Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(25)

When she reached the guard at the compound, she avoided his glance, not wanting to be connected to anything having to do with that boy, Porter. Luckily, Samuel wasn’t looking her way; he was busy talking to another man, laughing at a joke.

When Rebecca rounded the corner, she gasped.

Brinley and Burt.

Talking.

On the street corner.

Burt’s back was to her, but she could see Brinley’s face . . . and she was crying.

Rebecca hid behind the wall of the compound, peeking around it, shocked at what she was observing. The anger she had pushed down for weeks built up once again, so much so that she struggled to compose herself, struggled just to breathe.

How dare Brinley speak to that man! How dare she continue to lure Rebecca away from the Cluff family and into a life of damnation! How dare she not respect Rebecca’s wishes to keep sweet and accept the assignment of the prophet! Had they planned this? Was this why Brinley had asked her to come into town? To trick her into being in Burt’s presence?

And then Rebecca had another thought. Perhaps Brinley wasn’t crying for her. Perhaps she was crying for herself. Perhaps she and Burt had forged a friendship, a relationship, a bond. A completely inappropriate and unholy bond. Perhaps Brinley was nothing but a bad seed as Leandra had said, seeking comfort from the one man in the compound she should be avoiding.

Those thoughts burned through Rebecca’s veins like venom.

Of course, she knew she had to let go of Burt and his love for her. She had to move on and embrace the love of Lehi and the plan the Lord had made for her on this earth.

But how could Brinley continue to speak to Burt? How could she meet up with him in broad daylight, against the wishes of the prophet and of the good Lord himself?

How.

Dare.

She.

So Rebecca seethed; her heart thumped wildly in her chest and her lungs expanded with every breath. Leandra was right. That Brinley was, indeed, the worst seed imaginable.

She took a breath from deep within her chest, turned, and walked with new purpose back to the Cluff household.



Chapter 10

I’d tried to see Porter the very next day, but Leandra had kept me busy with chores and child care. And then at dinnertime, I was reminded that it was my night with Lehi.

Thoughts of Porter had reigned the entire day. Somehow I knew those thoughts had no plans to retreat from my brain and I’d be unable to escape him while laying with my husband.

And I was right.

Lehi arrived at my bedroom shortly after dinner.

“Is now a good time?” Lehi asked after knocking on my door and peeking his head in.

“Yes.” I gestured for him to enter the room. When he closed the door, he turned to me and frowned, so I asked, “Is everything all right?”

Lehi cleared his throat. “I’d expected you to be ready. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I was confused. I’d worn my standard nightgown and my hair was pulled into its French braid.

Lehi rubbed his finger across his lips and it dawned on me. I’d forgotten to paint my face.

“Oh,” I said. “I could—if you’ll just give me a few minutes, I can—”

I’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of Porter that I’d forgotten to prepare for Lehi and his desires. As indifferent as I was to sex with my husband, I had no intention of raising any suspicions in his mind. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, know about Porter as long as I played my expected part.

“No.” He shook his head, arms crossed in front of his chest, pursing his lips with irritation. “I suppose this is fine.”

He stood next to the bed, waiting for me to join him, asserting his control, reminding me that he’d allowed me to skip painting my face. It was not my decision.

“I’m sorry, Lehi. Honestly, I was just . . . I forgot.”

“It’s all right. It just makes me wonder if you don’t look forward to our time together the way I do.” His voice was calm, almost soothing. The wrinkles next to his eyes stretched as he spoke.

I was again confused by his words. Lehi looked forward to our time together? I was number seven of eight, and even though I was obedient in the bedroom, I was pretty certain that after three years of laying with my husband, I was still rather clueless when it came to intercourse.

“What is it?” he asked, running his fingers down my braid as he peered into my eyes.

“You look forward to . . . to me?”

“Of course, my beautiful girl.”

I didn’t like being called “girl.” Not by Leandra and certainly not by Lehi. But I swallowed my irritation, forcing myself to replace the cringe that was begging to be released with an obedient smile.

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

“Tell me,” he continued, moving his hand to the back of my neck. The rough calluses from his hand scraped my skin, and I forced myself not to pull away. “Do you think about me when I’m not here?”

Why all the questions?

Does he know something?

Did Rebecca tell him about the afternoon in Porter’s apartment?

“Uh, yes,” I said, my cheeks growing hot. “Of course, yes.”

“Good. Lay down.”

Following the instructions I’d been given, I pulled back the quilt of my bed before unbuttoning my nightgown, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle at my feet. Three years of intercourse with Lehi. Three years of letting him touch me and enter me and own me. Throughout all those years not once had I ever felt naked.