His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 3

Lawrence Russell despised the White House in Soho. It was one of the less reputable brothels in London, and it had a dark side that made even a seasoned rogue such as himself shudder in revulsion. His tastes ran more toward the Midnight Garden, which catered less to hired pleasure workers and more toward matching aristocratic ladies and gentlemen with similar needs.

When I seduce a woman, it is out of mutual desire, not a monetary transaction.

No mistress he'd ever had demanded fine clothes or jewels-they'd only begged him never to leave their beds. He'd been quite happy to oblige for as long as he could.

He stared around at the crowd in the dimly lit card room. The tables had been pushed back half a dozen feet to make room for a small stage, large enough to accommodate a person in the chair that had been placed in the center. The room was filled with men, smoke drifting lazily from lit cigars as they talked and drank. There were quite a few faces he recognized. Thankfully, none whom he considered to be close friends. Tonight's auction and the very idea of it turned Lawrence's stomach.

He wouldn't be here at all except for the letter he'd received from his younger brother, Avery, telling him to go tonight and take note of which men bought the merchandise from tonight's private auction.

What Lawrence hadn't realized was that the merchandise was to be slaves. He'd hoped it might have been some other disreputable activity he was helping to stop, but slavery? Not just any slavery, but that of an intimate nature.

Slavery had been outlawed in England, at least publicly. Yet women would be sold to the highest bidder here tonight like horses at Tattersall's, and no doubt treated less kindly. His blood boiled at the very thought of women facing such a fate. He adored women. Women were lovely, delicate creatures who deserved kind, playful, and rewarding lovers in bed. Not this injustice.

From the moment he'd heard the whispers from other men in this room, his heart had begun to fill with dread. Avery was supposed to arrive just after the auction to stop the men who purchased these women and have them arrested.

But what if Avery arrived too late? What if some of the men were able to leave before the auction concluded and the women weren't able to be saved? A hundred new fears rose up inside him as he tried to focus and remain calm. He had to catalogue every man in this room who bid, not only those who purchased a slave.

One of the men who ran the White House approached the stage and adjusted the small but elegant chair on the stage. A hush settled over the crowd, and a tension built in the air so thick that Lawrence could feel it choking him.

"We will be starting shortly, gentlemen. Please be patient." The hum of the conversations around him returned. He had time yet before the auction began. Lawrence leaned back against the wall, next to the closest door that would give him a quick exit. He wanted to leave the moment this dreadful scene was over.

The door beside him creaked open, and a dirty blonde-haired woman led a woman dressed in red into the room. They passed close to him as they approached the stage. Satin whispered against his boots as the second woman brushed past him. A hint of rosewater teased his nose. He watched her progress toward the stage, following her movements, hating that this woman faced the fate that she did. It was enough to make any decent man sick.

Lawrence sucked in a breath as the light bathed the woman when she drew near the small dais. Men leered and several called out cruel suggestions of what they'd like to do to her. Lawrence moved toward her and the stage as if in a dream. Her raven-black hair and light-olive skin were exquisite, even beneath the glare of the single chandelier over her head. The red satin dress she wore clung to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. Rather than looking cheap, the woman looked irresistible.

Whispers stirred in the men around him as they stared hungrily at the item they soon planned to bid for. Lawrence fought the urge to run for the woman, grab her, and flee after he'd shoved every man in the room off a very high cliff.