Page 33 of Unbound Duchess

The fire cracked and popped as silence stretched between them, but this time, Ellen didn’t look away from Laurence’s eyes. Instead, she studied them, taking in the shades of green and gold that flickered in the firelight. Such interesting eyes.

“I have suspected that Benedict Page has been a benefactor or investor for the auction for several years now,” Laurence said, his deep voice breaking the silence.

“Not that I do not believe you,” Ellen replied, “especially after seeing the familiarity Benedict had with that man named Nigel, but what has given you such suspicions?”

She watched Laurence’s throat bob, as if something was suddenly stuck there and he couldn’t quite clear it. She knew that feeling. Knew what it felt like when something deep inside the soul suddenly became stuck in one’s throat. Her eyes flicked back up to his glittering green pools, and her heart shuddered as she saw sadness swimming within them.

“Madalene and I…” he began, his deep voice suddenly rasping with emotion, “We had another sister once. Her name was Annabel.”

He let out a hoarse chuckle as he flicked his gaze to the fire.

“She was as wild and beautiful and untamable as those flames. She was fearless. Wanted to try everything, and after our parents died, she attempted exactly that,” he explained.

“Solomon and Annabel were close friends their entire lives. Even closer than Solomon and I are now. Though neither ever said so, we all believed that they would marry someday. They would go everywhere together. Operas, parties, carnivals. Sometimes with chaperones. Sometimes they would sneak out and meet and go entirely on their own. She wanted an adventurous life, and as long as Solomon was allowed to stay by her side, I truly believe he had no qualms about making sure that she got exactly what she wanted.”

“She sounds extraordinary,” Ellen said softly. “I could never be so brave in public.”

Laurence’s gaze came back to her, his lips lifting almost into a smile.

“She was extraordinary,” he agreed, “but her bravery transformed into foolishness when she met your cousin.”

Ellen tensed at that, then leaned toward him, silently willing him to continue.

“It was at one of those parties Solomon and Annabel had snuck off to in the middle of the night that she met Benedict Page.”

Ellen could hear the emphasized disgust in Laurence’s voice as he said her cousin’s name and could see it flash in his green eyes.

“He convinced her that only the bravest of women—those who truly like to gamble with the wicked—attend and take to the stage. At least that is what Solomon told me afterwards.

Benedict knew precisely how to speak to a woman like Annabel. How to make her believe that she was taking on a true adventure by going to that awful place. Solomon swore he tried to talk her out of it. At one point, he even barricaded her inside the carriage. She broke the window to get out, and it was Benedict she ran to.”

Laurence stopped talking. He worked his jaw left to right as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Did Benedict hurt her?” Ellen asked, unable to wait for him to explain further. “Did he hurt her like he hurt me? Or worse?”

“No,” Laurence rasped, his deep voice full of ache as his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But the man who purchased her that night did. He killed her.”

The reality of Annabel’s death hit Ellen like a second slap to the face. That could have been her, she realized. If Laurence had not been there. If he had not won her bid. She could have met the same fate as Annabel.

Without a thought, she reached toward and grabbed his hand. As usual, warmth and sparks slid into her palm the moment they touched, but Laurence went still. It was only then that she worried she might have gone too far with her attempt at comfort.

Blushing, she loosened her fingers, ready to pull away—but to her surprise, Laurence’s grip on hers tightened in a silent plea to stay precisely where she was.

“I am so…so sorry, Laurence,” she breathed, moving her thumb in soothing circles over the top of his hand.

Laurence cleared his throat, and he seemed to struggle to will his expression into its usual calm and aloof façade.

“Thank you,” he said, his deep voice raw as his piercing gaze held her own.

“Has this happened to others?” Ellen asked.

“That is what we want to find out. Just how many women have been hurt or sold against their will,” Laurence explained, his grip still firm on her hand. “Whoever is in charge of the auction is powerful enough to make even noblewomen disappear. There are no reports, no charges. Ever. Every man that goes there seems to fall under this blanket of protection, which we believe is why the auction stays in such good business.”

He circled the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, and she noticed only then that there were fresh callouses on his hands. They felt rough yet lovely along her soft flesh, but she did wonder what he had done in the last few hours to gain them. She was certain she had not felt any when he’d taken her hand and led her out of the cottage.

“This is where your assistance may help us,” Laurence said, drawing her from her thoughts.

Ellen’s brow furrowed.