Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
London, 1817
Romeo rammed into her head, stirring her to wake with his aggressive purring.
Georgiana regretfully opened one eye, sighing at the rain striking against the window. Another gray October morning.
“Very well, my dashing man. I will wake up now.”
The fat orange tabby cat flopped onto her chest and rolled over, demanding his tummy to be rubbed.
Lost in thought, she glanced around, noticing what she had tried so hard to ignore. The faded wallcovering, once a cheerful yellow when she was a young girl, was now peeled in the corner and water stained from a leaky roof. The velvet curtains that had once hung had long been sold, so Georgiana had sewn some table linens together to help give the otherwise grimy windows a more respectable appearance. The morning light was filtered into a dull haze.
And downstairs, thankfully, silence.
She bathed, scrubbing her skin until it was almost raw to scrape off and erase any grime. Georgiana had saved for months to purchase bath oil. She remained in the bath until the water cooled, then rose and walked over to her bed. Her gowns were a few years too old now, but Marjorie Merryweather, newly the Duchess of Abinger, had gifted her with a new gown after her wedding.
She had hated to accept it, but today she was grateful.
Carefully, she dusted her cheeks with a soft sweep of rouge, swept a berry-colored lip salve over her lips, and carefully curled her honey hair.
As a child, her father had called her hair spun gold, praising her for being his good luck charm. For a short dazzling time, it seemed almost true—days filled with lavish meals in a beautiful sun-filled home on Wimpole Street, afternoons playing with the finest dolls, and endless games in the garden. The Marquess of Quintrell accepted nothing but the best, after all. But that all faded, giving way to nights spent being carted from club to gaming hell, where she sat bleary-eyed in the corner as he wagered away what remained of her mother’s fortune.
When his luck finally soured, she was left to fend for herself for days, rummaging through the pantry for stale biscuits and making herself tea to quiet her hunger. Her mother, drifting in and out of restless sleep and forever reaching for those tiny bottles by her bedside, barely left her room in those final months, leaving Georgiana alone.
All Georgiana had learned then was that a broken heart was in fact fatal, and if she were to survive her time at Pickins House, she would need to remain as small as possible.
That hadn’t changed in the passing years. It had only grown more vital as she grew older, and her brother and father fell deeper into their addictions, and their anger shifted toward her.
“Well, Mr. Romeo, it’s time I must leave. I can’t take you with me today, but I promise I will be back, and you and I will go far?—”
A glass shattered down the hall.
Georgiana ducked, covering her head before silence fell, and she slowly sucked in another breath and sat up.
“We are leaving here,” she whispered, determined. Her heart raced against her chest, and her fingertips were cold. But they were almost always cold. She nuzzled against the tabby cat, then dropped a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry I have to leave you. I will be back as soon as I can.”
She grabbed a small bag and a cloak, then slipped out the back hall, the chilly fall air hitting her lungs. She was too afraid to look behind her, too afraid someone would roar her name, and she would be drawn back, stuck to drown with them.
But Georgiana couldn’t. Not any longer.
Georgie couldn’t afford a hackney, so she walked for almost an hour through the city, navigating the crowded streets, being pushed and shoved along the way, making her feel invisible. It wasn’t a new feeling for her; she had learned quite young that it was best to fade away into the background. Even so, it was never easier to digest the truth, and sometimes she wished she had never been born, but she never let her thoughts stray to that dark place for long—it was far too dangerous.
When she arrived at her destination, she stopped to look up at the tall, narrow building faced in cream-colored stone. Its front door was painted a glossy black with polished brass fixtures that gleamed in the sunlight. The dread in her stomach began to rise. She swallowed down the bile, quickly mounted the stairs, and with a small inhale, knocked on the door.
A large man stuck his bald head out, his looming posture altogether off-putting. “What do ye want?”
“The auction, sir. I’m here?—”
“Very well, very well.” He stuck his thick neck out farther, glancing up and down the street, then hauled her inside. The door shut tightly behind her, and she gasped.
She was no stranger to gaming hells. She had been dragged to a collection of them as a small child, time and again. Those were nothing compared to this. This was a grand hall meant for the very top of London society, a golden gaming hell, a far cry from the ones her brother and father ever frequented.
She gripped her bag and moved forward, surveying the room. It was a grand hall with tall arches and columns and a beautiful mural painted on the ceiling. The floor was perfectly polished, with one long carpet stretching down the middle of the hallway.
“Right, come along,” the older man said. “There’s a lot to organize before tonight’s event.”
She nodded quickly and followed close behind.
It wasn’t as if she knew what to expect when she decided to save herself by auctioning off her virginity. She thought it would be in a place similar to the hells she had visited as a young girl, but here she would be auctioned off to a member of the aristocracy. They could do whatever they wished, and she would be quiet and accept the money paid for her. Maybe, if she could be so clever, she could escape. She longed for a life where she could be filled with contentment rather than fear.
As she drew deeper within the gaming hell, the rooms became smaller but no less grand until, at last, the man opened a door to a stairwell down below.
“Come on, lass,” he said. “No time to spare. Come on, come on.”
She followed behind, swallowing down the sour taste in her mouth, gripping her bag so tightly she felt her fingernails cutting into her palms. It was not too late to back out, but Georgiana had no other option. She had thought of everything else, but London had never spared her another glance. And while she was friendly with some of the women in the ton , she couldn’t find it within herself to rely upon them.
She could rescue herself. Even if it meant relinquishing the last bit of herself over to a stranger to secure that freedom. It was a risk, a great risk, but when backed into a corner, one would do almost anything. That was just part of human nature. Georgiana was sure of it.
The man stopped, pulled back a curtain to reveal a room full of chittering young women dressed in plain white chemises, their hair pulled up, their faces plain, and no jewelry. It was a scene far removed from the ballrooms of Mayfair. But then again, Georgiana had never ventured far from the wall. No one ever took notice, which made tonight all the more nerve-racking.
For years, she had been told that she wasn’t wanted, wasn’t desired. When she came of age, there was no money for her debut. No man courted her, perhaps because they knew of the trouble with her brother and father, but she was left alone once again to make sense of the world.
Here she was, clueless about what was shared between a man and a woman in bedsport, outside of what she had seen in those hells. She recognized the danger in her plan—that she was placing herself at a man’s mercy, and so far, they had shown they were unworthy of that trust. They would take selfishly, draining her until there was nothing left to give, and then cast her aside, leaving her to bear the same alone. It was still better than being tossed aside and bruised, being yelled at, screamed at to scrounge for money, to find food, to know that money was won only to have it spent four times over, leaving her with nothing.
She was at her family’s mercy, and they had none. They abandoned her, chasing instead after their vices—vices that had wholly consumed them. Her mother had passed, her father was in failing health, and her brother would spend most days semiconscious, madly searching for something to ease the pain within himself. In the few hours he was awake, he was unpredictable and cruel.
And Georgiana couldn’t find it within her heart to hate them, but she wouldn’t allow them to drag her down as well. She would find her peace.
“Undress like the others, then in line with ye,” the man said, and he whispered something to an older woman standing by the curtain.
Georgiana quickly stripped down to her chemise, cursing at herself as her hands shook.
The older woman glanced at Georgiana with squinted eyes before rushing her along, shooing her away with hands dripping in jewels. “Come, come, girl,” she snapped. “In line. I can’t hear myself think. You’ll all be quiet soon enough when they’re bidding for you.”
The room fell to an eerie hush.
“That’s what I thought,” she cackled. “Just mind yourself,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She was a small, petite woman with her brown, black, and silver hair pulled harshly behind her, a deep maroon dress, and a watch at her waist. “I’ll tell you what I tell all my girls. Smile and do what they wish, and when it’s over, be glad it’s done. Now, you’re name.”
“Lady Georgiana Harland.”
Georgiana placed her bag to the side and stood in line, ignoring the hushed murmurs at her title.
No one else looked at her, not even as, one by one, each girl was called out and escorted to a room upstairs, until finally, Georgiana stood just at the threshold of a small, crowded room with something of a makeshift stage. Her stomach cramped, and she was certain she would double over. She had eaten nothing all day, and between that and her nerves, the world shook beneath her feet.
“I will survive,” she whispered before the man announcing her cut through her thoughts.
She was led on stage. She glanced around at a room full of men with hungry eyes, smoking cigars, sipping brandy.
The room fell quiet, save for one small, measly bid.
Her stomach sank.
Georgiana held her chin high even as she felt the first prick of tears in her eyes. She scanned the room, and then her eyes fell upon him, holding up the doorway.
Ellis, Lord Linfield sat behind his blackened pearwood desk, its chiseled figures of Dionysus and Hades glinting in bronze under the dim light. The weight of his gaze held Lord Vaughan still. The man, twelve years his senior, fumbled at his cravat, a flicker of desperation in his eyes.
“I’ve given you more than enough time, Vaughan,” Ellis said, his voice smooth and detached, as if discussing the weather. “Our arrangement was clear, and you’ve had ample time to settle your debt.”
Vaughan scratched at the thinning hair at his temple, his nervous energy palpable. “I need a little more time. I told your man that earlier. Surely, we can come to another agreement, seeing as we’re both Eton men.”
Always the same. Two years now after opening the most exclusive gaming hell in London, Ellis was always faced with the same incredulity whenever his patrons were pressed to be accountable for their actions.
“This club is filled with Eton men. That’s the point.” Ellis reclined in his seat, fingers steepled, face impassive but sharp. “I don’t extend credit indefinitely. You know the rules. You pay, or you forfeit. And after this meeting, you will be escorted out. You are no longer a member here at the Phoenix Club.”
Lord Vaughan laughed nervously, squirming in his seat on the opposite side of the desk. “I know your father. We must be able to work?—”
If he truly knew his father, then he’d know not to bring the man up.
Ellis’s cool gaze silenced him. The man’s mouth opened, a protest forming, but he swallowed it under Ellis’s unwavering stare. A beat of tension passed.
“Sell an estate,” Ellis said, his words empty of sympathy. “A small price to keep your reputation intact.”
A flush crept over Vaughan’s face, and his shoulder rolled forward. No one in London could afford to be barred from this club. Then, with a slow exhale, he said, “Very well, Linny.”
Ellis stood, signaling the meeting’s end, and motioned for Lord Vaughan to be escorted out. He didn’t watch him leave—didn’t need to. Instead, he glanced at his watch.
Tonight’s auction wasn’t his business—Marie ran that side of things—but the spectacle attracted deep pockets, and it was worth his time to see who bid and why. Knowing which of his members played in this game told him everything about their appetites, their weaknesses—a useful ledger to keep. And while he hosted the auction at his club, it was agreed that a significant portion of the funds would go directly to the participants. It was their gamble, their risk—a chance to buy freedom, or at least the illusion of it. Marie knew all too well a woman’s place in London, and he wasn’t about to stop her and others from taking what little they could from the reckless men running through this city.
Striding out of the office, his steps echoed down the polished marble hall. The club buzzed with its usual low hum, the rhythm of another winning night for the house, but something felt wrong. He felt wrong.
He frowned, pushing open the door to the private room as the announcer roared, “Come on, gentlemen. Who will bid for this woman?”
Ellis froze in the doorway as the candlelight from the chandelier danced upon the figure on stage. Large brown eyes stared back at him, the very ones that had haunted him over the years.
Georgiana .
The crowd murmured, and that same spike of panic he had last felt when setting eyes upon her, frozen and locked out of Pickins House, burst through him.
“Five hundred pounds,” he shouted, lifting his hand.
His eyes raked over her body shivering in the thin cotton chemise, nearly see-through, for every man to set eyes upon. He swallowed, resisting the urge to run through the crowd and drape his jacket over her shoulders.
Her lips parted, ever so slightly, as though his bid pained her. So, she recognized him as well?
“Very well,” the announcer said. “Five hundred pounds. We can do better. Look at her shaking for you. Imagine her under?—”
Ellis tore through the room. “Not so crass now, Mr. Pennington. Don’t want to shock the men’s delicate ears.”
Chuckles broke out around him even as his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He surveyed the room, then stole another glance at his best friend’s little sister, terrified on the stage, only a few feet away.
She swallowed and stuck out her chin, balling her fists at her thighs. And damn him if he didn’t notice the way her nipples were hard there beneath the thin fabric. It struck him like a jolt—this was no longer the fifteen-year-old girl he remembered.
“Five hundred and one,” Lord Prout burst in next.
“Five hundred and two,” the older gentleman beside him added. The room erupted in laughter again.
“Come on, Linfield. Look at her! All bones, can almost see through her.”
“Easy to break,” someone muttered behind him. “I prefer them that way. Five hundred and three.”
“A pound more?” The older gentleman joked. “You can have her. Careful, you might crush her when you take her to bed.”
“Two thousand pounds,” Ellis said, unable to break his stare with her. She refused to look at him or any other man, for that matter. Instead, she focused on the back wall.
“Rich for you, Linny.”
The auctioneer struck his gavel. “Lady Georgiana Harland sold to Lord Linfield.”
Georgiana looked down for a moment, meeting his stare, then tore it away, her nostrils flaring before she left the stage.
“You could have had your pick, Linny. You need glasses? Looks like she’s a month from her deathbed.”
He shrugged, playing it off, remaining calm. That was what had brought him success in the long run, wasn’t it? But at the mention of a deathbed, he snapped.
“Carry on, gentleman. Keep it civil.” He pointed to the auctioneer. “And mind your damn mouth when you’re talking about the girls on stage. They’re braver than all the men in this room combined.”
The older gentleman nodded solemnly, and a strange hush fell over the crowd before another woman was led out onto the stage.
Ellis slipped out to race down the stairs where Madame Marie was handling the girls. He rushed in, unsure of what to say or what to do, only that he felt he needed to explain himself to her, unable to sit with the disdain for him in her eyes.
The same eyes that had glanced up at him years ago as he carried her into Pickins House.
“Linny,” Madame Marie said with a grimace. She stepped in front of the curtain. “I can’t allow you in.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Handsome as well as stubborn.” She crossed her arms, popping her hip to the side. The madame of the invite-only brothel only a few doors down smelled of expensive perfume.
“I need to talk to one of the girls.”
“At least you see them for what they are. I fear half of them aren’t over seventeen.”
“Then why are they being allowed on stage?”
“If someone’s willing to pay… Look, I am in the business of pleasure.”
“And I’m?—”
“You’ve too kind a heart, is what you have, Linny. And you well know it. Profit or not, you can’t swoop around London saving everyone.”
He drew back, scoffing at the woman almost ten years his senior.
She tilted her head.
“I won my bid, and I have a lot to handle tonight. Step aside. I’m talking?—”
She giggled. “ You ? Never thought you’d want a good tupping, too busy nursing your broken heart.”
“Don’t.” He held his hand up in warning.
Madame Marie nodded, then drew back the curtain. “I’ll call her out. Who was it now?”
“Lady Georgiana Harland.”
Her eyebrows raised.
He strode across the hall, opening a door to a small room, and walked inside. He braced his arms against the wall, not moving even when he heard someone softly shuffle in behind him.
“You want to tell me why you’re here?” he asked, his voice low.
“No.”
He closed his eyes, blowing out a soft exhale.
“You shouldn’t have been on that stage.”
“Pardon, do we know one another?”
He spun around then, standing akimbo. “You know damn well who I am, Georgiana. Why are you here?”
She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t entertain…
“There’s no bed,” she said softly.
“What?”
“In here. There’s no bed.” Her hands shook as she gripped the hem of her chemise and peeled it upward, revealing her shins, then her knobby knees. Small, frail. “I only ask it be quick, and you pay me promptly.”
Ellis’s heart was no stranger to breaking. For years now, he had walked through the world believing full well he had buried it with his fiancée ten years prior, lost all too young to consumption.
“Stop,” he said, his voice a low growl.
Georgiana flinched, releasing the fabric. Tears sprang to her eyes. “If you don’t… if I am not what you wish, I ask you to release me to another bidder.”
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Please, sir. I need?—”
Ellis reached for her, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he tried to draw her closer. She recoiled instead.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. “Georgie, come closer.”
She shook her head, refusing to move, and his stomach sank. “You paid for me. I am here at your disposal.”
He hung his head low, not wishing to scare her any further. Ellis crept forward, careful to keep his bootfalls soft. Still, she inhaled sharply.
“Those marks, there…” He reached out, his fingers hovering inches above her bruised skin. He noticed, then, the light missing from those startling brown eyes, the hollowness to her face, the way her collarbone pressed against her skin.
“ Please .” Her whisper was pained. “Do what you must.” She reached for the sleeve of her chemise and pulled it down, revealing the harsh curve of her shoulder.
Rage and sadness stormed inside of him, and he tamped it down, swallowing it to remain gentle. He couldn’t scare her away now that she was here.
“Georgie, I’ve no intention of tupping you.”
“I don’t understand. I may not be as beautiful as every other?—”
“I mean to marry you, Kitten.”
The little color from her face drained, and she crumbled into his arms.