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  Tess

  Women Betrayed Series

  Book 2

  By

  Award Winning, Best Selling Author

  Margaret Tanner

  Tess

  Women Betrayed Series

  Copyright © 2018 Margaret Tanner

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author and publisher. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  This story is a work of fiction, and some literary license has been taken regarding setting. All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination.

  Please Note: This story was previously part of The Soiled Doves series, which, by mutual consent of the authors involved, has been disbanded. I have revised Tess and she now forms part of my Women Betrayed Series.

  Cover Art by Susan Horsnell

  Acknowledgement: Thank you Susan Horsnell and Cheryl Wright for your on-going help and support.

  Heat Level: Adult themes, mild sexual content.

  Chapter One

  South Dakota 1870’s

  “Is he here tonight?” Tess asked frantically, too nervous to peek through the striped canvas curtain.

  “Yeah, in the front row like the last two nights,” Louie said.

  Tess leaned down to put herself at eye level with the little be-whiskered juggler. “Who is he?”

  “Nathan Montgomery, he owns a saloon, The Black Garter, in Deadwood,” Louie said.

  Dressed in diaphanous harem pants with a matching bolero top of pale blue trimmed with gold lace, Tess gnawed at her fingertips. “I…I don’t think I can perform tonight with him watching.”

  “The show must go on,” Louie said. “No matter how we feel about Rolf dying, he always said that. We’ll be heading to Londrigan next week, and the likes of Nathan Montgomery won’t travel too far away from the fleshpots of Deadwood if I’m any judge.”

  She hoped so. Please, God, she inwardly prayed. Make him go away. She didn’t know why the dark haired man with the vivid blue eyes disturbed her. She put it down to the shock of Rolf’s death, but deep down knew it was something more.

  Nathan Montgomery was a rich, powerful man. Hatred of his kind churned in her breast as memories, suppressed for over three years, suddenly surfaced. A shaft of cold fear shot down her spinal column.

  She took several deep, steadying breaths and willed her hands to stop trembling. She couldn’t let the circus down; she owed it to Rolf’s memory. He had saved her life, given her a home, and treated her like a daughter.

  She scrubbed at a wayward tear. Thankfully, Grenadier, the white stallion she rode, knew the routine as well as she did. Putting two fingers into her mouth, she emitted a low whistle and within seconds her loyal steed appeared in the mounting yard behind the striped canvas curtain. Vince followed a step or two behind. He was a swarthy, overweight gypsy who she detested and feared. His black hair hung in dirty rattails around his neck and she shuddered with revulsion. How could Rolf have such a horrible nephew? She had heard that he wasn’t a true gypsy, having been adopted by Rolf’s brother when he was a child. That would explain his dirty habits. A true gypsy didn’t behave like he did.

  She put her foot into his cupped hands and mounted Grenadier. Her flesh crawled when he ran his hand up and down her leg. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from slapping the leering, lecherous smirk off his face. And he thought she would marry the likes of him? No decent man would want someone like me. They only wanted virgin brides, but she would rather be an old maid than let Vince paw her.

  ~*~

  Nathan Montgomery tried to curb his annoyance at having to sit and watch this pathetic excuse for a circus, but he desperately wanted to see the white stallion in action again. Such a magnificent beast, he had to have him, no matter what the cost.

  The trumpet sounded, the curtain swung back and the white horse trotted out. His mane and tail shone in the light thrown out by the brassieres positioned on tall poles at intervals around the enormous tent. The fancy bronze fittings on the bridle glistened. The girl mounted on him was mesmerizing. Tiny and dainty, she stood on the horse, hands raised above her head, her long golden locks spilling over her shoulders before cascading down her back.

  The crowd clapped and stamped their feet, a man would have to be cast from stone not to appreciate such beauty. He was prepared to offer her employment at his saloon if he got the horse. She was not a gypsy like the rest of the troupe, her features were too fine, her coloring too fair.

  Loud whistles had him coming out of his reverie as the girl maneuvered herself on to the horse’s rump and did a back flip onto his neck. She moved back, raised herself and balanced on one leg, arms outstretched, head thrown back as the animal picked up pace until it was galloping around the circular enclosure.

  The horse was obviously well trained, it and rider moved as one. She did not use reins or a whip, just a series of clicking noises, and the stallion seemed to know exactly what was expected of him.

  Nathan watched her, his eyes unwavering as she did her ten-minute routine, then to thunderous applause, horse and rider disappeared behind a curtain.

  They returned a few moments later. The horse reared, his feet pawing at the air for several seconds while the girl smiled and waved, the curtain dropped and they were gone.

  He would have to deal with the slovenly, uncouth looking man one of the workers had pointed out to him. If he wanted the stallion he had to do something now, before they moved to God alone knew where. He could find them of course, he was rich enough to track them to the ends of the earth if he so desired.

  ~*~

  Vince minced up to Tess. “What in tarnation were you doing somersaulting on that damn animal?”

  “I felt like it.” She tossed her head and he stomped off. She owed her life to Rolf and would have done anything he asked, not Vince, she owed him nothing, not even respect. His lust filled eyes had ranged over her body during the last couple of years, and on several occasions, she had caught him spying on her as she was getting changed, or washed. She had to get away from him somehow, and once the circus arrived in Londrigan, she would have her chance.

  Louie’s brother travelled with another circus, and he had married the owner’s daughter. It was a much bigger affair than this one. Louie was planning to leave, to work for his brother, and had promised she could accompany him. Rolf had given Grenadier to her a few weeks before he died, and no-one except her would want Fleabag. She did not doubt her ability to be an asset to any circus; she just had to get there.

  “The stallion belongs to me,” Tess heard Vince snarl, as she stopped outside his wagon.

  “I was informed the stallion belonged to the girl.” A deep, male voice floated through the open door, and she somehow knew it was Nathan Montgomery.

  Nervous butterflies cavorted deep within her stomach. She stepped inside, the tall, slimly built man towered over Vince’s pudgy shortness.

  “It belonged to my uncle, and now he’s dead, all of his property belongs to me, her included.”

  “I don’t belong to any man.” She glared at Vince. “Least of all you.”

  “We’ll be wed within the week.”

  “What!” Her mouth dried up with fear and revulsion as she stared into his mean, lust filled eyes. Instinctively she knew the horror she had once endured, would be repeated with this brute of a man.

  “A brat every twelve months will keep you in line, and this.” Vince fingered a short-handled whip. “I’ve been wanting to curb your insolent attitude and I will, even if I have to flog it out of you.”


  Backing away from Vince, she cannoned into Nathan’s hard body and warmth coursed through her.

  “How much do you want for the stallion?”

  Tess gasped in shock. “He isn’t for sale”

  “Yes, he is,” Vince growled. “If the price is right, Mister, you can have them both. I’ve decided she’s not fit to wed.”

  “I came to buy the stallion. I’ll give you twenty dollars for her, and twenty dollars for the horse, but I want a bill of sale for him. Collect what you need.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Go, you ungrateful creature, Grenadier stays with me,” Vince growled.

  He glared at the tall man who stood motionless, hands on hips, feet slightly apart.

  “Twenty dollars for the stallion!” Vince threw back his head and roared with laughter. “He’s staying with me.”

  “No. No, he’s mine, Rolf gave him to me. He won’t work with anyone except me.”

  “Under the whip he’ll work with anyone I put on his back.”

  “Please, Nathan, Grenadier belongs to me. I…I can’t leave him behind, Fleabag either.”

  “You can take your ugly flea-bitten mutt, the horse stays here.”

  “Grenadier is mine.”

  “Prove it?” Vince bared his stained, food clogged teeth.

  “I don’t have any papers. Rolf gave his word, he… I…I can’t leave Grenadier behind.”

  Vince’s triumphant laugh was laced with cruelty and Tess trembled; she couldn’t leave the stallion behind. He had a soft, responsive mouth and such a lovely friendly nature and without a doubt, Vince’s brutal training methods would break him.

  “If you buy the horse and let my dog come with me, I swear, I’ll work for you for nothing until the debt is paid. I’ll do anything.” She clutched at the fine cloth of Nathan’s sleeve. “Please.”

  “All right.”

  “Sixty dollars, Montgomery, and you can have them both.”

  It’s daylight robbery. Give me the bill of sale right here and now, then I’ll leave with the horse, the dog and the girl.”

  Nathan Montgomery stood with a grim expression on his face, his lips thin. He was arrogant and intimidating, Tess inwardly quaked. This man was not to be trifled with. Her hopes of slipping away with Louie later, were dashed. Nothing could be worse than being raped by Vince and rape it would be, because she would never voluntarily let him touch her body. There was only one man she hated more than this vile beast - Edwin Benditt.

  She felt the color leech from her face, bile surged into her mouth and she clenched her teeth so the bitter liquid would not spill out.

  “Are you all right?” Nathan’s hand on her shoulder steadied her.

  “Yes, ghosts from the past,” she whispered. If only she could forget.

  She dashed off to gather her meager possessions, then leading Grenadier, returned to the wagon and waited near the door.

  Vince handed over the bill of sale. Nathan gave him the sixty dollars and stepped down from the wagon, putting on a black Stetson as he did so. She noticed that he wore no gun belt.

  “You’re welcome to the dirty bed faggot,” Vince snarled. “When my uncle found her she was bleeding like a stuck pig from an abortion.”

  The vitriolic words stopped Nathan in his tracks. The shock would have sent her plummeting to the ground if she hadn’t been holding on to Grenadier’s neck.

  An angry hiss, followed by a string of curses came from Nathan. “Is it true?” He stood rigid. “And don’t lie to me.”

  Fleabag growled and stood between them. Tess shivered at the cold fury bouncing off the tall man’s body. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of? You either aborted a child or you didn’t.”

  She wanted to confess her deadly secret, but dared not, because it could send her to boot hill. Three years ago she had murdered Edwin Benditt and no-one would believe it had been in self-defense. The man had raped her, then tried to kill her, but who would believe an almost destitute, fallen woman?

  Clamping her lips together she remained silent.

  “Sixty dollars wasted on a debauched creature like you,” he raged. “Sonofabitch, I’m a fool. You’ll pay back every cent of it.”

  He strode to his buggy and she stumbled after him with Fleabag limping along beside her. “Tie the horse to the back,” he instructed his driver. “The mutt can follow.”

  “No! No! Fleabag can’t walk far, his old and sick.”

  “Leave him behind.”

  “No, please, have mercy. I’ll put him on Grenadier and walk beside them so he won’t fall off.”

  “Five miles in bare feet. I don’t think so.”

  “I will, I will.”

  She had no shoes on, wore only the flimsy costume yet she stood defying him over the ugliest mutt he had ever seen. It looked like its face had been smashed in. He grudgingly admired her defense of the dog. He still wanted her, no matter how many men she had given her body to. So unsullied and virginal looking, yet underneath the innocent façade she was evil and cold hearted. She could work off the sixty dollars servicing cowboys at The Black Garter.

  Maybe he deserved his reputation as a hard-hearted villain. Her deed was blacker than anything he had ever done. How could a woman destroy her own child?

  “Take the dog up with you,” he told his driver, “and be quick about it, I want to be home before midnight.”

  “Yes, boss.” The man lifted the dog up, and the creature whined in protest.

  “Go with him, darling,” Tess said. “Then you won’t have to walk on your sore leg.”

  Her soft, crooning voice did funny things to Nathan’s insides. “Come on, girl, get in.” He didn’t help her up, those courtesies he saved for a lady, but he placed his hand on her back and gave her a gentle shove.

  She clambered on board, and as he joined her in the buggy she said, “my name is Tess. Tess Smith.”

  Surely, she could come up with something better than that.

  “What’s your real name?”

  The whip snapped and they were off with the crunching of wheels on loose gravel.

  “I told you, Tess Smith.”

  Nathan gave a snort of disgust.

  “It is. That’s what the foundling home called me.” She clamped her mouth shut, although it was too late, she had let out more than she intended to. Her careless words could place a noose around her neck. She cursed her own stupidity. He was like a lawyer, relentlessly probing, taking her by surprise, trying to trick her into giving him more information. She had to revert to form, by saying little to anyone about anything. Safer that way. Teresa Brown no longer existed once she had killed Edwin Benditt and fled his ranch. They lapsed into silence.

  “Why did you call the dog Fleabag?”he suddenly asked.

  “Because when I found him his coat was alive with fleas and he had been wh…” She clamped her lips together to stop the words spilling out. He had been whipped and bleeding like her, cast aside and left to die. What was it about this man that he could trick her into revealing things she had tried not to think about for over three years?

  “How old are you, girl?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Well, I am, being so fair it makes me look younger. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-six.” He blurted the answer out before he could stop himself. He never revealed anything of a personal nature to his whores, and that is what she would be until he tired of her. A few weeks at most, women quickly bored him, and he was always eager for new conquests.

  The members of his secret society, would enjoy her, that air of virginal innocence would be irresistible. Would Chloe be able to fabricate an un-torn hymen? The Creole woman was a wizard on all things sexual. He had been surprised by his stroke of good fortune in finding her.

  Chloe’s potions and spells kept the women healthy, non-pregnant and able to service clients every day of the month. He had started up a secret society, a luxurious escape for wealthy, jaded men b
ored with their usual sexual pursuits. He had two rules - all guns had to be checked in before they entered, and no woman could be forced to do anything she didn’t want to.

  Tess slept slumped against his arm so he ran his fingers through her lavender perfumed curls. This blue-eyed witch was casting a spell over him, and he would drink of her passion until his thirst was slaked. Once he finished with her she would either become a plaything for his Devils, the name he had bestowed on his members, or work in The Black Garter.

  Each of the Devils wore a black mask covering his head, and his face from forehead to nose, leaving only his mouth free to enjoy whatever delights it fancied. Absolute anonymity was maintained. The Devils paid a high yearly fee, which entitled them to avail themselves of all the club’s amenities, numerous high class whores, hot mineral baths, meals and accommodation for as long as they liked.

  It brought in much more money than the saloon. He had to have money, lots of it so he could buy his way out of any predicament. Money would have saved him from the torture of a stinking hell-hole Confederate army prison. A shudder ran through him. The war had broken him, body and soul. He fought to push the bitter memories back into the deepest recess of his brain.

  He was the only person who knew the true identity of members, and this information was locked away. If men wanted to give a fancied women extra money, that was their prerogative. In the privacy of the boudoirs, they could remove their masks if they so desired. He didn’t care what they did so long as the women did not object. He paid his soiled doves well. They were the cornerstone of his business.

  Wealthy ranchers and businessmen, and rich young men searching for excitement, he catered for all of them.

  His own family had disowned him years ago, branded him a traitor. His brother had betrayed not only him, but the Union army and got away with it, as well as several boxes of Confederate gold. He swallowed down on his bitterness, which was like leprosy, slowly eating him away.

  Chapter Two