Violet: The Brides of San Francisco, #6

By Cynthia Woolf

Violet Malone is a beauty beyond compare. Carefree. She has the world at her fingertips and a bright future ahead of her. 

Someone wants to steal that future.

Someone wants to twist Violet's beauty into suffering and pain.

There are monsters in the world, and this one is willing to pay a premium to ensure the innocent beauty cannot escape him.

 

Every bounty, every job demands something new from Lionel "Beast" Plantier.

This time he's been hired to kidnap an innocent maiden and deliver her to the devil in disguise.

This time, the rejection, the repulsion and disgust caused by his horrible scars is taken from him with one soft, feminine caress.

This time, he will risk everything to save an untouched beauty from a true monster, even marry her himself.

 

But what will happen when this beauty is forced to marry a beast?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firehouse Publishing
• Release date: Jun 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781954996755

Cynthia Woolf

Cynthia Woolf is the award winning and best-selling author of twelve historical western romance books and two short stories with more books on the way. She was born in Denver, Colorado and raised in the mountains west of Golden. She spent her early years running wild around the mountain side with her friends. Their closest neighbor was about one quarter of a mile away, so her little brother was her playmate and her best friend. That fierce friendship lasted until his death in 2006. Cynthia was and is an avid reader. Her mother was a librarian and brought new books home each week. This is where young Cynthia first got the storytelling bug. She wrote her first story at the age of ten. A romance about a little boy she liked at the time. Cynthia loves writing and reading romance. Her first western romance Tame A Wild Heart, was inspired by the story her mother told her of meeting Cynthia’s father on a ranch in Creede, Colorado. Although Tame A Wild Heart takes place in Creede that is the only similarity between the stories. Her father was a cowboy not a bounty hunter and her mother was a nursemaid (called a nanny now) not the ranch owner.   Cynthia credits her wonderfully supportive husband Jim and the great friends she's made at CRW for saving her sanity and allowing her to explore her creativity.   TITLES AVAILABLE   NELLIE – The Brides of San Francisco 1 ANNIE – The Brides of San Francisco 2 CORA – The Brides of San Francisco 3 JAKE (Book 1, Destiny in Deadwood series) LIAM (Book 2, Destiny in Deadwood series) ZACH (Book 3, Destiny in Deadwood series)     CAPITAL BRIDE (Book 1, Matchmaker & Co. series) HEIRESS BRIDE (Book 2, Matchmaker & Co. series) FIERY BRIDE (Book 3, Matchmaker & Co. series) TAME A WILD HEART (Book 1, Tame series) TAME A WILD WIND (Book 2, Tame series) TAME A WILD BRIDE (Book 3, Tame series) TAME A SUMMER HEART (short story, Tame series)     WEBSITE – www.cynthiawoolf.com   NEWSLETTER - http://bit.ly/1qBWhFQ    

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

San Francisco, February 1887

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"V iolet, I’m begging you, don’t even think of going to your grandfather’s in New York. He is evil incarnate." Nellie Malone pleaded, her blue eyes flashing.

Violet rolled her eyes, the same shade as her mother’s. Mother, he just wants me to finish my education. That’s all. Then I’ll come home.

Nellie paced back and forth in Violet’s bedroom. She raised her arm in the air, her hand in a fist. Don’t you believe it. Once you go to him he’ll never let you come back. He will sell you to the highest bidder, if he hasn’t already. Please. You’re only twenty-two, too young to remember when he tried to take your brother. But Henry’s twenty-six now and even though he was only a child when it happened, he still refuses to go there or to talk to or about his grandfather.

Violet sighed. Henry was traumatized by whatever his grandparents had done. He never spoke about it or about them. Never. She had to believe her studious brother had good reason for such actions. Very well, Mother, I won’t go. I’ll write Grandfather Wallace and tell him not to contact me again. I trust Henry. He means too much to me. Besides, I want to find a husband who loves me and have a relationship like you and Daddy have. I want lots of children and a home of my own.

Besides, her mother would not be pleading with her if it wasn’t important. Violet penned her note to her grandfather.

---

Grandfather,

I have decided not to take you up on your offer of finishing school. I’ll not be coming to New York at all and would appreciate if you would cease contacting me. I will not change my mind, so correspondence between us is unnecessary.

Violet

---

She sanded the missive, folded it and placed it in the envelope she’d prepared. Then she took it downstairs and set it on the mail tray on top of the table in the entry way.

Well, that’s the end of that.

Edward Wallace reread the short note from his granddaughter while he waited for Walter Smithson to show up. He threw the paper into the fire. Stupid girl. This is all her mother’s doing.

Edward’s butler entered the den where Edward sat in his wheelchair in front of a roaring fire. He was always cold. Edward supposed, when you’re nearing eighty, you’re allowed to keep the fire going if you want. The staff hated coming into the room because it was always so warm. Yet, Edward remained cold.

Mr. Smithson has arrived, sir.

Show him in, Jameson.

Yes, sir. The butler turned.

Walter Smithson entered the room before the butler could get him. No need to, Jameson. I’m already here.

Yes, sir. The butler left, closing the door behind him.

Edward turned his chair so the fire was at his back. Sit, Walter. Smithson was thirty-five years old, a wiry, thin man of average height and blonde hair. Looking at him Edward saw himself as a young man. Except Walter had debts, large gambling debts. He needed Edward’s money. The fact it was well known that Walter would get Edward’s money was the only thing keeping the loan sharks at bay.

Smithson sat in the chair opposite Edward.

Now, he sneered. Why have you summoned me on a Monday afternoon? I’ve barely risen and had breakfast.

I can’t help it you’re a slug, and I can’t help the fact my granddaughter has turned down my invitation to complete her education in New York. Admittedly, it wouldn’t be the kind of education she’s expecting, but an education nonetheless.

I agreed to wed the girl, sight unseen, because of her inheritance. That hasn’t changed. You still want me to have your estate, do you not?

Yes, it’s the whole idea for this. I want my kin to have it, but the boy turned me down. Now, I just have the girl and I will expect children within the first year.

Good. We are still on the same page. I have the perfect man to send to collect her. Trust me on this one. He’s never let me down yet.

Very well, I leave the situation in your hands. Edward waved him away. Just remember what’s at stake.

Smithson’s mouth turned up at the corners and he lowered his chin. Believe me, I know exactly what’s at stake.

Edward thought all that was missing was a set of horns and Walter would be the devil in the flesh. For a flash of a moment, he had second thoughts about giving his granddaughter to Smithson.

The moment passed.

Walter Smithson arrived back home and threw his gloves on the hall table. Krebbs, he shouted.

Here, sir. A man with white hair, well into his fifties and wearing a tuxedo, responded from behind Walter. May I take your coat, sir?

Walter shrugged out of the garment. Send for Lionel Plantier.

The butlers eyes widened. The Beast, sir?

Yes and make it snappy. I want to see him tonight. Walter exited down the hall to the first door, which was his den. He entered and slammed the door. Damn, girl. Making me go to all this trouble just to retrieve her. He sauntered to the sideboard and poured himself three fingers of brandy. Walter swirled the brandy in the large snifter and then drank it without stopping. He poured another, just as large, but didn’t gulp it. Instead he sipped it as was civilized.

An hour later, Krebbs entered the den, Mr. Plantier has arrived, sir.

Send him in.

"Yes, sir.

A few moments later and Krebbs was back. Mr. Plantier.

A huge man entered behind the butler. He was about six feet, five inches tall, with black hair and a mask covering one side of his face. A black eyebrow slashed over one emerald-green eye on the uncovered side. He had to weigh about two-hundred-fifty pounds and appeared to be all muscle.

You wanted to see me, Smithson?

Walter jutted his chin toward the Queen Anne chair across from him. Take a seat.

The big man sat in the offered chair.

I have a job for you. I want you to bring my fiancée to me.

Beast lifted that black brow. Did she run off?

Smithson stood and paced the room. No, she didn’t run off. The wench refuses to come to New York.

Beast crossed an ankle over his knee. Where is she?

San Francisco. Smithson stopped in front of Beast. Her name is Violet Malone.

Beast lifted his eyebrow. You know my daily fee?

Smithson nodded. Yes.

It begins now and ends when I return here with the girl.

I’m aware of that. I’ll pay whatever.

The woman’s address?

221 Hyde Street. She lives with her parents, Blake and Nellie Malone. He’s a well-known businessman. You won’t have any trouble finding them. My contacts tell me the house is at the corner of Hyde and Filbert Streets.

The big man stood. It will take me more than a month to return with her.

I’ll be expecting you in a month or so, then.

Beast dipped his chin. I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll need two-hundred dollars in advance.

As I thought. Walter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. He counted out two-hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills and handed it to the man.

Beast took the money and left.

Walter followed his retreating form. He’s extremely light on his feet for such a large man. If anyone can do this, he can. Walter stood and rang the bell for Krebbs.

You rang, sir. The butler entered the room and came to stand beside Walter.

Yes, send in Vic Gordon.

Of course, sir. The butler slightly bowed and then left the room.

I’ll just make sure Beast does his job. He’s never failed me before, but the target has never been as important before. With a second man on the case, there’s no chance of a mistake.

Beast sent for his spy in Smithson household. He discovered the reason Smithson was so determined to get this girl. Armed with the information he boarded the train the next day. He sat as far away from people as he could. The bar car was usually empty, at least once the train left. In there, he could get a table, sit alone and stretch his legs. No one ever asked to share his table.

He never thought of himself as Lionel, anymore. Since the accident that took his left eye and scarred him so badly he scared people, he’d been Beast. Women would shrink away from him, a look of horror on their faces, and so he wore a mask to cover that side of his face.

The trip was long, four days of sitting with never enough room to really stretch his legs. He rode second class, the ticket one-hundred and ten dollars, which, of course, Smithson would be charged for.

He walked as much as possible but often turned around and went back to his seat because of the looks he got. I should have gotten a first-class ticket with a berth in the Pullman, but they are always too short.

Arriving in San Francisco, five days after starting because of a rockslide in Colorado, Beast took a taxi to the Gold Rush Hotel on the corner of O’Farrell and Harris Streets. He could have stayed at a much more luxurious hotel, but he didn’t want to charge Smithson too much. He might refuse to pay, and Beast really didn’t want to rough up one of his best clients.

He asked the taxi driver where he could find Blake Malone.

Everyone knows Mr. Malone. He’ll be at his office downtown, right on Market Street, five blocks that a way. He pointed east, away from the bay.

Thank you. He tipped the driver two dollars for his information. Also, what does Mr. Malone look like?

Dark hair and mustache, and tall, about six feet or so. You can’t miss him, always wears a black suit, like he’s dressed for a funeral.

Beast headed inside and checked in.

The hotel room featured a double bed with matching nightstands, bureau with mirror, a wardrobe and a commode. All the comforts of home, thought Beast. He put his bag on the bed, checked his pistol making sure it was fully loaded.

He headed over to Market Street and the building the driver said was Malone’s. Beast stood across from it and watched people come and go. Around six o’clock, when people were heading home, a carriage pulled up in front of the building blocking Beast’s view.

He hurried around the vehicle just in time to see a tall man in a black suit enter the carriage. Malone.

The carriage slowly made its way through the throng of traffic.

Beast followed on foot until he found a free taxi and then had it follow the carriage.

The driver, a thin man in a ragged black suit, a shirt that had seen one too many washings and an old silk top hat looked down at Beast. Mister, iffin you wanna know where that there buggy is a goin’, I can tell you. That there is the Malone carriage and it’s going to the Malone mansion on Russian Hill. I can take you.

Good. Do that. But just drive by. I simply want to know where it is.

The driver shrugged and slapped the reins on the lone horse’s back.

The ride lasted about fifteen minutes before the driver pointed out the mansion. High up on a hill, the view would have been spectacular.

Thank you. Now, take me to the Gold Rush Hotel.

Yes, sir.

When they arrived, Beast stepped out of the vehicle and looked up at the