Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Let me go,” Augusta demanded with a haughtiness she did not truly possess.
Her demand was, as she had expected, ignored.
Everything had happened in such a blur that she was still not quite sure how the man had managed to drag her in front of a door to an office.
She attempted once more to jerk her arm from his grip, but to no avail.
A door opened, and the man dragged her inside. “Here she is… your new acquisition.”
“I am not an acquisition,” she spat. “Now, let me go. I have a sister to find and…”
The man who had brought her faced the one behind the desk.
He sat behind the ostentatious desk like a god—broad-shouldered, proud, muscled. Despite the fear coursing through her, she could not help but look at him. A stray lock of golden-brown hair fell on his forehead, and he was staring at her with piercing blue eyes.
“All yours,” the first man mumbled, before moving out once again.
Yours. The word sent an unexpected jolt through her. She didn’t want to be his.
That did not explain why her eyes fell to the gentle curve of his lips above a trimmed beard.
The door closed with a soft click that felt like the sealing of a tomb.
She glared at the man behind the desk haughtily, already on guard. But the man made no move toward her. He simply continued to regard her with that same open curiosity.
Augusta’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care how much you paid for me. I… If you don’t let me go at once, I will scream.”
His mouth curved in what was almost a smile. “You won’t find that necessary. Besides, the walls are very thick.”
She glared at him. “What is it you want?”
“Me? Nothing.”
She took a step closer, her chest heaving. He was still staring at her with an unreadable smirk, one that she did not quite know what to make of. He was devilishly handsome, and she repressed the treacherous thought at once.
“I find that hard to believe,” she scoffed. “Since you’ve kept me here by force.”
He stood now, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. The room suddenly felt much smaller with him on his feet, and she stepped back. His scent drifted toward her, and she swallowed.
He was so close to her, and he looked down at her with a piercing gaze, one that sent a strange warmth to the pit of her stomach.
“I will not force you into anything, Miss Booth,” he said softly. “Believe me.”
Before she could speak, a sharp knock cut through the tension between them.
Hudson straightened, his attention snapping to the door. He reached into his waistcoat pocket—Augusta noted the location immediately—and produced a small brass key.
With a single smooth motion, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Two burly men stood in the doorway, their expressions carefully blank.
Augusta understood they were employees here.
Between them was a girl of about eleven with golden curls escaping their pins.
Her chin was lifted in defiance, but her eyes—wide and the same startling blue as the eyes of the man before her—darted to his face and then away.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” one of the men said, his discomfort evident. “But we found the girl behind the bar. She was attempting to drink whiskey. We stopped her before she could manage to taste it, but we thought you should know.”
Hudson went very still. For a moment, he looked at the girl the way a man might look at something that had simultaneously terrified and exhausted him.
“Cassie,” he growled.
Just her name, nothing more, but the tone made the girl’s shoulders hunch slightly.
“It’s not fair,” Cassie complained, the words tumbling out as though she’d been holding them back. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And I’m not a girl. I’m eleven! Practically twelve!”
The man dismissed the employees with a nod. “Wait outside,” he ordered. “I’ll call for you in a moment.”
The burly men stepped back, pulling the door mostly closed behind them but not shutting it completely, which Augusta noted.
The tall man turned to the little girl, his voice dropping to a low, controlled register. “How on earth did you get here?” he asked.
“Well, I was curious about where you go at night, and… well, I snuck into the back compartment of the carriage,” the girl admitted.
The man ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “You must never do this again, Cassie,” he chided. “This is a gaming hell. A young girl like you cannot be here.”
Cassie crossed her arms, her chin lifting another notch. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Sister,” he said. “You’re in a place where you shouldn’t be, doing something that could have hurt you. Do you understand what might have happened if those men hadn’t found you? If someone else had?”
So little Cassie here is his sister, Augusta realized.
“Like what?” Cassie challenged.
Augusta stood to one side, watching the exchange with wide eyes.
The unlocked door—the one the employees had left slightly ajar—beckoned to her. Freedom, just a few steps away.
She took a half-step toward it, then stopped.
“I can protect myself. Peter the stable boy taught me how to throw a punch,” the little girl added.
The girl’s bravado was paper-thin. Her lower lip had a faint wobble she was working hard to suppress, and the sight of it caught at something in Augusta’s chest. She’d seen that same expression on her own face, reflected in windows and mirrors in the past month after her father’s arrest, determination stretched over a foundation of fear.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” the man was saying, his voice strained now. “I expect you to trust that when I say something is dangerous, I’m not saying it to—”
“You want to hide me,” Cassie cut him off. “To keep me locked up like a—like a prisoner. I’m not a baby!”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked exhausted. “Cassie, you must understand there are consequences to your actions. You can’t just go about—”
Augusta stepped forward, directly into Cassie’s line of sight.
“Protection can feel like a prison, I suppose,” she interjected.
“But you must understand… If something had happened to you tonight, if the wrong person had noticed you, or if you’d actually managed to drink enough to make yourself ill… What would your brother have done?”
Cassie’s arms slowly uncrossed, her posture softening almost imperceptibly. “He would be angry at me, which he is all the time. He’s always angry, all the time!”
“I doubt he is angry,” Augusta said gently. “I think he’s worried, and it comes through as irritation. When people love us deeply, they tend to lose their temper if they fear for our safety.”
Cassie’s lower lip curled downwards, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Hudson? Is that true?” she asked.
The man called Hudson pressed his lips together but nodded. “Yes. That is the point, Sister.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he leaned down to look the girl in the eye.
“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk more at home.” He raised his voice slightly. “Joseph?”
The door opened immediately, and one of the employees stepped into the room.
“Take Cassie to the blue room,” Hudson instructed. “Make sure she’s comfortable. And stay with her until I send for you.”
Cassie went without argument, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve as she was led out. At the doorway, she paused and looked back at Augusta.
“Thank you,” she said, the words barely audible.
Then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
Hudson stood perfectly still for a moment, his eyes on the closed door. When he turned back to Augusta, the controlled mask had slipped back into place, but something in his expression had changed—a new awareness, a reassessment.
“You didn’t leave,” he remarked.
Augusta met his gaze steadily. “The girl needed someone to see her,” she said simply.
Hudson’s eyes held hers for a long moment. Then he crossed to the door, and turned the key in the lock with a decisive click. When he faced her again, his eyes met hers head-on.
Her throat was suddenly dry, and her heart was thumping inside her chest. Yet, there was a warmth spreading through her stomach. One she did not quite understand.
“I believe,” he declared, “we have matters to discuss.” He stood with his shoulders squared, his expression open, and Augusta found herself mirroring his posture without meaning to. “My name is Hudson Rivers. I am the Duke of Oakhart.”
“You’re a duke,” she said slowly.
What on earth was a duke doing in a gaming hell?
“I am,” Hudson confirmed. “And the auction tonight—the one where you were the prize—was not what it appeared to be.” He paused, his eyes steady on hers. “The man who placed the winning bid is my employee. He was a plant.”
“Why?” she asked, the single word carrying the weight of all her confusion.
Hudson’s mouth curved slightly. “Because the auction has been going on for many years, and the only way to stop it is to pretend it is still happening,” he replied. “The women who pass through it aren’t sold as property. I… We… try to give them an opportunity. Freedom.”
He held out a ticket to her. “This could be yours. A ticket. To America. To safety. But…” He leaned forward then, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk.
“I have a different proposal. A position in my household, as governess to my sister. You would be safe, housed, paid, and entirely invisible to the ton. If you want additional security, we can give you a false surname.”
Augusta didn’t reach for the ticket. She stood perfectly still, her arms folded, her eyes steady on his face.
No. It had to be a trap.
Her eyes scanned the words on the ticket, then flicked back up to him.
When she saw no trickery in his eyes, relief flooded through her. She was not going to be married off to a man who would be cruel to her. She was not going to be some man’s property.
She was—
Her heart suddenly skipped a beat. She was going to spend more time in this man’s home if she accepted his proposal.
Suddenly, her heart was racing with reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
“And Reverend Leighton?” she asked.
Hudson’s expression didn’t change. “The good reverend seemed very eager to be rid of you,” he said. “I doubt he cares where you end up, so long as you’re no longer his responsibility.”
It made terrible sense. Reverend Leighton made it abundantly clear that her presence was a burden after her father was arrested for murder.
Hudson met her gaze without flinching. “Ask me whatever you like,” he offered. “I’ll answer honestly.”
“Why run the auction at all, if your intention is to rescue the women who pass through it?”
“Because shutting it down would put the women at greater risk,” he replied.
“The men who come to the Nightingale expecting to purchase a bride would simply go elsewhere. To establishments with fewer scruples and more desperate circumstances. This way, I can control who wins, what happens to the women, and ensure they have choices.”
She swallowed dryly. She had yet to meet a man like him. He had nothing to gain from helping women, and yet…
She pressed her hands against her flushing cheeks and allowed her eyes to travel over his figure once more. She was quite certain that this man was far too good to be true.
“You gain nothing from it?” She did nothing to keep the shock out of her voice.
He shrugged. “It is the honorable thing to do.”
Her eyes locked onto his lips as he spoke, and she found herself uncertain which she considered more incredible: the shape of his lips or the sound of his words.
“What would you expect of me as a governess?” she pressed.
“To teach my sister,” he said. “To keep her safe. To be a friend to her when I cannot.” Something flickered across his face, a vulnerability quickly masked.
“Cassie is… headstrong. Clever. She needs guidance from someone who understands what it means to be a young woman with more spirit than sense.”
“I see.” Her voice was clipped.
Hudson picked up a quill, spinning it between his fingers. “Is there anything you need?”
This was her moment.
She drew a breath and spoke before she could lose her nerve.
“I wish to find my half-sister, Olivia. We grew up separately, but from what I know, our father sent her to Scotland when she was little to live with her mother’s aunt.
After our father’s arrest, I haven’t had time to contact her.
I have no idea about her well-being, her whereabouts… ”
Hudson’s expression shifted, the mask of the employer giving way to something more human. “You want to bring her here?”
“I want to know she is safe,” Augusta said. “If that is not possible, then I want to at least write to her, to let her know that I am well.” She bit her lip, aware of how much she was revealing. “She is all the family I have left.”
He nodded, a faint tightness in his jaw betraying an unspoken emotion. “I will make inquiries. Quietly. I know people in Edinburgh and beyond.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice unsteady.
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed not on her, but somewhere behind her, in the uncertain darkness of the room. “You need not thank me. I know what it is like to worry for a sibling. It is… consuming.”
Augusta studied his face, looking for any sign of deception, any hint of the calculation she had seen in Reverend Leighton’s eyes.
She found none. Only a steady, direct gaze and a patience that seemed at odds with the controlled intensity of the man before her.
She had no choice. She had to remain in London to find her sister. She couldn’t leave for America without Olivia, nor could she try her luck without Hudson’s help.
This was the only way. The safest way.
“I accept the position,” she said.
The words felt less like a choice and more like a bridge collapsing behind her, leaving her with nowhere to look but at him.