Page 18 of Unbound Duchess

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Now is not the time to be weak, my dear,” a sweet voice softly scolded.

Nigel had been surprisingly gentle as he brought her into the room with the other women, but even so, Ellen sank to the floor and bowed her head against her knees the moment he released her. She sniffled as she heard the kind tone and raised her head.

A beautiful young woman with red hair and green eyes smiled at her. She reached out and tentatively touched Ellen’s bruised jaw. She winced and pulled back as her breaths started to come in shorter bursts; her chest felt tight and constrained.

“What is your name?” the woman asked, helping Ellen back onto her feet.

“Ellen,” she rasped out.

“I am Deborah,” the woman replied, pushing Ellen’s mussed dark curls from her face. She then pulled out a kerchief and began to wipe her tears from her cheeks. “You cannot show them fear, Ellen. Even if you feel it threatening to take over you, you must not.”

Ellen started to bow her head, but before she could get too far, Deborah had her finger crooked under her bruised chin and was forcing her gaze back up.

“Chin up, Ellen,” Deborah urged. “Do not let them see your fear. There are those out there who enjoy such a thing, and you do not want to end up being purchased by such a man! There are those out there that make women mistresses, and some that only use their win for a night. There are others, though, who can be kind. They are lonely for female company and only wish to talk. A rare few are here to take on wives so they do not have to wade through the stress of courting. You have a chance!”

Ellen’s eyes widened as shock and fear trembled anew within her veins, but she snapped her mouth shut and quickly brushed the fresh tears from her eyes.

“There you are,” Deborah said with a satisfied nod. “Do not give them—or the man who brought you here—the satisfaction of your tears.”

“Is there any way I can get out of this?” Ellen asked, grabbing the woman’s hand just as she was about to walk away to help another crying woman.

Deborah turned to the side, just enough to show off the women in front of the mirrors on the other side of the wall.

“You want to know why some are happy to be here, and some are not?” she asked.

Ellen quickly nodded.

“It is because the happy ones know the rules. This might be an auction, but the lady still chooses. If she is purchased by someone she does not like, she can invoke her right to be sold again. The house supports that because, when a woman enters independently, all the funds go to the house instead of being split with the guardian. It is the same as if she does not want to go home with her ‘guardian’.”

As she said the word, Deborah gave her a knowing look; she knew exactly who put the bruises on Ellen’s face.

“When you go on stage, try to find a man you would be comfortable going home with, and speak to him with your eyes. Lead him to win the bid,” Deborah urged.

“But I do not know how to do that!” Ellen whispered frantically, “And they all wear masks! How am I supposed to know which ones are good and which ones are bad?”

“That one!” someone snapped from the doorway, interrupting them.

Ellen and Deborah both turned to the voice, and Ellen’s fear threatened to override her again as she found a woman pointing directly at her.

“Trust yourself to make the right choice,” Deborah whispered, giving her a gentle shove. “Go. All will be well.”

Ellen was certain all would be well as she walked on trembling legs toward the brightly lit stage.

All you have to do is beg me. Benedict’s words echoed in her ear as she raised her hand and winced at the bright light. All you have to do is beg and I will take you home. This can all be over if you just choose me.

It would never be over, though. Ellen knew that, even as part of her screamed to give in to Benedict’s trick and stop the auction. Even as a chorus of eager shouts and a mass of hungry eyes settled upon her as the bid began. She had refused to give him the satisfaction, no matter the cost. Ellen lowered her hand, and forced her eyes to slowly scan the crowd as men started to shout out numbers.

She found Benedict almost immediately. He was the only one in the crowd not wearing a mask. Instead, he wore a devilish smirk, as if he knew at any moment, she was going to yield and start to beg.

“Five-hundred pounds!” a man called, his voice old and hoarse.

She looked toward him, and could not hide the sneer on her face as she saw tufts of gray hair sticking up above his masked face.

“Six-hundred!” another called.

Her gaze shot to that voice, bile threatening to rise in her throat as she saw the most obese man she’d ever seen in her life. She glanced back at Benedict, who had been tracking the bidders, too. He looked back up at her and shrugged, with a look that said, your choice, on his smug face.