Page 20 of The Copper Heir (The Gilded West #1)
The parlor had already been filled when she’d taken her seat.
She had heard the men on the other side of the curtain, shuffling and murmuring.
The smell of their mingled colognes had made her stomach churn, but she suspected nerves had just as much to do with that.
And then the curtain had dropped and she’d stopped thinking of anything except for Rose and Ginny and how she’d go to get them when this was over.
The light from the stage only allowed her to see shadowed forms as they shifted in their seats to get a better look.
She took only shallow breaths, the weight on her chest constricting her lungs.
A man’s voice filled the room, and though she couldn’t focus on his words, she knew that he was relaying the terms of her service: one night to begin at the auction’s end.
Horrible thoughts tried to interject themselves, but she forcibly pushed them away.
Whatever happened, it would only be for one night and then she’d have enough money to take Rose and Ginny away to somewhere safe where she could find work and they’d never have to worry about Ship’s antics destroying them.
It would be worth one night of her life.
She repeated that mantra to herself over and over as men began to call out amounts.
One thousand dollars. One thousand five hundred.
It continued until the bidding went over ten thousand dollars and the voices slowly whittled down to three men, their voices pitching back and forth across the room as they bid, hurling taunts at each other as they called out their bids.
Ten thousand dollars was the amount Glory had told her to expect.
The difference between a life of uncertainty and one of stability to her, but a pittance to the bidders so wealthy from mining that they routinely earned that in a week.
That amount could mean a whole new life for her and the children.
They wouldn’t want for anything, not for a very long time.
Then the door to the room swung open, light from the hallway illuminating the outlaws as they filed in.
There was no mistaking the three tall men.
Glory came in on their heels, and Emmaline realized that trouble had found her again.
Her stomach dropped and her breath stopped altogether as her gaze locked on the one in front, her mind unable to comprehend the fact that he’d found her until her heart gave a jolt in her chest. For one terrible moment, she was actually torn between relief and horror.
Horror that he had found her and meant to return her to Ship.
Relief that he was there to save her from these men and the choice she had been forced to make.
Then the door closed, blocking out the light so that he was in darkness again, freeing her from the spell of his eyes.
Horror was the proper emotion, she assured herself, and braced to run, prepared to flee the mansion in her robe if she had to in order to escape him.
There was a collective murmur in the room as the men, particularly the active bidders, turned to see who the latecomers were.
They were quickly called to order by the auctioneer with the booming voice who was cloaked in shadows just in front of the stage.
He was still watching her. The weight of his gaze fell heavy on her and she knew that he hadn’t moved from his place just inside the door.
“We’re up to fifteen thousand dollars if you gentlemen would like to enter the bidding.” Then his voice rose to address the parlor. “Do I hear sixteen thousand? MacDowell? Connors? You’re not allowing McNally’s fifteen thousand to best you. What’s your best bid, gentlemen?”
MacDowell and Connors both threw out numbers, but his voice was louder. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“No!” Her heart screamed the word and her lips formed it of their own will, but no one heard or maybe she hadn’t actually given voice to it.
There was collective silence in the room for a moment before the three original bidders’ voices rose to protest this latecomer daring to enter their domain.
Calls of “He can’t bid!” and “Fifty thousand dollars? The blazes you bid fifty thousand dollars!” were all drowned when her ears picked up the words, “You weren’t invited to this, Jameson!
” So his name was Jameson. She locked that information away.
One of the men rose to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping harshly on the hardwood floor as his shadowed form swayed.
“Gentlemen, please!” Glory’s voice cut through them all, soft and yet somehow authoritative as she walked to the front of the room.
“Remember that you are all gentlemen. Mr. Jameson was invited to this particular event, I assure you, as were his associates. He was simply running late, but I’m confident you gentlemen won’t mind a little friendly competition.
” She had made her way to stand in front of the stage to address the room.
Two gunmen appeared, one on each side of her, the only guns allowed in the establishment strapped to their hips, ready to keep order if anyone attempted to go against the madam.
A few more lamps were lit by an impeccably clad manservant, providing enough light so that Emmaline could now make out faces in the audience.
And, she imagined, light for the gunmen to aim properly if such action was needed.
“Fifty thousand dollars is not friendly competition and you know it, madam.” This was from the man who had taken a stand, the words drawled with a deep Southern accent and she knew he was McNally, the lead bidder until her pretty savior had offered that ridiculous amount.
His dark moustache curled at the ends over lips thinned with anger.
“It’s insulting. Who would pay that for a night with a whore? Have you even proof that she’s pure?”
Someone else agreed with him, his voice joining in and questioning her virtue.
She didn’t so much as flinch. After all, she couldn’t blame them.
Virgins weren’t known for auctioning off their bodies for a night of pleasure.
Her face warmed, though, and her mind churned as she wondered what to do, avoiding looking out, afraid that she would meet his gaze.
“I’m not accustomed to having my integrity questioned, Mr. McNally. If you are so concerned with that, perhaps you should consider taking your business to another establishment.”
That silenced him briefly. Everyone knew that there were no other establishments in Helena of the same caliber as Victoria House. To be forbidden from its walls was the same as being relegated a social outcast, at least among the society of the quality men in the city.
The madam raised a well-shaped eyebrow and continued. “I assure you all that you will be quite satisfied if you choose to consider bidding, but if no one else—”
“How do we know he can put up that sort of cash?” another man demanded, his face red with anger.
To this Jameson laughed, a bitter sound that raked down her spine. “You know that I can, Connors. Perhaps our good banker, Westlake here, can reassure you, unless you’d rather I come do that myself.”
An older man rose to his feet then, his face alight and his cheeks rosy with the drama playing out before him, seeming eager to be included. “I can vouch for Mr. Jameson, as I can for each of your bids.”
A shiver ran through her at how easily he was willing to part with fifty thousand dollars. How wealthy was this man and what was an outlaw doing with that sort of money? Did everyone here know that he was an outlaw? Did Glory know? If she screamed it out, would they help her?
“Well, then,” Glory interjected, “let us continue.” She motioned to the auctioneer and he stepped forward. Emmaline stared at her, trying to decide if the woman was betraying her by seeming to take his side, but then the auctioneer began to talk.
With his dark hair slicked back with pomade and his evening suit, the auctioneer could have been a wealthy financier.
He was a slight man to have such a strong voice.
It boomed out in a deep baritone as he smiled to the crowd, thanked Glory, then proceeded to ask if anyone intended to outbid Mr. Jameson.
No one spoke or moved and she finally brought herself to look back at the man who had haunted her for the past week.
His gaze was livid, the green so intense as their eyes clashed that her heart jumped to her throat.
He was furious. Blood rushed loudly in her ears so that she barely heard the auctioneer announce the closing of the bidding.
“No.” The word came out a bit stronger this time, but she repeated it louder until every eye in the room turned to her. “I don’t accept his bid.”
Clearly at a loss, the madam’s mouth fell open in an O before she regained her composure enough to say, “But, my dear, it’s...” Her voice trailed off when Emmaline interrupted her.
“You assured me that I wouldn’t have to accept a bidder I didn’t want.”
“Of course you don’t. But why wouldn’t you...?” Seeming unable to complete a thought, Glory looked back to Jameson. Even Emmaline had to admit he was the most handsome of the three who’d been vying for her. But they hadn’t planned to send her back to her stepfather. He did.
The auctioneer smiled up at her, a salesman’s smile trying to convince her to just go along with things.
“We’ve already closed the auction, dear.
Not to mention, it’s fifty thousand dollars.
You won’t get a better offer than that.” Laughing boldly, he swept her body with a glance and she wasn’t sure if he found her lacking or simply ridiculous for thinking to refuse.
Impulsively, she looked at Jameson again and he smiled, though it was more of a sneer, just revealing a slash of white.
Every instinct she possessed urged her to run until she finally did.
Her bare feet hit the soft, pale gold rug spread beneath the divan and she jumped down and ran out the door near the stage, back the way she had come into the tiny hallway that led to the servants’ staircase and her bedroom.
Away from the man hunting her, the same man who owned her for the night.