Page 5 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

Edmund stopped.

In the silence that followed, Elinor heard the manor door open. A servant stood in the doorway, his face carefully blank in the way of all good servants who had learned not to see their betters' shame.

"My lords," he said, his voice carrying across the frozen drive. "The proceedings are about to commence. If you would care to come inside?"

Her father's grip shifted to something almost gentle. A mockery of paternal concern for the servant's benefit. "Come, Elinor. We mustn't be late."

She looked at the door. At the light spilling from within, warm and false as her father's sudden solicitude. At all the men gathering inside to bid on flesh and futures, to purchase women as though they were bolts of cloth or parcels of land.

Then she looked at the Scotsman who had asked if she was hurt.

His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes steadied her. Some flicker of understanding.

He sees me. I’m not property or prize to him. He sees a person.

It was such a small thing, and yet it felt like the first kindness she had been offered in years.

She lowered her handkerchief from her lip, lifted her chin, and met her father's eyes with all the cold fury she had learned to hide beneath compliance.

Without a word, she turned and walked toward the door.