Chapter 2 #2
“Deep breaths,” Deborah urged, rubbing Beatrice’s back, “You must get a hold of yourself, Beatrice. I have known about this place for a while now. The more scared you appear, the worse the man that bids on you will be. If you hold your head high and proud—those are the women that get purchased as wives.”
“This is not right,” Beatrice groaned, feeling another wave of nausea hit her as she vehemently shook her head. “This is not right!”
“Quiet now!” Deborah whispered loudly. “I know. I know this is not right, but this is where we are. We must make the best of it, Beatrice.”
Beatrice doubled over once again as another wave of nausea hit her.
For another moment, she stayed like that, wanting nothing more than to fold into herself and disappear.
After a few deep breaths, though, Beatrice grimly lifted her head and let Deborah help her to her feet.
The other woman was right. Whether it wrong or not, Beatrice was being sold, and if there was anything she could to avoid being sold as a slave, servant, or paramour, she was going to do it.
“What should I do?” Beatrice asked, brushing the skirts of her gown into place.
Deborah gave Beatrice a proud smile then led her to the vanities.
Five minutes later when Nigel came back into the room to collect Beatrice she not only felt calmer, but she looked better as well.
She had dried her eyes and through a deep sense of determination, pushed her fear deep down.
Deborah helped her add a bit of rouge to her plump lips and cheeks, and they had decided to take some of the pins out of her hair so that only the top half remained up while the bottom flowed in dark curls down her back.
“Remember, do not give in to the fear,” Deborah whispered as Nigel took Beatrice away. “Be brave!”
With a final nod of approval, Beatrice waved goodbye to her guardian angel and was brought back to the curtain.
“Right then,” Nigel grunted, positioning her. “Stay here in this spot until I come to collect you after the bid. No use trying to stop the auction; it happens no matter what.”
“So, I have been told,” Beatrice said coldly, looking at him through narrowed eyes.
Nigel stopped his fussing and looked at Beatrice, truly looked at her, for the first time, and to her surprise, he smiled.
“That guff will get you somewhere,” he told her with a wink. “Keep it up. No good comes from being meek in places like this.”
Beatrice was a bit surprised by Nigel’s sudden and genuine advice, but she had no time to react as the curtain started to rise. Within a second Nigel was gone, and as the curtain was pulled up from above, it revealed the still crowded room of masked men from earlier.
This time, however, they could see her as easily as she could see them, and many of them let out whooping hollers of excitement as the spotlight fell on her.
Fighting through her fear, Beatrice raised her chin proudly and ignored the trembling in her limbs as the auctioneer began to call of numbers.
It was hard to track at first; the numbers were rattled off quickly and by many.
After a minute or so though, several men had dropped out of the bidding, which had grown to over eight-thousand pounds.
Soon, only two men were left bidding on her.
One was standing near to the stage and to the right, and even with a mask on, she could tell was much older than she.
Again, Beatrice fought her natural urge to grimace and kept her face expressionless.
The other bidder was toward the back, and she could not make him out at all.
“Do we have nine-thousand pounds?” the auctioneer called.
“You have ten!” the older gentleman shouted.
“Twenty-five thousand to end this bidding!” the man in the back called.
The shouting in the room ceased immediately.
“Twenty-five thousand, sir. Did I hear that correctly?” The auctioneer called out.
“You heard right,” the man in the back called out. “Now, let’s get this over with. I want out of here. Do I have her or not?”
A rumble of laughter went through the crowd as everyone looked toward the older bidder.
“Do you counter-bid, sir?” the auctioneer asked as the light shined on the older masked man.
In the light, Beatrice could see that he was much older than she originally suspected, and she found herself holding her breath as she and everyone else waited for the answer.
The older man sneered as he lowered his top hat over his mask, as if he did not like the attention.
“No counterbid,” the man snarled. “Get that light out of my face!”
“Sold to the persistent man in the back!” the auctioneer called out, followed by the loud bang of a gavel and the eruption of applause.
“Come on,” Nigel said, appearing by Beatrice’s side once more. “Time to say your goodbyes.”
“Goodbyes to whom?” Beatrice asked as she was pulled off of the stage and down a set of stairs.
Nigel didn’t answer, just walked her to an uncrowded corner of the room where Beatrice found her father sitting with another masked man.
“She’s a pretty one,” the man beside Simeon praised as he looked her up and down. “Fetched a mighty pretty penny too. Got any more at home you would be willing to part with?”
“Just this one,” Simeon said, sounding bored as he looked Beatrice up and down. “Pity though. If I had known she was going to fetch such a good price, I would have tried for more.”
Beatrice had run through a multitude of emotions that night—in fact she was sure that she touched on every single one that existed—but as she heard her father’s laissez-faire tone and words, she realized that there was one she had indeed missed. Rage.
Forgetting her fear, forgetting that the man before her was one she was raised to obey and respect, Beatrice put her hands on the table and leaned her face close to his.
“You are a horrible, sorry excuse for a man,” she stated, her tone hard and clear. “On my mother’s grave, I swear to you right now I will make you pay for all the foulness you forced upon me. Do you hear me? By the time my vengeance is paid through— You. Will. Be. Nothing.”
Simeon’s brown eyes glowered at Beatrice, but this time instead of flinching away from him, she smirked and moved toward him with a quickness that made not just him but the man beside him lean back.
“You want to hit me again?” she dared to ask. “Go ahead. I invite it. Because I assure you, you bastard, that you will never lay a hand on me again after this.”
Simeon sneered as he raised his hand, and even as he pulled back, Beatrice did not flinch or move away, determined to show him that she feared him no longer.
Yet, as she braced for the impact, a hand appeared around Simeon’s wrist and slammed it into the table with great force. A moment later, a bag of money was tossed down from over Beatrice’s shoulder. A shiver ran up Beatrice’s spine, and she turned.
Her eyes roamed up a wide, muscular physique draped in a tailored black suit.
Wavy brown locks stuck out in tufts from under a black top hat, and a black eye mask sat atop a straight nose, revealing chiseled lines of a no-doubt handsome face.
Green eyes, deep and mystical as the forests the druids used to live in, met her own.
“Do not touch what is mine,” the man snarled.
Even though Beatrice was frightened… Even though she felt deeply betrayed by the only man she’d ever loved, the voice of the man that purchased her sent a strange, warm shiver down through Beatrice’s chest to her belly and curling deliciously into her sex.
“Say your goodbyes,” the man’s deep voice rumbled, his dark green eyes finally breaking from hers. “We take our leave. Now.”
Beatrice looked over her shoulder, her lips curling into a sneer as she saw her father’s hate filled eyes glaring at her. Without a word, she turned away and followed the masked gentleman out of the gambling hell.