melissa would go crazy locked up. Yet, looking at Trent, Melissa tried to decide if she could trust him to maintain his control and simply spank her—not beat her. Somehow, she was beginning to believe making love with this man would have been the lesser of two evils, and it wouldn’t matter, anyway, since she wasn’t a virgin. Charles Litton had forced her, raped her, had taken her precious gift.
Making love, in her opinion, was such an intimate thing between a man and a woman who were in love. Her mother tried to convince her that men only lusted after women, not loved them. When Melissa questioned her mother about the father she’d met only a few times in her life, her mother said that he hadn’t been in love with her. If he had, he wouldn’t have left them.
“Last chance. Which will it be?” he asked.
Melissa sighed. “A spanking then—with your hand, and only five strikes.”
For some odd reason, just imagining laying herself over his knee and feeling the palm of his hand spanking her bottom as though she were a naughty child made her feel hot—made her want to allow him to make love to her. Melissa frowned. What was wrong with her? Had the earl ruined her mind as well as her body? Is that why she was being compliant?
“You sure do like to set the rules, don’t you?” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Who’s the injured party here? You deserve twenty, but I’ll compromise at fifteen. No less, however, and that’s my final offer.”
Melissa felt the blood drain from her face. He sounded so matter of fact about it.
“You promise you will drop the charges against me if I cooperate?” He gave an infinitesimal nod. “Where would you like me? I mean, how do you plan to accomplish this punishment?”
He slowly removed his charcoal gray jacket and laid it across her pillows, then, rolling up his shirtsleeves, he sank down on the bed. Over the starched white shirt, his waistcoat was gray, matching the jacket. He appeared handsome and decidedly authoritarian, the sort of man ready and capable to deal out punishment. Lord, she hated this, but she’d take her punishment then leave this town far behind shortly thereafter.
With a smile, he slapped his thighs. “Right here, sweetheart.”
Melissa rose from the bench, hesitated a moment, then straightened her shoulders, ready to take her punishment—and rid herself quickly of this man once and for all, though she still couldn’t believe all he’d said about her brother. And, she’d never forget he’d killed him, either.
Reaching his side, Melissa bent and started stretching forward but straightened up, saying, “I’m not quite certain how to…”
Without a word, he slid his hand around her waist and tugged her forward until she found herself over his knee, bottom up, toes and fingertips touching the red-carpeted floor.
“Ah, perfect,” he said, one hand on her lower back. “Before we begin, you will be lectured first.”
Melissa rolled her eyes and sighed. “Aren’t you taking this patriarchal attitude a bit too far, Trent?”
“Not at all,” he said, punctuating his words with a sharp smack to her bottom.
“Oh!” she gasped, then stiffened as humiliation swept through her.
“Don’t tell me you felt that, not through all of your skirts. Impossible,” he said.
Her eye caught an ant running across the floor. Was that laughter she heard in his voice? “I felt it…barely,” she replied.
“I thought as much. Now, then, shall we get on with listing your misdeeds, which is why you’re in this position?”
“If you must.”
She lay there over his knee, and listened to him, his voice changing from humor to a serious tone. Blood rushed to her head. Just when she started to tell him to get on with it he did, the firm placement of his left hand on her back warning her that he was ready to deal out her punishment.