Free Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride by Louise Allen Page A

captivity.
    Reluctantly her eyes focused on the mass of men crowding in front of the stage. Baying , she thought. They are baying. And I will wager that every one of them sees himself as an upright man of honour. Most of them will have wives, daughters.
    Patrick. Oh, she was so desperate that now she was hallucinating. Laurel stared at the tall figure in the third row. It is Patrick. He is real. He has found me. She almost sagged in her bonds with relief until she remembered he had no idea she had come to London. He was not searching for her: the only reason he could be here was to satisfy the same brutal lust that had brought these other men.
    It was the only thing that could have broken her spirit. I thought you were perfect, I thought you were the man I had dreamt of and now I know you are like the rest of them. She had even fantasised about giving herself to him, tried to imagine what it would be like to lose her virginity to his lovemaking. Yet here he was, and Laurel’s knees gave way as the disillusion and mounting terror swept through her.
    She saw him realise that she had recognised him. His mouth curved for a moment, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Instinctively, Laurel knew what he was about to do. He was going to bid for her.
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    Patrick Jago fought against the horrified shock. Laurel Vernon? Here, of all places? I left her in Martinsdene. I’m hallucinating.
    But he was not. There was no mistaking those deep violet eyes that had regarded him with such intelligent interest when he had explained why he was in a remote Suffolk village. Now they were wide and dark with defiant terror.
    He clenched his hands into fists at his side in an effort to control himself. He could not shoulder his way through this mob and demand her release—they would knock him unconscious and sell her anyway. Laurel. For days he had been trying to ignore the attraction that he had felt for her, the suspicion that she felt the same tug in the blood as they had searched together for clues to the fate of the young women he had travelled to Suffolk to seek. I would have come back for you , he told her silently now. Too late for that now. Too late to worry about how she had got here, one of London’s most notorious brothels.
    She’s seen me. He saw the recognition strike her and the revulsion that followed it. No! You can’t believe that I’d… But she did. Laurel thought he was like all the others who pressed up to the stage, the sharp smell of their sweat and arousal rising like a miasma.
    He shook his head against the instinctive hurt. What she thought did not matter, not now. She could not know he was following up one last clue to Celina Shelley’s whereabouts: a street urchin who thought he remembered her, thought he recognised the carriage she had got into.
    What mattered now was freeing Laurel. His immediate thought was to start an incident, create chaos, get her out. He glanced around, assessing the odds, and recognised they were too high, and the risk to Laurel if he failed too great. He would have to do this by stealth. In an inner waistcoat pocket was the two hundred pounds he travelled with to be sure of every contingency. Except this was a situation beyond his wildest dreams or nightmares. It would have to be enough.
    A man stepped onto the stage and the crowd gradually fell silent, their eyes shifting between the white-clad sacrifice and the auctioneer. ‘My lords, gentlemen, tonight the Temple of Venus offers you this vestal of innocence, this modest maiden of refinement. You know our reputation of old—no counterfeit here, only guaranteed, untouched quality.
    â€˜Now, who will start me at fifty guineas?’
    Patrick did not look at Laurel as the bidding ran on, but he could feel her eyes on him. The bids went high, then higher. He did not raise his hand, not wanting to fuel the contest. Gradually men dropped out until only two were left.
    â€˜Two hundred!’
    â€˜Two