His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 4

Lawrence didn't want to participate in this dreadful slave auction. But if the lady went home with one of these men, they would force her to do things she didn't want, and he couldn't stand the thought of that.

When he'd been only seventeen, not yet truly a man, he'd ventured into a brothel much like this. He'd thought himself a virile and entitled lad, eager to see himself pleasured for as much as his coin purse would allow. His head had been filled with images of eager maids feeding him berries on a lounge, willingly submitting to his overtures, and everyone partaking in a night none would soon forget.

Instead, he'd watched women selling themselves to survive. It wasn't hard to see the desperation in the performances of those who didn't want to be there, or the emptiness of those who had given up and knew no other life. What was worse were the men who treated them no better than cattle.

That night he'd watched a woman, boldly announced by the haggard proprietor as working her very first night, dragged away by some brute who'd paid to be the first to have her. She'd begged him not to, saying that she was there against her will, but he'd struck her across the face before they'd even left the room. He'd heard the men around him laughing at her misfortune. He'd been frozen, unable to intervene, too young and afraid. It had haunted him every moment since then.

He'd run from that place, sickened by everything it stood for and he'd never told a soul about his secret shame. It wasn't until he learned of the Midnight Garden and its courtesans that he discovered better establishments existed, but nonetheless the experience had soured his taste for paid companionship forever.

"Two thousand pounds!" a man close to the stage called out. The bold offer shook Lawrence back to reality. He moved closer to better see the fellow. With dark hair, olive skin, and a deep accent, he was surely no native to England. The man stared at the woman with a hungry fixation, and Lawrence shuddered. The hint of cruelty that hung about his cold smile made Lawrence's blood run cold, taking him back to that night in the brothel long ago. He could not let this man have her. He would not.

Lawrence stepped forward and managed a chuckle. "Two thousand? Heavens, this beauty is worth more than that! Seven thousand!"

He pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against and walked over to stand closer to the stage, forcing several others out of his way. Lawrence had to make a statement to the rest of the room or else face a bidding war he might not win.

A hush fell upon the crowd, but Lawrence focused only on the woman sitting on the stage. He had to be the one to take her home and set her free.

"No one brave enough to bid higher, eh?" he said, as confidently as he could possibly present himself. Not one of them responded, not even a murmur. He could have dropped a feather and the sound would have reverberated around the room like cannon fire.

"Any other bids?" the auctioneer asked the room. "Seven thousand going once..." Lawrence hands curled into fists. "Going twice..."

The woman on the stage wasn't breathing, her face etched in stone. She must be terrified. Hold on, darling. Just a few seconds more.

The auctioneer's face lit with greed as he pointed to Lawrence. "Sold to the gentleman bidder for seven thousand pounds. Once you have paid for your lady, you may take her with you."

The woman looked up, seeking him out, and Lawrence stepped closer, wishing she could see his face and not be afraid. The auctioneer grabbed her arm and dragged her off the stage. Lawrence saw her stumble, a flash of fear in those stunning eyes, and he reacted instantly.

"Stop that!" he bellowed and gripped the woman's other arm gently. He glowered at the auctioneer. "You harm her again and I will cut you down, you understand? I don't want my property damaged."

"Of course." The auctioneer's face turned ashen, and rightly so. Lawrence's blood was boiling with fury.

He turned his attention to the woman to let his temper cool. "Are you all right, my dear?"

She squinted up at him, and he realized the bright lights hanging over the stage had likely made it hard for her to see.

"Yes... I..." Her voice was silken, yet each word vibrated with fear.

"Good. Wait for me. I won't be long. I promise not to let anyone hurt you."

He reluctantly let go of her arm and strode to the back of the room, where another door led to the madam's office. A plump woman was seated at a desk, writing names and numbers in a ledger. She barely glanced at him when he entered. "I've come to pay for my"-he choked on the next word-"merchandise."

"Oh?" The woman finally glanced up. Her dark eyes fixed on him, taking in his fine clothes as though assessing his ability to pay.