Harlot at the Homestead by Molly Ann Wishlade Page B

attractive woman and that with the right clothes and perfumes I could make a man real happy.”
    “What a blowhard!”
    “I guess I looked kinda country-girl compared with the fine New York ladies.” She looked up from beneath her lashes.
    Kenan eyed her thick red curls, her pretty little nose with its spattering of freckles then into her bright green eyes. There was nothing about her that any woman—wealthy and spoiled, fine and aristocratic—could ever top in his eyes. Catherine was perfect, beautiful, bright and sweet. And she had been his woman, his world, his future.
    “He asked if I’d be prepared to try to make him happy. Though it made me feel sick, I said that I’d do whatever was required of me for however long it took to pay off the debt. I was hoping that he’d say a week or two, a month at most, so when he said two years I nearly vomited all over him.”
    “That’s why you’ve been gone so long.”
    “Yes…He said they’d deal with matters in Virginia City by telling folks I’d been taken by Indians. They’d make it look like I’d been kidnapped and my uncle would spread the story.”
    “By ‘folks’ he meant me.”
    “Mainly. My uncle had told him I had an intended.”
    “And that didn’t bother him?”
    “He asked me straight up then if I was intact.”
    “What?” Kenan had to force his mouth shut. “What did you say?”
    “I told him the truth. I didn’t want to lie in case it made the deal null and void. He said it didn’t bother him and made a comment about it making the way easier for him.” Her face drained of all color at the memory.
    “Oh, Catherine!” Kenan’s blood boiled as the meaning behind her words sank in. The man had fully intended to keep her as a whore—to use her perfect body, to delve into her bright and inquisitive mind, to take from her what was a gift for her to bestow upon the man she loved.
    “Then he pulled a paper from his pocket. He said that I had to sign it to make the contract real. My uncle’s bleary eyes were on me and I could read the desperation in them. So I did it. Though my heart thrummed like a trapped butterfly and my stomach felt like it would empty its contents right then and there, I signed away my life for two years…and became…” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I became a harlot!”
    “Oh my sweetheart.” Kenan moved closer to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, smoothing away the tears as they burst forth and ran like raindrops down her flawless cheeks.
    “He took me to New York City where he kept me in a set of rooms in a large fancy house like some kind of pet bird. For a while, he kept me hidden away, to let things blow over here, he said. But after about two months, I’m not sure exactly ‘cos I didn’t have any way of keeping track of time, he started taking me out to the theater and to dine with his acquaintances.”
    “During which time I was grieving for you, thinking you’d been killed and scalped and…ra…” Kenan choked on the last word.
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “Me too.” He sniffed, fighting against his own tears of anger and frustration.
    “If I could have seen another way, Kenan, I would have taken it.”
    He shook his head. What did it matter now?
    “Did he hurt you?”
    She sighed. “Do I have to answer that?”
    “I need to know, Catherine or it will haunt me forever.”
    “He used me as a man would his wife. He wasn’t exactly tender but he didn’t, ya know, hurt me down there.” Her cheeks filled with color and she hung her head. “He knew I was no virgin so there were no coy games. I don’t want to…I can’t describe the details so please don’t ask me to. Those I really need to forget.” She chewed her lip. “But, no, he didn’t hurt me in that way.”
    “I cannot bear to think of you…” Kenan took a deep breath, swallowing the words that would only cause her pain and shame. She was embarrassed enough and had suffered enough.
    “Kenan.” She let the