Rebecca Hagan Lee (4 page)

Blake stood immobile, unapproachable.

Without speaking a word, Cristina turned her back to him. She stiffened her spine and straightened her shoulders, pausing for a split second, before she walked to the door. She pulled the heavy paneled door open, then quietly stepped through the opening.

While Blake, ninth earl of Lawrence, stared at the door.

Alone once again.

I have seen the wicked in great power, and

spreading himself like a green bay tree.

--PSALMS 37:35

*Chapter Three*

"Stop!" Blake shouted as the carriage passed the Georgian mansion. The driver pulled the coach to the side of the street, steering around a host of other vehicles crowded along the drive and along the street.

"What do you suppose is going on?" Blake asked the coachman as he opened the door. A crowd gathered outside Strathemore's residence.

"Looks like a big party to me, sir."

Blake nodded in agreement. It looked that way to him, too. "It was supposed to be an intimate midnight supper for a few members of the club," He muttered an oath beneath his breath.

The coachman whistled in awe. "Is this Lord Strathemore's idea of intimate?"

A variety of carriages lined both sides of the block. Several more inched down the street.

"No," Blake answered, "but, it's the crown prince's idea of intimate.

Look." Blake pointed to the prince's borrowed coach. The prince might be traveling incognito but his coachmen wore the distinctive livery of the Prince of Wales.

It was half past midnight, but Blake knew he had plenty of time. He hadn't come for supper. He'd accepted Lord Strathemore's invitation strictly out of curiosity. Although he and Strathemore were both active in the government and members of the same men's club, Blake rarely attended Strathemore's social gatherings, and he had never attended his intimate midnight suppers. While he didn't actively dislike the man, Blake knew Strathemore's idea of amusement differed from his own. It was one of the reasons Strathemore's invitation to supper surprised him.

Seeing Crown Prince Rudolf's carriage parked outside Strathemore's house explained everything. Blake now understood the reason behind the invitation.

Lord Strathemore had invited him because Rudolf was present.

Blake smiled as he entered the house. Strathemore was too much of a politician to exclude him.

"Good evening, Lord Lawrence."

Blake looked down. Lady Strathemore stood at his elbow.

"We didn't expect you this evening." Her voice was nasal, high-pitched.

Blake recognized it immediately. He'd overheard her conversation with Patricia Fairfax earlier in the evening.

"You don't usually attend our little auctions."

"Auctions?" Blake stared at his hostess.

"Yes. Sometimes we have card games but tonight we're having an auction."

Her high-pitched voice grew even higher. "Tonight even gentlemen who don't normally attend our little soirees are here." She eyed Blake meaningfully.

"Lady Fairfax insisted we invite everyone of wealth and importance. Isn't it exciting? I can't wait to see what she wagered!"

Blake started to turn away.

"You are going to bid, aren't you, Lord Lawrence?" Lady Strathemore looked up at him under the veil of her darkened lashes. "I'll be auctioned tonight."

Her straightforward approach startled Blake almost as much as it disgusted him. He'd heard about the so-called midnight clubs where the wealthy, jaded peers auctioned their wives and mistresses to other men for amusement. It was procurement and prostitution at its highest level.

A half-dozen replies to her suggestion flashed through Blake's mind, but he chose the least offensive one. Charlotte Strathemore had never been known for her intelligence, only her lack of it. "I prefer to be monogamous in my relationships."

"But you don't... I mean you aren't..." Charlotte stammered.

"Then I choose to remain celibate."

Charlotte stared at him, awed by his statement.

Blake regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Imagine telling a featherbrain like Charlotte Strathemore that he preferred celibacy. God knows what rumors would be flying tomorrow morning.

"Oh, you mean like a monk or something." Charlotte continued to stare, fascinated by his apparent abnormality.

"Or something," Blake said. "Now if you'll excuse me...." He flashed her a winning smile before he turned away. He needed a breath of fresh air. The atmosphere reeked of overindulgence. He gathered his hat and cane and started for the front door.

"Lawrence, my dear fellow, surely you aren't leaving so soon?"

Blake gritted his teeth as the Prince of Wales called to him. He turned in time to see the prince make his way through the crowd, Rudolf at his side. "I don't recall seeing you at any of Strathemore's gatherings," the Prince of Wales remarked, clapping Blake around the shoulder.

"No, sir, this is my first."

"Rudolf's as well. Come, my boys, I'll explain the rules at supper."

The Prince of Wales occupied the place of honor at the dinner table. Rudolf sat on his right, while Blake sat on his left. Strathemore had graciously relinquished his seat to Blake when the prince announced his intention to explain the rules of the auction to the newcomers.

Gentlemen, married or single, could bid on the "slaves," but only married women could be auctioned, provided they were willing. Courtesans and other low-born women could only be auctioned at the gatherings if no society women were present. Low-born "slaves" could be married or unmarried, with virgins high in demand.

Society debutantes or spinsters could not participate. They were considered off-limits to everyone.

"To everyone?" Rudolf asked.

"Yes," the Prince of Wales replied.

"Even to us?" Rudolf persisted.

The fine hairs at the back of Blake's neck began to tingle at Rudolf's question.

The Prince of Wales smiled indulgently at Rudolf. "Even to us, my friend,"

he explained. "The young demoiselles are protected until they're safely married."

When they become fair game, Blake thought.

"No woman who isn't, or hasn't been married, is auctioned. All gentlemen abide by that rule." The Prince of Wales ended the subject.

After supper, the auction began in the ballroom. The excitement mounted as gentlemen "slave traders" displayed their "merchandise" on the raised dais set up in the center of the room. The bidding process astonished Blake. Wealthy, influential peers of the realm bartered the sexual favors of their wives in return for racehorses, carriages, jewels, money, even gambling debts. Blake tried not to think about the auction or its participants. He had no desire to know who was cuckolding whom. The leers on the faces of his colleagues and their sordid amusement repulsed him. He glanced at the Prince of Wales and Rudolf, hoping for a chance to escape without notice.

"You're not bidding," Rudolf chided him.

"Neither are you," Blake pointed out.

"There is nothing here that interests me," Rudolf replied with a small smile. "I've made other arrangements. What of you?"

Blake shook his head. "I'm working, Your Highness, and in any case, I'm possessive and very discriminating."

"The idea of sharing a woman doesn't excite you?" Rudolf asked with a lift of his brow.

Blake decided to be very diplomatic. "I prefer to choose my partner in a discretionary manner. I see no reason to give other men ammunition to use against me."

"Very wise," Rudolf said. "Very wise, and very dull, but I applaud your sense of morality."

Blake's reply was lost in the sound of catcalls and whistles as Patricia Fairfax stepped onto the auction block.

"I bid one thousand pounds!" called a voice from the back of the room.

Patricia laughed. "I'm not for bid, tonight, gentlemen. I'm here to announce the terms of my wager."

There were more catcalls.

"Ladies, and gentlemen," Patricia smiled. "I graciously admit defeat. I lost my wager. My daughter, Cristina, didn't catch the crown prince's eye in her original dress. He failed to notice her until she changed gowns." Patricia glanced at the crown prince, then at the women in the room. "Ladies, take note, the crown prince only has eyes for beautiful women, beautifully clothed.

Therefore, I forfeit five hundred pounds to Lord Strathemore."

The crowd heaved a collective groan of disappointment.

"And," Patricia continued, "I abide by the terms of the wager and offer my daughter, Cristina, for auction to the highest bidder."

Silence filled the room. Everything halted. No one moved or spoke. Everyone waited. The unwritten rules of the club were explicit and no gentleman dared break them. Patricia Fairfax, however, was a woman who had dared the unthinkable.

"Madame, I protest this ... this ... breach," the Prince of Wales stuttered, shocked.

Patricia turned her most charming smile on the prince. "But, Your Highness, I'm doing only what's best for my daughter," she protested. "I'll conduct private negotiations. Cristina will go to the highest bidder," Patricia paused, dramatically. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the highest bidder wins my lovely daughter's hand," she announced, before adding coyly, "in marriage."

The Prince of Wales laughed. The crowd began to breathe again. Trust Patricia to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. Trust Patricia to turn the most exciting wager of the season into a massive joke. The guests relaxed and began to laugh and joke at their gullibility.

All except Blake Ashford. He had seen the look that passed between Patricia Fairfax and Crown Prince Rudolf. He had seen Rudolf's almost imperceptible nod of reply.

Hours later, Cristina watched as the rising sun brightened her bedroom ceiling. She climbed out of bed to close the heavy drapes, determined to find the sleep that had eluded her since her return from the palace. Her first court ball had been an unprecedented disaster. Oh, she had left her mark on London society as she said she would, but Blake Ashford had left his mark on her. He had attracted her and intrigued her with his arrogant manner, rescued her, mocked her, insulted her, and kissed her until she was breathless--all in one evening. She was confused and exhausted, but her mind insisted on replaying the evening's events, skimming over her faux pas with the crown prince in order to dwell on Lord Lawrence.

He was a mass of contradictions and he fascinated Cristina. He had kissed her forcefully but he hadn't tried to force her to respond. That had been her own doing. His lips had been so gentle. Cristina never imagined a kiss could feel like that. His mouth had been warm and coaxing and passionate and she had responded with a rush of feeling that frightened her. Could you lose your soul in a kiss? Had she? The effect of Lord Lawrence's lips on hers had been beyond belief. She hadn't anticipated his kiss or her response and that rush of uncontrolled feelings frightened her. Cristina had learned a long time ago that love made you vulnerable. Passion blinded you to everything except your own needs. She knew what to expect from love and passion. She had lived with the knowledge for years.

Cristina blinked away the memory that haunted her, forcing herself not to relive the pain of that night. But she couldn't prevent the sting of scalding tears each time she remembered her father's departure from Fairhall. Her mother had driven him away with her constant stream of lovers, her hateful words, and the awful lies. Cristina would never forgive her for those lies.

"Missy, wake up, your mother wants to see you right now."

Cristina huddled under the covers, ignoring Leah, her maid.

"Wake up, Miss Cristina, it's past noon already."

It couldn't be! She had just closed her eyes. And as her sleepy brain attempted to convince Cristina darkness dominated the sky, Leah pulled the drapes to reveal rays of sunlight.

"Hurry, she wants to see you right away," Leah urged.

Cristina slipped on a silk wrapper and slowly headed down the hall to her mother's room, dreading the coming confrontation. She reached the door, drew a deep breath, and knocked.

Patricia sat upright in her bed surrounded by satin pillows of all hues.

Her chestnut hair spilled down around her shoulders and curled atop the coverlet. She wore an ivory lace bed jacket, a stunning emerald and diamond necklace, and nothing else. At thirty-seven, she was still a beautiful woman.

"Well, Cristina, do you like it?" There were no preliminary niceties before Patricia began the grill.

Cristina breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar question. "It's beautiful, Mother. All your jewels are beautiful." Her reply was mechanical and equally familiar.

"This necklace is different, darling." Patricia purred like some expensive feline and Cristina inwardly cringed at the sound.

"You must have bought it for yourself. Your taste is better than that of most of your admirers, who tend to lean toward gaudy vulgarity. But the necklace you're wearing this morning is truly beautiful and that's enough to make it different from your normal assortment." Cristina could not contain the bitter sarcasm.

"Oh this necklace is different, Cristina, but not for the reasons you suppose. It's different because you obtained it for me."

"But I didn't...." Cristina was puzzled.

"Of course you did." Patricia's purring voice held a note of triumph. "You enchanted a certain gentleman at the ball last night. He sent a messenger over this morning with this little token of his esteem."

Enchanted which gentleman? Cristina wasn't certain that "enchanted" was the correct word. Intrigued, perhaps. Or incited. But not enchanted. She hadn't enchanted any gentlemen last night. She'd insulted one and angered another.

Which one of them thought he could bribe her when she'd made it perfectly clear that she wasn't for sale? "You may send the necklace back to whomever sent it. I want no part of him or his jewels."

"Are you crazy? I'll do nothing of the sort. This is just the beginning. He sent this to show his regard for you. Be nice to him and you'll have others like it."

"Sending it back will show my regard for him," Cristina told her mother. "I wasn't nice to him last night and I don't intend to be nice to him in the future."