Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (46 page)

             The chaos of the Buck’n Burro was confusing enough to Lucius, who was still trying to figure out why Josephine had brought him here. As his thoughts were moving slowly, he was not as quick to solve this problem as he would like to be. Under normal- all right,
sober
- conditions, Lucius would have never allowed Josephine to come in here. She was a child, for God’s sake. What in the world could she be seeking in such a place? Lucius didn’t like it, but what choice did he have but to go along? He could barely form a coherent sentence, much less resist the surprising strength of the little maid. And she
was
strong, by Jove! How did she get so strong?

            As they advanced through the crowd, Lucius took notice of one particular voice that sounded dreadfully familiar, though he shook his head as if to dismiss the notion. It couldn’t be. It
wouldn’t
be.

            But it was.

            Not three feet from Lucius stood Brock Donnigan, one arm in the air along with the rest. He was shouting something, and once Lucius had experienced the initial shock of seeing him, he felt the desire to run out the door, while paradoxically hoping to gain more proximity to the bastard and plant a fist in his jaw. He did neither of these things, but instead paid closer attention to the whole of what Brock was participating in. Everyone present was shouting. It was some sort of auction, but for what?

            Lucius once more felt the tug of Josephine’s hand in his, but his feet were planted. For the first time, he glanced in the direction she was pulling him, and his stomach felt as though it had dropped and hit the floor. His jaw fell slack, his knees went weak, and his heart nearly exploded through his chest.

            A cold chill began in his toes and traveled up the length of his body, followed by a warm, tingling sensation.

            These men were facing one direction. They had gathered for one purpose. They were bidding on one thing. And there she was, on display, standing like a mannequin before them all.

            Josephine looked back at Lucius, saw the recognition in his face as he was stunned into sobriety. He had gone pale, and his eyes stared unblinkingly at the woman who was up for sale.

            His first reaction was dismay. He said her name, though none but Josephine heard it. He took a step closer, still struggling to comprehend the vision before him. Evelyn was dressed like a whore, and she was not alone on that stage. There was the establishment’s owner- the infamous and seedy Mr. Dupont- standing beside her, his dirty little fingers wrapped around her arm.

How had she come to be here? And why? What the hell was she doing?

Was this Lucius’ fault? Had Evelyn heard about his loss? Had she come to Mr. Dupont for money? Was this her way of earning back the fortune she no longer possessed? Could she sink so low? Would Evelyn Brennan, lady of Ireland, heiress of Brennan House, rumored duchess, princess, sell herself as a courtesan?

            No. No, she most certainly would not. Evelyn Brennan would never condescend to such a monstrosity. Not even if she knew she was penniless.

            That bastard Mr. Dupont was grinning wickedly, repeating the bids as they reached his ears.

            “Five hundred dollars for the gentlemen there… Do I hear five-hundred-fifty?... Five-eighty…
Hot damn!
Six hundred!...”

            Lucius looked around the room, taking in the red faces of the screaming men, the way saliva sprayed from their mouths as they hollered their bids…

            And then there was Evelyn: silent, wavering, her eyes rolling languidly from side to side. Something was wrong with her. Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she futilely attempted to tug her arm from Dupont’s grasp. He would not let her go, and she surrendered quickly, for she had little strength left to fight.

           
To fight.
She wanted to fight! Something suddenly seemed very clear to Lucius Flynn. However Evelyn had come to be here, she was in trouble. Lucius must do something to put an end to this before-

            “One thousand dollars!”

            There was a hush as the room went still and all eyes turned to Brock Donnigan.

            “One… thousand… dollars?” Mr. Dupont repeated haltingly, his heart racing. He gulped. “I’m afraid to ask if I heard you correctly, sir?”

            Brock Donnigan nodded once, a satisfied little smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

            “I can repeat myself, if you like,” he said.

            It took Dupont a second or two to collect himself.

            “No, no, sir, you’re quite all right.” Dupont cleared his throat. “Do I hear one-thousand-twenty-five?”

            The room was silent. Lucius glared at Brock Donnigan and felt the stirrings of hatred mingled with the heat of fury. 

            “Anyone?” Dupont pressed.

            Lucius knew that the moment had finally come to repay the debt he owed to Evelyn.

            “Going once?”

            He would save her tonight.

            “Going twice?”

“She’s my wife!” Lucius Flynn cried, his shrill voice cutting into the thick silence that had descended upon the room. He wrenched free of Josephine, leaving her sandwiched between two men while he shoved his way through the crowd.

Before anyone could get a good look at him, Lucius put his head down and charged Brock Donnigan. He slammed into the Australian’s gut, knocking him to the floor. Several men jumped back in alarm while Lucius planted his fist into Brock Donnigan’s face again and again.

“She’s my wife!” he exclaimed once more. “She’s my wife!”

From the stage, Evelyn regained some lucidity. She had faintly heard Brock Donnigan call out his outrageous bid, and then Lucius…
Lucius
…

She knew it was him the instant she heard his voice. He had come. He was here to save her.

It took her a second to realize he wasn’t coming for her right away. He was diverted, and suddenly there was a great commotion right where Brock Donnigan had been standing.

No, he couldn’t be, he
wouldn’t
be! Lucius was attacking Brock, and Brock was
twice his size
! Brock would
kill
Lucius!

Evelyn began to scream and thrash, desperate to get to Lucius, to
stop
him, but Mr. Dupont held her fast. 

Lucius’ knuckles smashed against Brock’s bones relentlessly, and Lucius found the more he allowed himself to unleash his fury, the more his fury consumed him. He could not stop himself; he did not want to. He wanted Brock to pay for everything he had done. For getting Stephen Whitfield killed, for seducing Evelyn, for abandoning them, for robbing them, and now this… this
crime
. Brock Donnigan had taken Lucius’ money, and now Brock Donnigan was using Lucius’ money to bid on Lucius’ wife.

 Lucius could kill him. Lucius could kill him right now.

But the crowd would not allow it.

Several men grabbed Lucius and pulled him off Brock Donnigan. Finally free, Brock rolled over with a groan and stumbled slowly to his feet. The spectators leaned in for a good look at him, and there was a subtle but reverberating murmur when they saw his face. His left brow and his bottom lip had split, and there was a large shiny bump growing visibly over his right cheekbone. It would be a beautiful ripe plum in the morning, and as Brock’s blood spilled from his brow, it formed a river along the bump’s edge. He spewed blood on the ground while glaring murderously at Lucius and sneered, revealing teeth stained with red.

The men behind Brock took him by the arms, restraining him should he try to retaliate, while the others in the room began to exchange glances as they digested what they had just witnessed.

            A wife? The woman up for auction was a
wife
?

            Well. That certainly wasn’t right.

            The seconds passed, and the confused onlookers thought about it even more.

           
Evelyn Brennan was a wife?

            They had certainly not come here to bid on someone else’s wife.

            But Brock Donnigan had. Brock Donnigan had known. Evelyn Brennan was up for sale, and he had not wasted a single moment to see that he was the one who bought her. It would be the most beautifully scripted ending to his scheme. Truly Shakespearian. Here he had depleted Lucius Flynn’s fortune, only to spend it on a night with Lucius Flynn’s wife. His secret,
untouched
wife.

            No amount was too much for the prize Brock would have won, and he would have succeeded if Lucius had not just barged in and declared ownership. The auction would cease now that it appealed to the tender side of men’s hearts. This would not be forgiven. Lucius Flynn would pay for this, and Brock would have Evelyn for his own. He would see to that. If not tonight, then soon.

            Josephine stepped forward and came to Lucius’ side. As she touched his hand, he tore his gaze from Brock and looked at her. She nodded towards the stage, where Evelyn stood as Dupont’s prisoner.

            Evelyn met Lucius’ eyes for the first time that evening, causing her knees to cave beneath her while Mr. Dupont was forced to hold her aloft. She did not understand the emotions that swept through her, but at the sight of her husband, she was crippled beneath the weight of relief.

            Tears flooded over her cheeks, causing her black eye paint to run in streaks down her face.

            “Lucius,” she said, and the sound of her voice caused him to forget all about Brock Donnigan.

            As Lucius pulled in the direction of the stage, the others released him. The crowd parted, their eyes trained upon him. He drifted swiftly, purposefully past them, never once gazing into their perplexed and remorseful faces. His eyes were for one face only, and he would stop for no one but her.

            He had no questions, for which he demanded no answers. He did not know how Evelyn had come to be here, nor how Mr. Dupont, the lousiest, sleaziest businessman in town, had come to hold her as inventory. It did not matter to him. All that mattered was that this was ended, and he meant for that to happen immediately.

            As he neared the stage, Mr. Dupont summoned Cherie. This was not going well, and he could foresee the situation slipping through his fingers into a disastrous outcome. He was not ready to relinquish the prosperity at hand. Absolutely not. Evelyn was his property now. She had come to him. She belonged to him. She had made no mention of a husband, and that husband had made no effort to keep reins on her. He had lost her, and he could not have her back without a fee.

            Cherie took hold of Evelyn and pulled her away while Mr. Dupont placed his body between them and Lucius.

            Evelyn cried out, but she had no strength left to resist.

            “Release her to me,” Lucius demanded as he leapt onto the stage.

            Mr. Dupont smiled apologetically.

            “I am afraid I cannot do that, sir. She came to me. She will not leave unless her price has been paid.”

            Lucius was not here for a discussion. He barely heard the words from Mr. Dupont’s mouth, as he was not even looking at him. He advanced towards Evelyn, but Mr. Dupont stepped forward and met him face-to-face.

            “Her price, sir,” he growled. “What is your bid?”

            Lucius wasn’t here to negotiate.

            “This auction is over!” he demanded furiously. “Release her to me!”

            “I am a businessman, sir. That woman is my merchandise, and I will
not
release her without payment.”

            Quickly, Lucius produced a small knife from his waistband and shoved it up under Mr. Dupont’s chin.

            “Payment?” Lucius sneered, pressing the blade against Mr. Dupont’s flesh. “I would not hesitate to give you what you deserve, old man.”

            For one breathless moment, everything was still. The men in the audience watched with eyes wide open while Mr. Dupont glowered at Lucius, his pulse beating madly beneath the point of the knife. Lucius found himself studying Mr. Dupont, noting the unsightly lines that dug into the skin around his eyes and the way his earlobes had begun to fold in on themselves with the lost elasticity of age. His pupils were dilated, his irises flat and gray. He looked like an empty man, filled only with empty hate, and empty ambition, and empty purpose. Lucius’ brows came together. How was this empty man supposed to stop Lucius, a man full of heat and justice and love, from gaining his prize? Mr. Dupont had no winning cards. He had no cards at all.

            Mr. Dupont was growing red. Nervously, he risked a sideways glance around the room, gauging the expressions of the onlookers. There were frowns, and eyes full of pity, and whispers. So many whispers. His heartbeat increased. Surely. Surely the auction had not ended. It
must not
be ended.

            His hand slipped behind his back, where a pistol was tucked into his belt. In one fluid movement, he slapped Lucius’ knife away, took a step back, and aimed his gun at Lucius’ nose.

            “Your bid!” he demanded once more, not only of Lucius, but of the audience as a whole. “Who is to take this woman? Who will pay the price?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The sound of the pistol’s hammer being clicked into place was the last thing anyone heard before complete chaos erupted.

Men from the crowd began to shout, protesting the turn the auction had taken.  Two of them settled on rescuing poor Lucius Flynn, and they leapt onstage to take the situation into their own hands. They charged Mr. Dupont, and since Mr. Dupont’s eye and gun were trained on Lucius, he did not see them coming. They blindsided him, and the jolt caused his weapon to fire. The bullet narrowly missed Lucius and was discharged into the piano, a very unfortunate accident indeed; but it was fortunate in another way, for Mr. Dupont’s pistol only held one bullet. The danger of him shooting anyone else had come to a sudden and welcome close.