Page 43 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)
“I would be happy to furnish you with anything from five to ten thousand pounds for your daughter’s hand, Your Grace. I have a substantial estate in Buckinghamshire and would not be against negotiating a portion of it as part of our agreement.”
Lydia Turner listened to the simpering tones of the lord speaking to her father and fought the urge to charge through the curtain and hurl red wine in his face.
“A generous offer, Lord Kingston, but I am sure you know how many men are here tonight. I shall keep it in mind, and may the best man win!”
Lydia could barely open her mouth; her jaw was clenched so tightly. She couldn’t stand to listen to her father’s hateful voice for another moment.
He had been appalling all day, pontificating about the eligibility of the men he had managed to “arrange” for her. The very thought made her sick.
Not only that, but her mother had abandoned her. She had been alone for almost half an hour, forced to walk through the room like a prize in front of all the disgusting old men her father had invited.
All this because he wishes to be rid of me. Is a daughter really such a burden?
But Lydia knew she could not hide forever; her father was sure to root her out sooner or later, and she did not wish to be found hiding like a child.
Reluctantly, she walked out from behind the curtain as discreetly as she could, gasping at the stifling heat of the room.
Does every man here have gray hair? There cannot be a soul under forty years of age.
The nausea she had been fighting all day was building, and she glanced at the refreshments, wondering if food would make her feel better or worse.
The table was overflowing with all manner of delicacies. Long slices of roast ham and tongue flopped over the plates, wilting in the heat of the room. Cakes and preserves were scattered everywhere, but the majority remained untouched.
The decanters of wine, however, were already half empty.
She stared around her incredulously, fighting the desire to scream at the top of her lungs.
The men in the room were pompous oafs, every one of them, congratulating one another on how much money they had and how they would win their future bride.
I cannot believe this has happened to me, that I am to be auctioned off by my own father. Surely, there is a way I can escape!
She looked around desperately for her mother again, but to no avail. The Duchess of Bentley was nowhere to be seen. Lydia was quite alone.
Scowling, she watched her father move slowly through the room. He shook hands with everyone, a broad smile on his face, as if he had something to be proud about.
I am to be sold like cattle for his convenience.
There had been a time many years ago when Lydia had loved her father. She had loved him in a way a daughter must, knowing that he was an important figure in her life and always wishing to impress him.
Her governesses had encouraged her to “respect and obey,” and she had done so willingly. It was only later that she learned how worthless his good opinion was.
The Duke of Bentley was a ruthless individual, cruel to a fault, choosing himself above all others. He had ruined her mother’s health with countless affairs, destroying her loyalty and faith one day at a time. And what was her mother’s crime? Simply that she could not bear him a son.
Lydia snarled at the back of her throat, startling a certain Lord Flemming who was cleaning his spectacles a few feet from her. He arched a brow in her direction with a most disapproving look.
Perhaps if she scowled at every man in the room, she would be labeled unsuitable, and they would all leave. Let him stare.
I have to get out of here.
Looking through the sea of suited backs and cigar smoke, she saw that the door to the terrace was open, letting in a small amount of breeze.
Lydia chewed her lip, thinking feverishly.
If I were to slip away now, would anyone even miss me? They are all too busy trying to impress one another.
She glanced again at the refreshment table where Lord Flemming was now plucking at pieces of meat and adding them to his plate. There was a group of his men to his right, guffawing at a joke one of them had told. Everyone appeared suitably distracted.
Without giving herself time to think it through, Lydia walked to the table and reached around Flemming, deliberately knocking over the decanter of wine to his left.
The stopper sprang free just as the delicate neck shattered across the table, and the dark liquid went all over the unsuspecting gentleman’s trousers.
“Oh, my Lord!” he exclaimed loudly, dropping his plate for good measure as it smashed against the side of the table, shattering into pieces. Wine dripped pleasingly from the tablecloth, staining everything in its path and pooling around his feet.
A throng of servants descended to assist with the mess and clear away the shards of fractured china. In the commotion, Lydia was able to slip behind the crowd and toward the door, out into the cool, clear air of the gardens.
She inhaled deeply, pulling the door closed behind her on a sigh.
Now that the intense scrutiny of the men in the room was somewhat removed from her, the sickness in her stomach finally started to dissipate.
She gazed up at the pink and purple streaks beginning to flood the sky. It was getting late in the evening, and the moon was already just visible behind the scudding clouds overhead.
What a beautiful end to my final day of freedom.
Taking another deep breath in, Lydia was about to walk into the gardens for a few blessed moments of peace when she made the mistake of turning back to the room.
Her father’s eyes were pinned on her through the crowd, and as she watched, he began to advance in her direction.
Lydia broke into a run.
Her feet knew the paths before her all too well, and she aimed for the rose garden. Its entrance was flanked by a high wire arch that had been erected when she was very small. Since then, a cascade of roses adorned it every year, and now was no exception.
A waterfall of red blooms wafted their scent toward her as she sprinted forward, expecting to find a wide expanse of lawn to run through.
It was rather a shock, therefore, to find that she instantly collided with a wall. A breathing wall.
Lydia gasped, staggering backward and panting heavily as two enormous hands came up to steady her, thick fingers gripping her flesh.
“Dae ye want me to take ye away from here, lassie?” came a deep rumbling voice.
Callum stayed very still, ensuring that his big body remained in the shadows as the lass looked up at him.
Her fingers were clenched on his arms where he had caught her, and he felt a little thrill as they moved experimentally over his bicep.
Is she feelin’ me muscles for her pleasure?
The eyes that met his were a dark forest green in the shadow of the bushes around them, her sharp features pale beneath the setting sun.
She was half his size, if she was even that, tiny and vulnerable, her breath coming in quick pants. Whatever she had been running from must have been frightening indeed.
The lady squinted up at him through small, round, wire spectacles that gave her an endearing look. Callum stiffened when she focused on his face. He moved further back into the shadows, hiding his scars from her curious eyes.
No reason to alarm the poor lass before I’ve even made my case for her hand.
Her long, dark hair was loose and falling in tresses down her back, and Callum had the absurd thought of running his fingers through it.
But in the next instant, she pulled free of him, stepping back carefully, and pulling at her dress to right it.
“This isn’t proper,” she said testily, glancing back at the house as if a crowd were watching their innocent exchange.
The English are a strange lot.
“Ye didnae answer me, lassie. Dae ye want me to take ye away from here?”
Slim fingers flicked at her hair, curling it behind her tiny ear, her arm barely the width of his wrist. She pouted prettily, raising her eyes briefly to the multicolored sky.
“You couldn’t, even if you wanted to,” she said with a bitter laugh. “This auction was designed for me. I’ll be shackled to my new husband by the end of the night, and then no one will ever be able to take me anywhere again.”
Her hands were shaking, whether from anger or fear, he wasn’t sure.
Callum moved back a little further, leaning against a stone slab on the wall to his right. He tilted his head on one side, allowing himself the pleasure of briefly running an eye over her figure.
He had arrived that afternoon expecting the kind of auction that took place in Scotland. In his homeland, that would mean trials and games, even bartering over cattle and the like, and in some rare cases, it meant battles. This was very different.
The Duke was selling his daughter to whoever would pay him the highest sum. Callum had overheard some of the men talking of this wee lady that afternoon. They had used such disparaging terms that it had made him want to draw his knife.
What kind of faither does that to his only daughter? And such a beautiful one at that.
He was disgusted by the whole affair. After spending less than an hour at the event, he had already decided that it was not for him. Not only were they arrogant know-it-alls, but every man in the room looked at him as if he were a peasant on the street.
He never wanted to set foot in such a place again. He was resolved to leave and had been in the act of doing so when she had collided with him.
But now that he had met the lady, he could see that she had a fire in her, a determination in the back of her gaze that intrigued him. He didn’t like the thought of her being given no agency in her choice of husband.
Maybe I can help with that.
“Dae ye care for any of the men in there?” he asked, and she vigorously shook her head; the dark locks that had been pinned back falling loose, cascading over her face. She really was very lovely indeed—all the more reason to save her from this odious mess.
“If I could,” she said vehemently, “I would leave London and never see any of them again.”
Those slim fingers tugged viciously at her dress; her jaw set in a line of rage and disappointment that made his chest ache.
Within three seconds, he had made his decision.
“Then it is settled, lassie. Ye belong to me now.”