Free Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride by Louise Allen Page B

hundred and ten.’ One of the two made a gesture of defeat, the other, a thin, saturnine man, looked rueful at the price he had just offered.
    â€˜Two hundred and ten and this gold ring.’ Patrick tugged at his signet and held it up.
    There was silence. ‘Sir?’ The auctioneer looked at the thin man. He hesitated then he shook his head abruptly and turned away.
    Patrick shouldered his way to the front and handed over the money and his great-grandfather’s ring. He had a sudden memory of Joshua Jago’s portrait, hanging in the hall at home. An old rogue , his father had said once. But a man of honour for all that.
    For a lady’s honour, Joshua , he thought, seeing the heirloom disappear into the man’s pocket.
    â€˜What are we waiting for?’ he demanded, turning towards the stage. It sickened him to see Laurel hanging there, slumped between the pillars. That faint was no ruse—stress had finally overcome her stubborn will. How the hell did she get here? The anger he had been controlling so savagely began to roil in his veins.
    â€˜Impatient, aren’t we, sir?’ the auctioneer said, straightening up. ‘Can’t say I blame you, ripe little pippin that one. Wouldn’t mind a bite myself.’
    One more word and I’ll kill you , Patrick thought, closing his eyes against the red haze that shimmered in front of his vision. He was no saint, and no celibate, and he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh as much as any man. But the thought of the selfish desires that terrorised and used women sickened him. A man who did not care about pleasuring the woman he was with was no man, in his opinion.
    Two of the brothel’s bullies moved toward Laurel and Patrick vaulted up onto the stage and caught her in his arms as they freed her wrists. She was cold and naked under the thin shift but his warmth seemed to revive her and she stirred. ‘You’re all right,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you.’ He had never touched her before and the feel of her now was like flame, burning through the fear for her, the urgent need to get them out of here.
    She opened her eyes and looked up at him, and his heart contracted as it had on that last day in Martinsdene whenever he had looked at her. He was used to taking his pleasures with women of equal experience, and his profession brought him into contact with many ladies of sophisticated tastes and a willingness to share them with a passing adventurer. Neglected wives, spirited widows—but not country innocents. He understood the flare of attraction no better now, and yet… I’ve got you, you’re mine.
    â€˜You,’ she said in tones of revulsion. ‘How could you?’
    Patrick bent his head. ‘Shh, Laurel. I’m going to get you out of here,’ he whispered. ‘Pretend to be afraid until we reach the bedchamber, they will watch us.’
    He felt her go rigid in his grip, but she murmured, ‘Yes.’ Her eyes held nothing but bitter mistrust, but he could not reassure her here.
    He carried her upstairs amidst catcalls and cheers, blocking the sound from his brain, focused only on getting out of this with Laurel unharmed. The door was opened with some ceremony and then they were alone.

Chapter Two
    Patrick set her on her feet and stood back, his eyes dark. He raked one hand through his hair and she saw, as though all her senses were magnified, that it shook, just a little. Lust. He had brought the smell of smoke and drink and musky arousal into the room with him and her empty stomach revolted. A man, a beast, just like the rest of them.
    Laurel swallowed hard on the nausea and snapped, ‘You bastard . How could you? I trusted you, I liked you.’ I wanted you. It hurt too much: all she had was her anger to sustain her. ‘And all the time you are the kind of man who does this .’
    â€˜Rescues you?’ he demanded, the colour coming back to his face.
    â€˜You