Page 45 of A Duchess to Unravel (The Devil’s Masquerade #3)
CHAPTER TWO
“ P lease,” Amelia begged, her body trembling with fear as she clutched the woman’s hand to her left, “I do not wish to be here!”
“Quiet, princess,” the woman hissed through her wide smile, jutting her corseted chest further toward the excited crowd. “There’s no talking in the line!”
Amelia’s heart hammered wildly as she looked to her right, and saw the other women in line flaunting themselves just as the woman to her left did.
It was clear that unlike her, they very much wanted to be on this stage before all these strange, masked men.
There would be no help from them. But she should have known that the moment they had all narrowed their eyes and glared at her when her father had dragged her toward them behind the stage.
Her dread for what her father had in store for her had only amplified when she’d returned to the carriage in her favorite silk lilac-hued dress.
He had immediately frowned as he saw the chaste cut of the neck line, the matching elbow length gloves and delicate ivory cameo she had pinned at the center of her throat.
“I suppose it’ll do,” he had grumbled. “It shall certainly make you stand out.”
“Papa, please. Where are you taking me?” Amelia had asked, her right leg bouncing anxiously.
“To finally have you dealt with,” he muttered back, then had refused to say anything else, despite her begging for more information.
When the carriage had stopped in front of a large, particularly normal-looking stone building she had felt a bit of relief, but her anxiety had quickly returned when her father pulled on a black mask and had forced her inside.
Inside, dark red walls and a matching ceiling closed the large space in, a long, gold accented and dark wood polished bar lining the far opposite wall.
Smoke choked the air, and dim, sparse lights alighted tables.
The only real light came from a stage to her far right.
Which, for some reason, made her skin crawl when she saw it.
Something told her that that stage was not for a play, but an entirely different sort of performance.
Though she’d never stepped foot in a brothel before, she’d read enough books to surmise that was where she was based on not just the decor but the many masked men that were milling excitedly about.
There were a few women sprinkled among them, too.
Some scantily clad in just their corsets and skirts, others in slightly more modest but still provocative dresses. And none of them looked like her.
Her father’s grip tight on her wrist, she was forced to follow him through the crowd, her stomach growing more uneasy with every step and look she received.
Some simply stared at her and scoffed before turning back to their conversation, while others took long, lingering looks at her; smirking wickedly when they finally caught her eyes.
“My Lord,” A man greeted her father as he finally stopped at a table close to a raised stage. “Your guest must be masked as well. You know the rules.”
“She is not a guest,” her father had answered gruffly, then pushed her roughly toward the table. “She’s for sale.”
The masked man then gave her a long, studious look, as if inspecting her for any damages.
“You are late,” he said at last. “We usually request the women arrive an hour early so that they may mingle with the gentlemen and win favor.”
“It does not matter,” her father replied promptly. “Sell her. Tonight.”
The man took another look at Amelia’s frightened expression, and she could have sworn that a look of pity passed through his brown eyes.
“Papa, no,” Amelia breathed; growing dizzy with fear.
“Quiet!” he hissed.
“You understand that I cannot guarantee she will be sold for marriage?” the man had asked Felton.
“Though most of our clientele is nobility, most come here for mistresses. Some even just for one nights. Once she’s in line, she will be sold to the highest bidder, no matter what he wants to do with her. ”
“Papa, please,” Amelia sobbed, pulling at his grip.
“Quiet!” he seethed through gritted teeth as he snapped his head in her direction. “I warned you that you had one final week to find a match on your own, it is not my fault that you have failed!”
He yanked her forward then, and as she became unsteady on her feet, he pushed her backward; hitting a strange man’s chest. Before she could right herself, she felt hands clasp around her upper arms.
“Take her to the back and put her in line with the others,” Felton demanded.
The man in charge drew in a long, steady breath before holding out his hand.
“There is a seller’s fee, My Lord,” he drawled, flexing his fingers. “You have to pay just as the rest do.”
A look of pure annoyance flashed across Felton’s face, but he pulled out his wallet.
“How much?” he demanded.
“One hundred pounds,” the man replied in that same drawling inflection.
“One hundred pounds!” Felton seethed. “That is ridiculous! Surely these women do not pay such an amount for your services!”
“ These women follow my house rules perfectly, My Lord, and they are here of their own volition. Something tells me this young lady is not. The large fee is to bypass the rules and provide insurance for any…disruptions she may cause,” the man explained, then shrugged.
“Pay the fee or get out, it matters not to me. But make your decision now. My man just rounded up the last of the members fees and we are to start momentarily.”
Amelia watched with dreaded horror as her father muttered a string of curses, then proceeded to put the notes in the man’s outstretched hand.
“Take her to the back,” the man said, closing his fist around the money.
He then glanced over to Amelia, and again, that slight pity passed through his eyes.
“Best of luck, my dear.”
Amelia had then been guided, surprisingly more gently than her father had done, to the back of the stage, where she was put into a long line of women and tied to their hands.
She hadn’t even a moment to beg for help before the lead woman began walking, tugging the others along with her out onto the stage.
No, she mentally screamed as the emcee started calling out prices for the first woman. No, this cannot be happening! I do not belong here! Someone please, stop this!
She thought, for a moment, to scream such things aloud, to beg for help from the audience before her, but she was too frightened to do so.
What if they liked her fear? She’d heard some men were attracted to that.
And even if they didn’t, would any of them care enough to actually get her out of there?
“Sold for seventy pounds!” the emcee shouted, clapping her hands together.
“Please go to our dear coordinator and pay your fees to collect your prize. Next we have…”
Amelia’s anxiety and fear only grew as the line of women before her seemed to dwindle faster and faster.
Seventy pounds. Sixty pounds. Eight-five.
One-hundred and twenty. Forty pounds. Three-hundred and seventy-five pounds.
Each woman went for a different price, and when the emcee clapped her hands, they hurried excitedly off the stage toward their winner.
Silent tears began to track down her cheeks as the line grew shorter; her thoughts a jumble of self-pity. She should have tried harder to find a husband. She should have kept her temper in check when it came to the rumors spread about her. She should have-
“All right, gentlemen, would you look at this beautiful young lady!” the emcee shouted as Amelia’s turn came far too suddenly.
“Obviously from noble birth. Fair skin, healthy hair, and surely we must admire her figure! A chaste woman, no doubt, so a special treat lies ahead for her winner! Let us start her bidding off at one-hundred pounds!”
Heat flushed through Amelia’s cheeks as dozens of black cards shot up into the air.
“Two-hundred?”
Again she saw a multitude of cards go up in the air, but slightly less this time.
Higher and higher the number went, with less cards being held up each time.
Finally, when the emcee reached eight-hundred pounds- the highest price of the evening thus far- only two cards remained.
“Enough of this nonsense!” One of the men shouted, glaring through the card at the other man bidding against him. “A thousand pounds for the girl!”
A collective gasp went through the crowd, followed by shocked murmurs as the emcee yelled out, “Sir, might I remind you this is a silent auction! Decorum is mandatory. One more outburst and I shall-”
“Three thousand pounds,” the other man shouted, striding through the crowd toward the stage.
The entire room suddenly went silent again, and this time no scolding was delivered by the emcee. Even Amelia looked at the man in stunned, wide-eyed silence as he came closer.
“Three thousand pounds,” the man stated again, coming to the edge of the stage. “For this young lady. And a five-hundred pound donation to the house for me breaking the rules of your silent auction.”
Grey eyes flashed like liquid silver through that black mask as he looked at Amelia; and she suddenly quivered at their familiarity. She knew this man.
“W-well,” the emcee breathed out, clearly still startled at the offer.
“There we have it! Thirty-five hundred pounds for this lovely bird. Does anyone wish to counter?” she then asked, her voice loud and clear.
A tense silence was the only answer, and after a few seconds, the emcee nodded.
“Very well, my lord,” the emcee announced, clapping her hands with finality. “We not only have our winner, but our highest bid ever!”
Amelia drew in a shallow breath as they all then turned to her. She knew she should move. But she couldn’t. Her feet refused to do so.
“Go on, girl,” the emcee ordered, clearly trying to hide her frustration as she nodded toward the masked man waiting. “Go to your winner. He has earned you.”