by Amy Sandas
Madam Pendragon drank of her own wine before she spoke again.
“I must admit to being at a bit of a loss. Girls do not typically come to me in this way—unknowing, unwilling.” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze slipped to the side. After a slow breath, she continued. “But I cannot allow my brother to suffer. You understand I must do what I can to help him. It is unfortunate for you that this is the only milieu I have available.”
Lily’s brain stumbled over the meaning in the other woman’s words. Either Pendragon was being intentionally vague, or the wine was far more potent than anything Lily was accustomed to.
Pendragon went on, almost as though she was talking to herself rather than to Lily. “It is always a shame when a sweet girl must be used in this way”—she sighed—“but it is how the world operates. Men have their needs, and women fulfill them.”
“Please,” Lily interrupted, pressing her fingertips to the pulse throbbing at her temple. “I am very confused. Can you just explain why I am here?”
Her words dropped strangely from the tip of her tongue, and a new fear encroached upon her awareness. She turned to set her glass on the table beside her and was surprised by how much effort it took to ensure she did not spill. Her fingers felt thick and weighted, and her vision had blurred significantly.
She stared at the other woman, imploring her to answer. As she watched, Pendragon took a long sip of her wine. Lily found herself mesmerized by the way the candlelight reflected off the faceted crystal of the glass in long starbursts of light—so mesmerized, she nearly forgot what they had been discussing.
Then Pendragon leaned forward and took one of Lily’s hands in her own. Her touch felt smooth and warm, almost comforting if not for the strange rebellion that seemed to be taking place through Lily’s senses.
She fought to regain her mental equilibrium. Her heart beat with an odd, listless quality. Her limbs felt unnaturally awkward, and her mind had slowed to a sluggish crawl.
The woman had drugged her.
As though sensing Lily’s inner panic, Pendragon leaned further into Lily’s field of vision and smiled. Her green eyes flashed with light-gold flecks, drawing Lily into her gaze.
“I will tell you the truth, my love, only because the sooner you accept this fate, the better it will go for you.”
There was a long pause, during which Lily realized her legs were going numb. She seemed to be observing all that was happening from a distance. Her fear receded farther and farther in the back of her mind, seeming to exist only within a thick haze that Lily could barely penetrate. A strange lethargy was taking over, and she began to wonder what exactly she had been fearful of.
She tried to focus on Pendragon, sensing some extreme importance in what the woman was saying.
“Tonight, your virtue will be sold to a gentleman of the highest caliber.”
Lily frowned. What had the lady just said? Surely, Lily had misunderstood. “Excuse me?” The words were horribly slurred, nearly unintelligible.
Pendragon sighed. “Some would see this as a great opportunity.”
Lily tried to tug her hand from the woman’s gentle hold, but her muscles refused to cooperate. Lily had never in her life felt more vulnerable, more afraid, than she did in that moment, and she could do nothing to help herself. How stupid she had been to fall so easily into this snare.
Tears pricked behind her eyes. Lily fought to gain a mental hold while cloying blackness crowded ominously at the edges of her awareness.
“I will do everything in my power to ensure you go to a worthy man. First, I must confirm your virginity. This may not be my usual method of business, but my reputation will be on the line. Do not worry, my love—my physician has a gentle hand, and I will be with you.”
Lily did not see Pendragon move from her chair, but suddenly the woman was kneeling before her, lifting the potent red wine to her lips again.
“Trust me. You will be well served to drink some more.”
Unable to physically resist when the crystal was pressed against her lips, Lily drank from the glass. She felt another wave of intense warmth through her limbs before the numbness in her legs spread through the rest of her body. Her head swam in an intricate sea of shadows and light.
And then, oblivion.
Seven
Avenell Slade sat completely unmoving in the soft leather armchair set in the shadows at the back of the room. His spine was straight, and one ankle was crossed over the opposite knee. His gaze focused on his snifter of brandy as he swirled its contents, warming the amber liquid in his palm, though he had no intention of sampling the high-end spirits.
After a few curious glances when he had first arrived, the others in the room had directed their attentions elsewhere, leaving him blissfully undisturbed. Everyone knew the Earl of Harte was not a man for casual conversation.
But then, none of them were there to socialize.
An hour ago, Avenell had received a message, notifying him of a singularly exceptional event. The missive indicated it would be a unique experience he would not want to miss but gave no details.
Upon his arrival at the intimate private drawing room, it had been immediately clear Madam Pendragon had invited only the most elite members of her clientele to participate in tonight’s entertainment. The few gentlemen were all from the highest ranks in society, government, and civil operations. Young men and old, but all with generous fortunes lining their pockets.
Avenell acknowledged a thread of unease as he considered the madam’s reasons for inviting him. Pendragon never did anything without a specific intention, and he had come to trust her dictates over the years, even if they seemed peculiar at first. She always managed to provide exactly what he needed, which was one reason he had answered her call without much internal debate.
However, the longer he waited in the back of the room, trying to block out the excited murmurs of the others present, the more discomfited he became. It was not his habit to participate in such displays, preferring to conduct himself in a more discreet fashion. Only his trust in Pendragon—and a desperate need for a distraction—kept him waiting as long as he did. But as twenty minutes turned into thirty and then forty, Avenell decided that whatever the proprietress had planned was not worth the aggravation.
He shifted, uncrossing his legs in preparation to rise, when the madam swept into the room, her trademark cigar held lightly between her ringed fingers.
“Gentlemen,” she said in greeting to the room as a whole. A generous smile and teasing gaze lit up her features as she sashayed through the small crowd. Those present ceased their conversations and angled their heads to follow her progression. The previously restless atmosphere settled into a subtle hum of anticipation.
Madam Pendragon knew her business well, as each of these men would likely attest. They all were waiting at the edges of their seats. Avenell scoffed inwardly at their eager curiosity even as he acknowledged his own. He settled back into his chair, deciding he may as well stay long enough to find out why she had called them to her establishment so unexpectedly and at such a late hour.
Coming to stand in an elegant silhouette before the flickering light of the fireplace, the proprietress turned to the gathered gentlemen. She paused, as though measuring the interest of the room. When her gaze swept the shadows occupied by Avenell, her lips curved, and she offered a nod in acknowledgment of his attendance.
The madam’s lengthening silence triggered a renewal of agitation. Finally, one man interrupted the quiet.
“What have you called us here for, then? I haven’t got all night, love.”
Avenell tensed as he recognized the speaker as Lord Fallbrook. The man had nothing but time. He was the son of a marquess, and his family had more wealth than intelligence. With his father still alive, Fallbrook had very little social or political obligation and a disproportionate sense of entitlement.
; Not to mention a proclivity for dishonorable behavior, as Avenell had witnessed the other night.
Fallbrook’s dissonance encouraged others to speak up as well.
“Tell us what you’ve got for us tonight.”
“Let’s get this done so I can go enjoy one of the girls downstairs.”
Pendragon smiled as though her guests were a group of unruly boys anxious for a new toy. And really, wasn’t that exactly the case?
Avenell’s stomach tightened with discontent. They were just a bunch of dissolute men aching for the next grand distraction from the hollowness of their useless lives.
Damn, he was in a mood tonight.
In an effort to ease his growing disquiet, Avenell focused his eyes hard on where Pendragon stood. She appeared as though she was finally ready to address the reason for having called them together.
“Gentlemen. My honored friends.” Her green eyes danced with the suggestion of pleasure as she waved a graceful hand through the air. “You have each received an invitation from me because I hold you in the highest esteem. I would consider only the best of my clients for the unique and wonderful gift I am about to offer tonight.” She smiled with a kind of innate feminine mystique that reminded every man present just how she had come to be so successful in her chosen occupation. “I will not torment you any longer.”
She turned to the silent footman standing much like a guard beside an inner door and gave a small gesture with her cigar.
The footman opened the door, and three women entered the room.
Two of them were dressed in diaphanous gowns in the pleasure house’s Grecian theme, designed to tantalize and tease. The pastel silk draping their bodies only suggested modesty while revealing more than enough to incite the lust of the men avidly observing their movements. Between these sensual nymph-like creatures walked a third woman. Her slim arms were linked with the other two as they came forward to take their places before the fireplace.
This third woman was young and dressed in a modest gown of white with a pale-blue sash cinched beneath full breasts well covered by a pleated bodice. Whereas her two companions looked boldly out at the small crowd with flashing, inviting gazes and knowing smiles, the woman standing between them kept her chin lowered shyly. Her features were obscured by a curtain of brunette tresses falling in silken waves over her shoulders and down to her waist.
Avenell’s blood ignited in a furious storm of awareness, and his stomach clenched violently. His fingers tightened around the brandy snifter as he studied the details of the third woman’s appearance, uncertain if he could believe what his eyes were suggesting.
But there was no doubt. It was her.
What the bloody hell was the demure and very proper Miss Lily Chadwick doing in the middle of a notorious brothel?
Murmurs of conjecture spread through the room. Some men rose to their feet to get a better look.
Avenell was frozen to stone.
“Now, gentlemen,” Pendragon said, bringing the attention of the room at least partially back to her. “It is my unbelievable pleasure to present to you a sweet and lovely maiden. Untouched. Unsullied by the hand of any man. And all yours, if you are willing to be generous for the honor.”
Avenell barely noticed as the madam went on to describe the girl’s physical charms and graces. His focus was fixed on the woman herself.
What hellish fate set her before him?
He had done all he could to avoid her over the last couple of weeks, though the effort was more challenging than he had expected, especially when thoughts of her never left his consciousness. Then came the night they collided outside the Mawbrys’ town house. For a brief and painful moment, he had held her warm body against him, and the elemental shift she had caused in his core had spread like a shock wave through his system.
Now, here she was, dressed again in modest white, her brunette hair falling in loose waves, the red glow of the fire behind her casting her figure into a decadent display of shadow and light.
As his hungry gaze soaked up every detail of the woman who had been haunting his thoughts, he noticed something odd in her manner.
Her lovely gray eyes were lowered, and with her hair shielding much of her face, she presented a perfect example of shy modesty. The posture struck Avenell as wrong. Despite Miss Chadwick’s innocence and quiet manner, she was not one to avert her gaze. He had observed her enough in the preceding weeks to know she had an unnerving tendency to view her surroundings with direct, consuming attention.
The girls on either side of her were clearly meant to highlight Miss Chadwick’s virginal appearance by contrasting it against their more obvious sexual lures. But Avenell noted they served another purpose as well. Keeping their arms linked with the young woman, they were able to subtly keep her in place as she swayed on her feet.
An icy chill swept through his blood.
Miss Chadwick had been drugged. Laudanum perhaps. Enough to relax her muscles and dull her brain. The girl was not there of her own free will. She was a virgin sacrifice being offered to the debauchery of the men before her.
A sickening dread rushed through him with such force that he thought he might be physically ill. His hands froze into fists, and his head throbbed.
Avenell looked away from the gross display at the front of the room and set his snifter of brandy on the table beside him as he rose abruptly from his chair.
His cool gaze swept over the other men in the room who had already started to shout their bids for the privilege of claiming Miss Chadwick for their own. It was difficult to tell if anyone else had recognized her, but it was obvious that no one intended to step forward and stop the proceedings.
Avenell stood locked in place, knowing that if he made a scene by dashing forward to interrupt, he would only provide more cause for scandal and her ruination should she be recognized. His body tensed to granite as he considered the best way to intervene.
Madam Pendragon laughed at the enthusiasm of some while teasing others to go higher in their bids. Avenell scowled in her direction and noticed that she sent him a sly glance in return.
As if waiting for—no, imploring—him to join in on the bidding war.
He looked away from the madam, for the first time not trusting the woman’s direction. He sent his gaze out over the other patrons.
The gentlemen were practically salivating as they competed for the opportunity to purchase the hapless Miss Chadwick. On any other night, these men may have faced the same girl in their own drawing rooms and would have been compelled to treat her with the highest degree of respect. But here, she deserved nothing but their lust.
Another wave of disgust rolled through him.
He turned a hard glare toward Madam Pendragon as he heard the bid spike into an astronomical range. Anger clawed at him, along with an unexpected sense of betrayal. She should have known he would not be able to stand for this type of diversion, that he would be compelled to find a way to act and save the young girl from a ruinous fate.
Of course, she would be pleased by the income she would garner from the spectacle, but as he watched her, he noticed signs of tension in the supremely self-possessed woman. At that moment, the madam glanced his way again. Her brows lifted a minute fraction of an inch as she subtly tipped her head toward the prize.
Avenell clenched his jaw tight but finally looked back to Miss Chadwick. There was the expected twist in his gut, the stumbling in his chest, the thudding in his ears he had been experiencing the last couple of weeks whenever he looked upon this particular woman.
The laudanum appeared to be wearing off. She had managed to lift her chin, and she stared out at the room with confusion and wariness in her eyes. She tried ineffectually to pull her arms away from the girls on either side of her, but they held fast, making a play of rubbing their bodies against her to disguise their forceful detainment.
Their ploy
was effective, and the other men in the room reacted to the show.
But Avenell was not fooled. He saw the fear in Miss Chadwick’s unfocused eyes and the bright spark of rebellion.
In the next moment, Miss Chadwick’s wavering gray gaze found him in the far reaches of the room. And when her eyes locked with his, she refused to let go. He could no more look away from her than he could unleash the moon from its orbit.
There was only one thing he could do.
Speaking in a loud, clear tone, he entered the fray with a firmly stated offer that nearly tripled the last bid.
His competition turned to glare at him for how suddenly he had brought an end to the entertainment. No one was willing to top such an exorbitant price.
Avenell ignored them all.
He was far too busy battling an intense internal war between disgust at what she had been subjected to and an alarming thread of triumph.
Because no matter how they had both ended up here, no matter how wrong this all was…the woman who had been tormenting him for weeks now belonged to him.
Eight
Lily pushed up through the layers of a distorting mental fog. A strange sort of exhaustion clung to the edges of her awareness and weighed down her limbs. At first, the struggle to simply open her eyes consumed enough of her thoughts that she could not acknowledge anything else.
When she did manage to peek them open a crack, what she saw confused her. The violet-colored ceiling of her bedroom at her aunt’s home was gone. Illuminated overhead by flickering candlelight was a damask canopy of the darkest blue draped across a four-poster bed frame.
She closed her eyes again and sifted patiently through her memory, trying to reclaim whatever details she had forgotten that would explain where she was and why. Much of what flitted through her mind was so baffling and convoluted that she could barely make sense of the distorted impressions.
Thick unease encroached upon her awareness. She tamped it down and tried harder, reaching farther back into her memory.
