“’At’ll do, won’t it?” The woman nodded at Zehra.
Zehra studied her reflection in the mirror in the corner by the locked window. The red silk set off the light-olive tint of her skin, but the bodice was scandalously low. She had been raised in a land where women did not dress like this, and she knew from her mother that English women did not wear necklines this low, either.
“The shoes will have to do.” The blonde woman stared down at Zehra’s sensible black boots. “And your hair—ain’t nobody here can style it like them fine ladies do.”
Though she had her mother’s bright-blue eyes and full lips, Zehra’s Persian features and raven-black hair had been inherited from her father. She had pulled her hair up with pins in a loose tumble days ago while still confined to the cabin aboard the ship, and she hadn’t touched it since. She hastily adjusted the pins now.
“’Tis fine. Won’t matter in a few hours. Not when you’ll be on your back giving it up to some fine gent. Probably goin’ to be that dark-skinned fella.” The woman was prattling on, and Zehra was barely listening until she heard the words “dark-skinned.”
She grasped the woman’s arm. “What? What man?”
The prostitute scowled, and Zehra released her. “Some man was talking to the madam about you. He’s darker than you are. Found out you’d been sold here, and he tried to buy you straightaway. Said you belonged to him.”
Al-Zahrani’s words knifed through that thin veil of hope she’d been clinging to. “You belong to me.”
“What did he say, exactly? Did he mention his name?”
“Name? I didn’t ’ear that. Something foreign, funny, you know.” The woman plucked at her gown, but the wrinkled fabric was beyond saving. “He’s come before, that one. Sells girls like you all the time. Doesn’t usually buy, though. He was right mad someone else had sold you to us. The madam told him he had to bid at the auction like everyone else.”
No…oh, heavens no. It was Al-Zahrani. It had to be. A strange rust taste filled her mouth, and sweat coated her palms. He was going to buy her tonight. He would pay anything for her. And then…
“Right, come with me.” The woman started for the door, and Zehra followed behind, touching the small gold locket around her throat. It was the only thing of value she had left, and it held her parents’ portraits inside. Al-Zahrani had seen no advantage in taking it from her when he’d kidnapped her, and the slavers on the ship hadn’t known she’d hidden it away in her skirts. The gold was warm upon her skin, and she traced the intricate floral patterns, wishing more than anything that her parents were still alive, that she was still asleep in her bed, having an awful nightmare.
The brothel was decorated with red satin wallpaper. Gilded sconces illuminated the hall as the prostitute led Zehra to a door at the end of the corridor. Three tall, muscled servants stood behind her, preventing any chance of escape. Zehra fisted her hands in the folds of her skirts to keep them from shaking. The door opened, and a flood of sound hit her. Men were laughing and talking in the dark interior of the room beyond. There was a small stage with a chair on it. Somewhere in the darkness, Al-Zahrani was likely waiting, like a wolf preparing to pounce.
The blonde-haired woman nudged her toward the stage. “Go and sit down.” Zehra kept her head down, even though she couldn’t see any of the men because of the lighting on the stage.
“Well, we start tonight’s auction with a treat for you gentlemen.” An Englishman spoke, then chuckled. “Feast your eyes upon this Persian princess. What pleasures might this virginal beauty know in your bed? Bidding starts at five hundred pounds.”
Her heart pounded as the men began to bid. The numbers climbed higher and higher. The heavy scents of tobacco and spirits hung in the air, filling her nose with a stench she couldn’t bear. She saw the shadows of men just behind the reach of the chandelier’s glow. They prowled at the edges of her vision like creatures born of shadows. Harsh laughter echoed around the room, providing a ghoulish symphony to the sounds of the brothel. She focused on the bidding, trying to fight off her panic by reciting the numbers in her head over and over.
“Two thousand pounds!” Al-Zahrani’s voice carried across the room. There was no mistaking it. Zehra didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even though part of her had turned to ice.
Please, let someone bid against him. The devil himself would be preferable.
“Two thousand?” A silken voice from nearby chuckled. “Heavens, this beauty is worth more than that! Seven thousand!”
She almost looked up, wondering who would spend so much to be her master, but she didn’t. She would only stare out into darkness and see nothing. Would Al-Zahrani bid against this other man?
Please, let this devil win, whoever he is. I would rather him be my master.
There was a hush in the room as the man who’d bid seven thousand pounds laughed. “No one brave enough to bid higher, eh?” That voice, like a warm fire in winter, made her skin flush.
The man running the auction stepped closer to the stage. “Any other bids? Seven thousand going once…” He paused for an eternity. “Going twice…”
Zehra couldn’t breathe. “Sold to the gentleman bidder for seven thousand pounds. Once you have paid for your lady, you may take her with you.”
Zehra finally looked up, peering hopelessly into the darkness around her, but she saw only dim shapes.
“This way.” The auctioneer gripped her arm cruelly and dragged her from the stage, ignoring her cry. She stumbled.
“Stop that!” a man snarled from close beside her as a hand gripped her other arm, firm but gentle, trying to steady her.
“You harm her again and I will cut you down, you understand? I don’t want my property damaged.”
“Of course.” The auctioneer hastily loosened his grip. Zehra knew she would have bruises on the morrow.
“Are you all right, my dear?” the man asked. She squinted in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. She caught sight of a tall handsome man with red hair. She’d prayed for a devil to rescue her, and she’d found one. She glanced around, afraid she would spy Al-Zahrani waiting to steal her away.
“Yes…I…” She swallowed, unsure what else to say.
“Good. Wait for me. I won’t be long. I promise not to let anyone hurt you.” The man turned and vanished into the crowd.
He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her? She felt a surge of hope inside her so strong that she almost smiled. He had mercy, this beautiful stranger. He could be the one to set her free, and then she might find her mother’s family.
“Come, this way,” the auctioneer growled and once more took her arm, though less rough than before, and escorted her back to her chamber. Zehra barely heard the man’s grumbling—all she could think about was that tonight might not be as awful as she’d feared. If she could just convince the man who’d bought her to help her, she might yet survive.
“He’ll come for you once he’s paid.” The man chuckled. “Assuming he has that much money. No gent’s ever paid that much for a pretty bird like you. I hope you’re worth it, because the madam won’t be giving anyone their money back.” The auctioneer laughed softly, the sound grating on her ears as he shut the chamber door in her face.
Zehra swallowed hard. The finality of the sound of the lock clicking into place still filled her with dread, but she clung to the hope her rescuer had given her. Zehra pressed her forehead against the wood, catching her breath and trying not to cry. She was afraid and hopeful and so exhausted, but perhaps tonight everything would be all right.
Please… Let him be a man of mercy and save me from Al-Zahrani.
Lawrence Russell despised the White House in Soho. It was one of the less reputable brothels in London, and it had a dark side that made even a seasoned rogue such as himself shudder in revulsion. His tastes ran more toward the Midnight Garden, which catered less to hired pleasure workers and more toward matching aristocratic ladies and gentlemen with similar needs.
When I seduce a woman, it i
s out of mutual desire, not a monetary transaction.
No mistress he’d ever had demanded fine clothes or jewels—they’d only begged him never to leave their beds. He’d been quite happy to oblige for as long as he could.
He stared around at the crowd in the dimly lit card room. The tables had been pushed back half a dozen feet to make room for a small stage, large enough to accommodate a person in the chair that had been placed in the center. The room was filled with men, smoke drifting lazily from lit cigars as they talked and drank. There were quite a few faces he recognized. Thankfully, none whom he considered to be close friends. Tonight’s auction and the very idea of it turned Lawrence’s stomach.
He wouldn’t be here at all except for the letter he’d received from his younger brother, Avery, telling him to go tonight and take note of which men bought the merchandise from tonight’s private auction.
What Lawrence hadn’t realized was that the merchandise was to be slaves. He’d hoped it might have been some other disreputable activity he was helping to stop, but slavery? Not just any slavery, but that of an intimate nature.
Slavery had been outlawed in England, at least publicly. Yet women would be sold to the highest bidder here tonight like horses at Tattersall’s, and no doubt treated less kindly. His blood boiled at the very thought of women facing such a fate. He adored women. Women were lovely, delicate creatures who deserved kind, playful, and rewarding lovers in bed. Not this injustice.
From the moment he’d heard the whispers from other men in this room, his heart had begun to fill with dread. Avery was supposed to arrive just after the auction to stop the men who purchased these women and have them arrested.
But what if Avery arrived too late? What if some of the men were able to leave before the auction concluded and the women weren’t able to be saved? A hundred new fears rose up inside him as he tried to focus and remain calm. He had to catalogue every man in this room who bid, not only those who purchased a slave.
One of the men who ran the White House approached the stage and adjusted the small but elegant chair on the stage. A hush settled over the crowd, and a tension built in the air so thick that Lawrence could feel it choking him.
“We will be starting shortly, gentlemen. Please be patient.” The hum of the conversations around him returned. He had time yet before the auction began. Lawrence leaned back against the wall, next to the closest door that would give him a quick exit. He wanted to leave the moment this dreadful scene was over.
The door beside him creaked open, and a dirty blonde-haired woman led a woman dressed in red into the room. They passed close to him as they approached the stage. Satin whispered against his boots as the second woman brushed past him. A hint of rosewater teased his nose. He watched her progress toward the stage, following her movements, hating that this woman faced the fate that she did. It was enough to make any decent man sick.
Lawrence sucked in a breath as the light bathed the woman when she drew near the small dais. Men leered and several called out cruel suggestions of what they’d like to do to her. Lawrence moved toward her and the stage as if in a dream. Her raven-black hair and light-olive skin were exquisite, even beneath the glare of the single chandelier over her head. The red satin dress she wore clung to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. Rather than looking cheap, the woman looked irresistible.
Whispers stirred in the men around him as they stared hungrily at the item they soon planned to bid for. Lawrence fought the urge to run for the woman, grab her, and flee after he’d shoved every man in the room off a very high cliff.
As she lifted her skirts to climb the dais, he caught a sight of sensible black boots that covered her slender ankles. His body flared to life, and he was ashamed at his own arousal.
Don’t look at her—look at the men. It’s them you must remember.
He began to turn his focus away from the woman, but then he saw her face. His heart stilled in his chest. It was as though everything around him had frozen, locked between one breath and the next as his gaze became transfixed on the woman’s face. There was something about her feminine, exotic features that drew him in. She had slightly softened high cheekbones, a sensual mouth, winged brows, and shocking blue eyes that were so bright they gleamed like sapphires in the light that illuminated her face.
Something stirred deep in his mind like fragments of a long-forgotten dream, or perhaps the strands of a partially unbound tapestry. Was it possible to recognize someone he’d never met? The queer feeling didn’t subside, and that puzzled him. He’d never met her—he was sure of it—but why then did he feel as though he had? Or hadn’t…
Damnation, he couldn’t make sense of what his mind and memory were trying to tell him.
One of the White House employees stood close to the stage. “We start tonight’s auction with a treat for you gentlemen.” His words and the luscious beauty on the stage captured every man’s attention.
“Feast your eyes upon this Persian princess. What pleasures might this virginal beauty know in your bed? Bidding starts at five hundred pounds.”
Lawrence swallowed hard as men around him began to bid.
You must not interfere. You must not.
It was all too familiar. He realized he wasn’t recognizing the woman, but the feelings surrounding this travesty. The fear, the panic, his own impotence to do anything to stop it. He’d been too young then, too young and too late to save a woman who had needed someone’s help. Anyone’s help. His help.
I won’t let it happen again.
He stared at the woman on the stage, taking in her pale, stoic face as she listened to the sounds of men who would claim her. Her hands, clutching her skirts, shook ever so slightly. She had to be terrified yet was hiding it well. He couldn’t help but admire her. In that moment he made a decision.
I can’t leave her to these wolves. I won’t let the past repeat itself.
He had to act. His brother’s warnings to only watch and observe be damned. Lawrence glanced at the woman, forcing himself to hide his anxiety and become the relaxed scandalous rogue the rest of the world knew. He had to play the part convincingly, or else he risked losing her to another man.
Hold on, darling. I’ll save you.
Chapter 2
Lawrence didn’t want to participate in this dreadful slave auction. But if the lady went home with one of these men, they would force her to do things she didn’t want, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that.
When he’d been only seventeen, not yet truly a man, he’d ventured into a brothel much like this. He’d thought himself a virile and entitled lad, eager to see himself pleasured for as much as his coin purse would allow. His head had been filled with images of eager maids feeding him berries on a lounge, willingly submitting to his overtures, and everyone partaking in a night none would soon forget.
Instead, he’d watched women selling themselves to survive. It wasn’t hard to see the desperation in the performances of those who didn’t want to be there, or the emptiness of those who had given up and knew no other life. What was worse were the men who treated them no better than cattle.
That night he’d watched a woman, boldly announced by the haggard proprietor as working her very first night, dragged away by some brute who’d paid to be the first to have her. She’d begged him not to, saying that she was there against her will, but he’d struck her across the face before they’d even left the room. He’d heard the men around him laughing at her misfortune. He’d been frozen, unable to intervene, too young and afraid. It had haunted him every moment since then.
He’d run from that place, sickened by everything it stood for and he’d never told a soul about his secret shame. It wasn’t until he learned of the Midnight Garden and its courtesans that he discovered better establishments existed, but nonetheless the experience had soured his taste for paid companionship forever.
“Two thousand pounds!” a man close to the stage called out. The bold offer shook Lawrence back to reality. He mo
ved closer to better see the fellow. With dark hair, olive skin, and a deep accent, he was surely no native to England. The man stared at the woman with a hungry fixation, and Lawrence shuddered. The hint of cruelty that hung about his cold smile made Lawrence’s blood run cold, taking him back to that night in the brothel long ago. He could not let this man have her. He would not.
Lawrence stepped forward and managed a chuckle. “Two thousand? Heavens, this beauty is worth more than that! Seven thousand!”
He pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against and walked over to stand closer to the stage, forcing several others out of his way. Lawrence had to make a statement to the rest of the room or else face a bidding war he might not win.
A hush fell upon the crowd, but Lawrence focused only on the woman sitting on the stage. He had to be the one to take her home and set her free.
“No one brave enough to bid higher, eh?” he said, as confidently as he could possibly present himself. Not one of them responded, not even a murmur. He could have dropped a feather and the sound would have reverberated around the room like cannon fire.
“Any other bids?” the auctioneer asked the room. “Seven thousand going once…” Lawrence hands curled into fists. “Going twice…”
The woman on the stage wasn’t breathing, her face etched in stone. She must be terrified. Hold on, darling. Just a few seconds more.
The auctioneer’s face lit with greed as he pointed to Lawrence. “Sold to the gentleman bidder for seven thousand pounds. Once you have paid for your lady, you may take her with you.”
The woman looked up, seeking him out, and Lawrence stepped closer, wishing she could see his face and not be afraid. The auctioneer grabbed her arm and dragged her off the stage. Lawrence saw her stumble, a flash of fear in those stunning eyes, and he reacted instantly.
“Stop that!” he bellowed and gripped the woman’s other arm gently. He glowered at the auctioneer. “You harm her again and I will cut you down, you understand? I don’t want my property damaged.”
When a Rogue Falls Page 112
