Page 4 of A Duchess to Reclaim

“Quiet, princess,” the woman hissed through her wide smile, jutting her corseted chest further toward the excited crowd. “There’s no talking in the line!”

Amelia’s heart hammered wildly as she looked to her right, and saw the other women in line flaunting themselves just as the woman to her left did. It was clear that unlike her, theyverymuch wanted to be on this stage before all these strange, masked men. There would be no help from them. But she should have known that the moment they had all narrowed their eyes and glared at her when her father had dragged her toward them behind the stage.

Her dread for what her father had in store for her had only amplified when she’d returned to the carriage in her favorite silk lilac-hued dress. He had immediately frowned as he saw the chaste cut of the neck line, the matching elbow length gloves and delicate ivory cameo she had pinned at the center of her throat.

“I suppose it’ll do,” he had grumbled. “It shall certainly make you stand out.”

“Papa, please. Where are you taking me?” Amelia had asked, her right leg bouncing anxiously.

“To finally have you dealt with,” he muttered back, then had refused to say anything else, despite her begging for more information.

When the carriage had stopped in front of a large, particularly normal-looking stone building she had felt a bit of relief, but her anxiety had quickly returned when her father pulled on a black mask and had forced her inside.

Inside, dark red walls and a matching ceiling closed the large space in, a long, gold and dark wood polished bar lining the far opposite one. Smoke choked the air, and dim, sparse lights alighted tables. The only real light came from a stage to her far right. Which, for some reason, made her skin crawl when she saw it. Something told her that that stage was not for a play, but an entirely different sort of performance.

Though she’d never stepped foot in a brothel before, she’d read enough books to surmise that was where she was based on not just the decor but the many masked men that were milling excitedly about. There were a few women sprinkled among them, too. Some scantily clad in just their corsets and skirts, others in slightly more modest but still provocative dresses. Andnoneof them looked like her.

Her father’s grip tight on her wrist, she was forced to follow him through the crowd, her stomach growing more uneasy with every step and look she received. Some simply stared at her and scoffed before turning back to their conversation, while others took long, lingering looks at her; smirking wickedly when they finally caught her eyes.

“My Lord,” A man greeted her father as he finally stopped at a table close to a raised stage. “Your guest must be masked as well. You know the rules.”

“She’s not a guest,” her father had answered gruffly, then pushed her roughly toward the table. “She’s for sale.”

The masked man then gave her a long, studious look, as if inspecting her for any damages.

“You are late,” he said at last. “We usually request the women arrive an hour early so that they may mingle with the gentlemen and win favor.”

“It does not matter,” her father replied promptly. “Sell her. Tonight.”

The man took another look at Amelia’s frightened expression, and she could have sworn that a look of pity passed through his brown eyes.

“Papa,no,”Amelia breathed; growing dizzy with fear.

“Quiet!” He hissed.

“You understand that I cannot guarantee she will be sold for marriage?” The man had asked Felton. “Though most of our clienteleisnobility, most come here for mistresses. Some even just for one nights. Once she’s in line, shewillbe sold to the highest bidder, no matter what he wants to do with her.”

“Papa, please,” Amelia sobbed, pulling at his grip.

“Quiet!” He seethed through gritted teeth as he snapped his head in her direction. “I warned you that you had one final week to find a match on your own, it is not my fault that you have failed!”

He yanked her forward then, and as she became unsteady on her feet, he pushed her backward; hitting a strange man’s chest. Before she could right herself, she felt hands clasp around her upper arms.

“Take her to the back and put her in line with the others,” Felton demanded.

The man in charge drew in a long, steady breath before holding out his hand.

“There is a seller’s fee, My Lord,” he drawled, flexing his fingers. “You have to pay just as the rest do.”

A look of pure annoyance flashed across Lord Hollowcroft’s face, but he pulled out his wallet.

“How much?” He demanded.

“One hundred pounds,” the man replied in that same drawling inflection.

“One hundred pounds!” Hollowcroft seethed. “That is ridiculous! Surely these women do not pay such an amount for your services!”

“These womenfollow my house rules perfectly, My Lord, and they are here of their own volition. Something tells me this young lady is not. The large fee is to bypass the rules and provide insurance for any…disruptions she may cause,” the man explained, then shrugged.

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