Deviant Duchess (The Devil’s Auction #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Head up, Ellen,” Deborah urged, “Do not let them see your fear. There are those out there that enjoy such a thing and you do not want to end up purchased by such a man!”

Ellen’s eyes widened in apparent shock, but she snapped her mouth shut and quickly brushed the tears from her eyes. With her settled, Deborah moved on to the other young woman who had just been brought in.

Nigel, the auction’s wrangler, had all but tossed her into the dressing room, and the poor woman looked even more frightened than Ellen did.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Deborah soothed, going to her, “Nigel is far too rough. Are you alright?”

The young woman’s breath started to come in shorter, quicker bursts as she looked around the dank room. Fearing she was going to faint, Deborah reached for her shoulders.

“Hey now,” Deborah cooed, “No need to get overwhelmed, my dear. It is not as scary of an ordeal as it seems. My name is Deborah. What is yours?”

It was a lie. Depending on who was winning the bid, the ordeal could be quite terrifying.

However, she was not going to admit that.

The poor woman was frightened enough. This was not Deborah’s first time watching the auction- but hopefully it would be her last. Either coming in disguised as a barmaid or dressing as one of the men in their masks, Deborah had seen it all as she waited for her opportunity to get revenge on Sylvester.

“Beatrice,” the woman answered, her voice shaky.

As she did with Ellen, Deborah explained how to keep away from the men who were aroused by fear. Only when Beatrice looked a little stronger did she take her leave and find a quiet place to prepare herself.

Three years. She had waited three. long.

years. to enact her plan, and finally, tonight, she would be able to put it in motion.

Hester had not been the only one hurt by the Earl’s boasting tongue.

He, too, had suffered the consequences of the rumors he had once spread about her sister and had stayed away from the auction.

Tonight, though, she had finally seen him again- and she was determined to be purchased by him.

She’d even gone so far as to sneak him a note earlier, letting him know that she wanted him.

Something a man with his ego surely could not refuse.

Deborah’s heart hammered as she changed out of the barmaid dress she wore when serving the pigs surrounding the stage.

She removed her dark brown wig, letting her auburn locks flow loose around the shoulders of her taffeta, blood-red and copper gown.

It had taken her many odd jobs to afford the dress.

It was money that she could have used to feed her family for a week, but it was a necessary sacrifice to make the Earl pay.

Satisfied with the way it fit her yet still kept her modest, she moved on, smudging a bit of rouge to her cheeks and lips, just enough to make her look naturally rosy, and fluffed out her auburn waves as she studied her reflection in her small mirror.

It was not just the auction house that Deborah had kept her eyes on.

It was the brothels and gambling hells as well, using every possible opportunity to learn more about her enemy.

She’d learned how to disguise herself, make herself seem invisible in the way she blended in.

Through these skills, she had gathered much-needed information about Sylvester.

He liked women who appeared confident, but not cocky.

He preferred women who could amplify their natural beauty, not those who coated their faces in cosmetics.

He also had a penchant for redheads and blondes.

Deeming herself ready, Deborah snapped her small mirror compact shut, shoved her other clothes behind a crate of bottled liquor, and left the storage room, nearly running head-on into Nigel.

He sneered at her at first, but as he took her in, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

“Blimey,” he rasped, raking his eyes down her person, “Where did you come from?”

Deborah looked for any spark of recognition in his eyes and smiled as she found none. Of course, he would not recognize her facial features. He was a man who did not care to notice anything other than breast or waist size.

“Lord Stanhope told me to come in,” Deborah replied, the lie coming out smooth on her tongue. “Said I would not be sorry.”

At the mention of the auction operator’s name, Nigel’s eyes shot immediately up to hers.

Of course, that would get his attention.

Jeffrey Stanhope, the Marquess of Ramsbury, kept himself apart from the auction for the most part, but everyone who worked the auction knew who their benefactor was.

And, as her research had taught her, no one would dare question her if she brought up his name. They were all too afraid to.

“Right,” Nigel muttered, scratching under his hat. “Of course. Well, he should be very happy about the price you’re about to fetch that is certain. I thought the last bid was going to be our highest on record, but with you-” he stopped, but let out a low whistle.

“The last bid?” Deborah asked.

Nigel nodded his head, still looking dazed. “The frightened one. Came in a yellow dress.”

Beatrice.

Deborah’s heart went out to her, and she sent up a silent prayer that whoever purchased her was kind and willing to make her a wife.

“Come on then,” Nigel said, taking a step toward the stage, “Might as well get you up there.”

Though it was the moment she had waited three long years for, Deborah’s nerves began to fray as she followed Nigel to the stage.

There were so many things that could go wrong.

She had been careful to keep her true looks and identity hidden all this time, but what if someone recognized her?

What if Sylvester did not bid on her? What if everything she had been working for fell apart in the very next moment, and instead of getting revenge on the man who ruined Hester, she made things worse for her family?

Her hands began to shake. Her heartbeat boomed in her chest. Her breath grew short and unreachable as her mind whirled over what could go wrong.

“Go on, girl,” Nigel murmured as they reached the corner of the stage.

Deborah’s feet would not move as black spots overtook her vision. Wait. I’m not ready. I need more time to plan. I need more time to-

“I said go on,” Nigel whispered angrily, giving her a shove.

Deborah stumbled forward, and as the bright lights of the stage hit her, all her raging fears stopped at once. She gathered her balance quickly, and with a silent grace, she walked to the center of the stage.

“Well, well, well,” the announcer mused loudly, “Look what we have here, gentleman, a woman of fire!”

A roar of cheers and applause erupted from the masked men surrounding the stage, and though she despised them all, Deborah fed off their approval and used it to steel her spine.

Her lips twitched into a smirk, her chin lifted, and she looked for her target.

Her smirk shifted to a satisfied grin as she saw his signature gray mask, as well as the note she’d sent him in his hand, as he and several others began to raise their hands and announce their bid.

The note had been simple, and delivered by one of the other barmaids the moment Deborah had recognized him. The lady in red wants to be yours. She knew he would like that. Like to be desired; feel special. So special she would make him feel- whatever it took to get him to win the bid.

“Ten thousand pounds!”

“Twelve thousand!”

“Eighteen!”

Twenty-five!”

Exhilaration tunneled through Deborah’s veins as her bid grew higher, but no matter how ridiculous the number, she kept her eyes on the gray-masked Sylvester, silently urging him to win.

“Twenty-eight!” He shouted, his eyes locked on her. Even with his mask, she could see how wide his eyes had grown.

She winked at him, letting him know he was ‘special.’

“Thirty!” He shouted again when the big number passed twenty-nine thousand.

“Thirty thousand pounds for our lady of fire, my goodness!” The announcer boomed, “Is anyone bold enough to counter?”

Satisfaction rolled through her veins as Deborah heard the profound answering silence. This was it. She was going to win. She was going to ruin him. She was going to-

“Fifty thousand!”

Deborah’s head wrenched toward the voice before she could stop herself; her flirtatious expression dropped the moment such a ridiculous number was announced.

She found a man in a crimson red devil’s mask standing in the back of the crowd, towering above everyone else.

Unlike the other masks the men wore, it only covered the upper half of his face.

The lower half was exposed, but covered in a thick yet well-trimmed dark beard and mustache.

A wicked smile was on his lips, showing off startling white teeth that, for a second, Deborah almost mistook for fangs.

“Fifty thousand pounds,” the announcer said, emphasizing each word with a touch of awe as the full room fell eerily silent.

Deborah wrenched her gaze away from the devil and looked toward Sylvester’s gray mask. She leaned toward him, eyes begging him not to give up.

No. No! You cannot give up now!

Yet even as she shouted the words in her head, she knew by the way his hand slowly lowered to his side that he was accepting defeat.

“Well? Is this done or what?” The devil loudly snapped.

Seeing her plan fall apart in front of her very eyes, she gave one more pleading look toward Sylvester. This time, he simply turned his back to her and made his way through the crowded room, disappearing among the sea of black jackets.

“No!” Deborah rasped, her body moving toward the vanishing man without a thought.

Then a hand wrapped around her arm, tight as a vice, and before she could take another step, she was pulled behind the stage.