The Virgin's Auction Read Online Free PDF Page B

interpret and a hired carriage, shabby and cheap. He touched the brim of his hat to her respectfully.
    What was there left to respect? In the eyes of the respectable world she was about to put herself beyond the pale; a fallen woman.
    “Evening, Miss,” he said gruffly. “Aherm. Best to go openly. Not give them rotters reason to think you’re trying to hide something.”
    “Yes, quite,” she replied, going down the front stairs then taking his hand so he could help her up into the carriage. He stepped in after her. Briefly the thought of propriety crossed her mind. Then it was gone. What point worrying about such things now?
    In silence they travelled, the dim carriage rocking back and forth over the uneven cobbles. It was nearly half an hour before they reached their destination.
    Deathly afraid, Melissa gathered up her skirts and her courage, and stepped out into the night.
     
     
     
    The auction room was the bar room. Pipe smoke swirled thickly through the air. The scent of ale was heavy, as was the reek of unwashed bodies. The fire crackled. Men’s voices were raised in cheerful conversation, with occasional shouts of laughter. Every now and again there was a feminine shriek that might have been pain or pleasure; it was hard to tell which.
    Melissa stood to one side of the door, her face shrouded by her hooded cloak, fingers clenched in the fabric, eyes wide and staring. It occurred to her to wonder which of these jovial louts might have a thousand pounds in their pocket. Might be able to afford to buy her for the night; to take her home, and use her body . . .
    Mr Tell placed a steadying hand on her back as she swayed a little. Gently he urged her forward, till they stood at the bar. After a moment the barkeeper sidled up to them.
    “Evening, Simon me lad,” he said with a gap-toothed grin. “You’re in luck. Busy night tonight, and the Nobs has shown up.” He nodded to the corner tables, where an expensively dressed but slovenly group of men were cackling over dice games.
    Then he peered at Melissa’s hooded form with a good-natured leer. “ This the girl, then? Give us a look.” He put down the glass he’d been polishing and leaned forward expectantly, big, meaty hands on the bar. 
    Slowly, as if he did not want to startle her, Mr Tell reached for the hood of her cloak. But Melissa could not bear a man’s hands about her in this second. She forestalled him by reaching up and pushing it back so her face was fully in the light. The barkeeper pursed his lips and whistled long and low.
    “Well I’ll be,” he uttered in reverential tones. “ Ain’t that a sight. We might be breaking us some records here tonight, Simon lad,” and with one finger he reached up to flick her cheek. She flinched away and shot him an outraged glare that only made him chuckle.
    The bartender rearranged the hood around Melissa’s face, leaving it in shadow again. She steeled herself to accept the touch, to make no sign of how it bothered her. There was so much worse to come, she must school herself to calm acceptance, no matter what she felt.
    “Righto then. Let’s get onto it. No point in hanging about.” He came out from behind the bar and led the way to the far end of the room. There was a raised dais. As he stepped up three steps above the crowd Melissa realised he must be the one who played auctioneer. He held out a hand to her but she declined to grasp it, stepping up lightly on her own. Mr Tell remained standing on the lower level, looking up at them.
    “Gentlemen! ” he called out, turning to face the crowded room. Heads lifted at that lusty bellow.
    Melissa concentrated on breathing, as the room swam about her. Courage now. For Peter.
     
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    The card room was beautifully, fashionably decorated. Tonight it was warm and a little stuffy. Most of the chairs were taken by gentlemen of varying ages. The faint sounds of an Austrian waltz drifted in from