Chapter 1
Chapter One
Johanna
The air was rank. The thin dress she was wearing, the one she had arrived in London with, did nothing to help dispel the chill she felt. Or perhaps the chill was coming from within herself.
Neither of the two men beside her seemed to feel it.
She turned to Mr. Blash, her brother’s guardian.
Not much taller than her, he was thin with narrow shoulders, but he did not bother using padding.
His dark eyes were set deep within his face and topped with dark-grey brows that matched the dark-grey hair on the top of his head, which paled to a lighter grey around his temples.
As usual, he was not smiling, but there was an air of anticipation around him.
Johanna supposed there was one around her, too, though hers was more of dread.
“Mr. Blash…” Her voice trailed off as he turned to look at her.
There was something about the manner with which he appraised her that had unnerved her from the moment she’d appeared in his London office.
Though he’d put her up in a room in a boarding house not far from him for the past few nights while he got things in order—out of his own pocket from the money he made as a solicitor, as he kept reminding her—and all proprieties had been observed, he always looked at her in a way that made her feel like cattle. “Is this truly the only way?”
Even though she’d asked before, she felt the need to hear the answer again, to help steel her nerves.
Her virginity was apparently worth more than enough money to save her family. Johanna could scarcely believe it, yet when Mr. Blash had explained it, it seemed simple enough.
One night, which would ruin all her future prospects but save her family from starving to death. Save her mother from starving to death.
Quick. Simple. Easy.
That was how he’d made it sound.
Now, beside this stage that she was expected to go on in a few moments, adjacent to a room full of the rumbling voices of men—some of them rough, some of them smooth but cruel, some of them laughing—it did not seem so simple. Nor easy. Hopefully, though, it would be quick.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but it truly is,” Mr. Blash said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
His expression turned to one of sympathy, but his eyes remained hard and glittering in the dim light.
“There is nothing else that will gather the money you need quickly enough if your mother’s situation is as dire as you made it sound. ”
“It is.” The feel of her mother’s hand, nothing but skin and bones, flashed through her mind.
“Then this is the only way. One sale, and you will have enough money to buy food for everyone for the next year and pay me back what I have sent from my own income.”
That had been another surprise, an unpleasant one. Apparently, the money they’d received from the estate had not been from the estate at all, but from Mr. Blash. He’d been using his own funds to support their coffers. And her mother was still starving to death.
One night.
She’d be ruined. She would never be able to marry, not within Society.
But it did not matter. It was hardly as though she could find a husband even before this.
The Blackstone house party had been an unexpected chance, and she’d dashed that opportunity by rushing off to attend her mother’s illness.
She should have sent Rose home alone and stayed to try to snag a husband, but…
She’d been so afraid her mother was dying, while she was sleeping in a comfortable bed and eating delicious foods, the likes of which her family had not tasted in months. If she’d known then what she knew now… but she had not, and the choice had already been made.
Now, she was making a different choice.
If it saved her family, it would be worth it.
“It’s time,” Mr. O’Connell said, rubbing his hands together. If he’d been listening to Johanna and Mr. Blash’s conversation, it did not show in his demeanor. He gestured to the woman beside him. “Come on, Penny.”
He did not even look at Johanna as he strode out onto the stage. The other woman, who had been standing quietly with them, followed him mutely, giving Johanna a blank look before she did so. It was as if there was no life, no hope, left in her. Neither of which helped Johanna’s nerves.
Closing her eyes, she gulped again, wishing she were anywhere but here.
Like at mother’s bedside, watching her die?
No.
There were worse things than here.
She could do this.
“Good evening!” Mr. O’Connell greeted the audience. “Who is ready for our special auction this evening? A real, live virgin!”
The sound of cheers and jeers made Johanna’s blood run cold, and she might have actually run despite everything, if not for Mr. Blash’s hand gripping her shoulder, his fingers now digging in as if he knew she was thinking about it.
“She’s a sweet one, alright.” Mr. O’Connell chuckled. “A real lovely lady, if you get my meaning. The likes that we have not seen since the Tramp claimed his lady.”
Johanna did not know what that meant, but the crowd must have understood because the men grew even louder. Her stomach turned over, and she thought she might spew. Thanks to Mr. Blash, there was actually something in there for her to vomit.
The remind of how recently she’d eaten steadied her.
She was doing this for her mother. For Rose. For Micah, Bridget, and Charlotte. So that they could have something in their stomachs, too.
“Come on out, sweetheart, let them get a look at you,” Mr. O’Connell said.
Penny moved toward the side of the stage again, her expression dull as she reached out her hand to Johanna. Her heart was in her throat as she took the first step, then Mr. Blash’s hand propelled her forward. He let go of her right before she reached Penny.
But she did not take the other woman’s hand. She could not. Her hands were too tightly clenched at her own sides. Penny did not seem to care, her hand dropping back down as she stepped behind Johanna, as if guarding her from running away.
Head down, Johanna forced herself to the center of the stage. One step at a time, repeating the reasons she was doing this with each step.
For mother.
For Micah.
For Rose.
For Bridget.
For Charlotte.
The roaring of the men who were looking at her was even louder than the buzzing in her ears.
When she reached Mr. O’Connell’s side, she forced herself to look up at the crowd.
The brightened area of the stage and the dimness of the rest of the room made it difficult to see very far, but those closest to the stage were visible.
Big men. Shouting. Jeering. Laughing. Staring at her with such expressions on their faces that she felt utterly faint, like she might fall over right then and there.
“Let us begin the auction! A real live virgin should be worth at least a hundred pounds, eh?”
A hundred pounds.
The starting amount resolved her. That would be fifty pounds for her and her family, because Mr. Blash had promised them half of whatever she made.
He would split the other half with Mr. O’Connell.
It was more than fair, they’d explained, since she would not be in a position to make nearly as much without their assistance.
And, indeed, Johanna could not imagine asking a man for a hundred pounds in exchange for her virginity.
But that was Mr. O’Connell’s starting point, and men were already shouting out higher offers. More money.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Hearing the amounts being thrown around made her courage stronger.
One fifty.
One sixty.
One ninety.
Two hundred.
Up, up, up, the amounts went, the number of voices shouting them out quickly dwindling.
Five hundred pounds.
Johanna could have cried with relief.
At this rate, she was going to be able to feed her family for the next two years off of one night.
“Two thousand pounds.”
The room fell utterly silent. Johanna’s eyes widened in utter shock at the sudden jump in amount, from an entirely new voice she could swear was familiar, yet she had not heard bidding until now. How could someone here be familiar? Who could she possibly know?
She knew no one.
But that was not true, she realized as the silence had Mr. O’Connell calling out the final opportunity. The man who was making his way down through the room, who had bid two thousand pounds for her virginity, was familiar.
Dark hair that waved back from his forehead, dark eyes, broad shoulders in an impeccably tailored coat, he swaggered with all the confidence of a duke…
because he was one. Johanna’s mouth dropped open as she recognized the Duke of St. Albans, who she’d met at the Blackstone house party, though when she’d met him, he had been smiling.
This was the first time she’d seen him without an affable expression on his face, and it made him appear rather imposing.
“Sold, to you, sir,” Mr. O’Connell said, grinning and pointing at the duke. Clearly, he did not realize the gentleman’s identity. Johanna stared at St. Albans, wondering if she was dreaming.
Matthew
Lady Johanna was staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Matthew supposed he could not blame her.
This was hardly his usual surrounds. He’d followed his friend Drake, the Duke of Ormonde, here, trying to figure out what he was up to, as this was not a place he would expect Drake to frequent, either.
It was pure chance that he’d seen Lady Johanna and the virgin auction.
But that was often what Matthew’s life was like—ruled by chance and luck.
It was her good luck, as well as his.
Her family might have fallen on hard times, but that was no excuse for walking away once he’d seen her.
“Right this way, sir,” the auctioneer said cheerfully, gesturing. “We’ll take care of the paperwork and payment, then bring you to her room. Penny will take her there now and prepare her.”
“No.” His voice was hard, clipped, very unlike his usual tone. He sounded more like Drake at that moment. Reaching out, he took hold of Lady Johanna’s hand and pulled her toward him, threading her arm through his. “She stays with me.”
“I… ah…” The auctioneer blinked in surprise, apparently flummoxed. Then he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say there was no explaining the quirks of the aristocracy. It would hardly matter to him as long as he was paid. “Very well, then. This way, sir.”
Lady Johanna walked beside Matthew, utterly silent, and appeared rather dazed. He could not blame her. This was hardly the kind of arena he would have expected to find himself in, much less a young lady of Society.
He had not planned to come here at all this evening.
But he and Christian, the Duke of Montagu, had been following Drake.
The Duke of Ormonde had been skulking around recently, keeping his activities from his friends, and they’d seen a chance to find out what he was up to.
Their group of friends were all dukes who had bonded when their fathers had died in a gunpowder explosion and the subsequent fire in the hunting lodge where they’d been staying.
At first deemed an accident, and still publicly thought to be one, they’d discovered it was no innocent mishap that had left eight dukes dead.
They’d come together, united by their grief (those who felt it) and the unexpected inheritances being thrust upon them.
Matthew was one of those who did not grieve his father overly much, but he did want to know who had murdered the man.
Especially to give his friends the peace and justice they desired.
Which was why he and Christian had been drawn to follow Drake and investigate his secret activities. Matthew did not believe Drake had anything to do with their fathers’ deaths—Drake and his father had been quite close—but he was up to something.
A bawdy house such as this was hardly where Matthew had expected to find him, even if Drake was sowing his wild oats before his marriage.
Was Drake investigating the murders on his own?
Had he found something that he did not want to share?
Or was he truly going off the deep end in anticipation of his upcoming marriage to Lady Astrid?
He claimed he was enjoying his last Season as a bachelor, but there were far more enjoyable brothels and houses of ill repute that would cater to a duke than this dismal place.
Matthew glanced over his shoulder to see if he could spot either of his friends before he disappeared behind the stage, but neither was in the room.
“Ah, Mr. Blash, you heard of our good fortune?” the auctioneer said, drawing Matthew’s attention back to the matter at hand.
There was another man waiting behind the stage, one who looked at Matthew, then paled.
He might recognize Matthew as the Duke of St. Albans, but even if he did not know Matthew’s exact title, he obviously recognized Matthew’s standing.
From the other man’s attire, Matthew guessed Mr. Blash was well-to-do gentry, connected, but a working man. A similar kind of assessment would tell Mr. Blash quite a bit about Matthew, just as it had the auctioneer. Not to mention the princely sum that he’d offered for Johanna.
But they did not know that he was not just purchasing her virginity; he was saving his bride.
He rubbed the pocket where his lucky coin was kept, the one he used to make all of his decisions.
Including the decision to bid on Johanna.
When he’d flipped it, he’d meant to ask if he should save her, but the question that had popped into his head was whether or not he should marry her. And the coin had indicated yes.
So, here he was, purchasing his soon-to-be bride’s virginity.
The main goal was to remove her from this situation as quickly as possible, hopefully without anyone realizing who either of them were.
She was highly recognizable, with her extremely pale hair and wide violet eyes, but the majority of the audience had been drinking heavily.
Very few were of the haut ton, if any. And once she was cleaned up and properly attired, most would never guess she was the same young woman who had appeared on a bawdy house’s auction stage.
They would assume it was just another young lady with similar coloring.
Because what duke would purchase his bride from a virgin auction?
Matthew barely managed to keep from smiling at the thought; his friends would all believe it. This was exactly the kind of situation his luck would put him in, but he always came out hale, hearty, and better off than he’d been before. Which would be true now.
His hunt for a bride was finally over.
He just had to pay for her, then make their escape. Surely, she’d be so grateful, she’d throw herself at the opportunity to marry him.