Bound in Moonlight (14 page)

Be Rose . . .

Rose wouldn't fret or doubt herself. She would embrace the experience with a sense of adventure, as Lili did.

More men examined her. They lifted her breasts, plucked at her nipples, slid their hands between the cheeks of her bum and the lips of her sex . . . and then they moved on and did the same to other slaves. One of the few who didn't manhandle her was a dashing, fair-haired fellow in an exquisitely tailored coat and full-length trousers, the latter an unorthodox choice for evening dress. She recognized him from magazine illustrations as the exiled Beau Brummel. He looked her over rather cursorily, complimented her eyes, and continued down the line.

Caroline was surprised to observe that occasionally a slave and a gentleman seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance. Tulip, to her left, was approached at one point by the Chinaman, who spoke to her in his native tongue, softly and with a tone of affection. She responded in the same language, a sultry smile replacing her usual expression of quiet watchfulness. He gave her cheek a tender caress, then took a seat and lit a cigar.

Not long afterward, as “Mr. Boots” knelt before Caroline caressing her slippered feet and murmuring “Lovely, lovely,” a handsome young man came up to Lili and greeted her familiarly. He had a boyish smile and sported a mop of inky ringlets clubbed at the nape. Like Mr. Brummel, he wore the modish trousers in lieu of breeches. Even before Lili called him by name, Caroline knew that he had to be Inigo, of whom the veteran slaves had spoken.

Nodding across the room, Lili told him, “We have company.”

Caroline followed Inigo's gaze to the nearest window. There was a cat she would never have noticed on her own, its fur being nearly the same dusky gray as the deep stone sill on which it sat. Inigo winked at it, and it winked back—or appeared to.

“Have you ever had your cunny licked?”

Mr. Boots was gone, replaced by a big, boxy man who had the aura more of a prizefighter than of a gentleman, despite his fine clothes. In one hand he held the
Compendium,
opened to her page. The other was curled around the ivory knob of the walking stick poised next to him.

It was the Marquess of Dunhurst.

The Flogster.

He said, “I asked you a question, Rose.”

“I . . . I have not, sir,” she managed, her mouth so suddenly dry that she could barely get the words out.

“Do you play fumble and grope with the boys? Diddle them while they diddle you?”

“N-no, sir.”

“And if I am to believe what is written here,” he said, indicating the booklet in his hand, “both your mouth and your arse are in an unsullied condition.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Not so that little eel-skinner, though.” Lowering his gaze to his
Compendium,
he read, “ ‘Deflowered two years ago, but not enjoyed since.'” He looked up. “Not a single stab in two years?”

“No, sir.”

Returning to the booklet, he read, “‘A charming innocent unschooled in the arts of love, Rose was brought up in a country village, the youngest child of a churchman.'”

“Yes, sir.”

“I did not ask you a question, Rose.”Dunhurst pinned her with eyes like hard little black buttons. “Were you not trained to keep that pretty little mouth shut unless you were granted permission to speak?”

Caroline's voice snagged in her throat. She swallowed and said, “Yes, sir.”

He made a note in the
Compendium: Resistant to training.

“Popular sentiment notwithstanding,” he said, “it has been my experience that the daughters of the clergy are, by and large, of limited virtue and base character. As a young man, I fell prey to a vicar's daughter as faithless and wanton as any Covent Garden whore. It was a painful but enlightening lesson.” Stowing the booklet inside his coat, he said, “Do you toss yourself off ?”

“I . . . I am sorry, sir. I do not know what you mean by that.”

“Do you finger the little ploughman, frig yourself with dil-does . . .”Grasping her nipples through her gown, he rolled and pinched them with strong, rough fingers. “Do you play with these to incite your lust?”

“I . . . I . . . no.”

He glared at her.

“No,
sir
.” In fact, several times after Aubrey left with his regiment, Caroline had touched herself where he had touched her when they'd made love, trying to relive the precious intimacy of their one night together—but afterward, she was always consumed with shame.

“Curious.” Reading from the
Compendium,
Dunhurst said, “‘Rose takes great pleasure in the sport of Venus, and climaxes with ease.' Yet you've only been fucked the once, and I've never yet known a wench to take pleasure in having her maiden-ring torn to shreds. And you claim to have never been gammed or rubbed off, so how can you possibly know that you're orgasmic at all unless you make yourself spend?”

Caroline stared at him, plumbing her mind for a response. In an icy-soft voice, he said, “You are a liar, Rose. Someone should take you in hand.” He twisted her left nipple hard, making her cry out in pain.

“That's enough, Dunhurst.” Viscount Rexton, whom Caroline hadn't even realized was nearby,muscled the Flogster aside and positioned himself in front of Caroline.

“Just a little antepast, old man,” said the marquess. “I realize I can't savor the entire meal till it's bought and paid for.”

Caroline's horror must have shown on her face, because Lili caught Dunhurst's eye with a coy smile and said,“You ought to buy
me,
Lord Dunhurst. I could do with a strong whip hand. Upon my word, I have the devil of a time being good.”

Dunhurst looked her up and down with a speculative glint in his eye. Caroline thought he would chastise her for speaking out of turn and addressing him by name. “Lili, is it? I shall bear that in mind.”

“Move along,” Rexton told Dunhurst. “You're through inspecting this one.”

Rexton left on Dunhurst's heels, without having spoken to Caroline or even looked her in the eye.

Caroline whispered to Lili, “You didn't have to do that. What if he ends up buying you?”

The beautiful Persian smiled enigmatically. “I have my ways of making naughty boys behave.”

“Pinch your cheeks, Rose,” whispered Mr. Llewellyn in the moonlit courtyard where Caroline, Lili, and Saffron were waiting outside the service door for their turns on the dais. “They're almost done with Tulip. You're next.”

Caroline lifted her trembling hands—still shackled, but unhooked from her collar—to wipe her brow, beaded with sweat despite the cool night air.

Mr. Riddell's resounding voice was clearly audible through the cracked-open door. “I hear seventeen thousand five hundred guineas from Sir Edmund Byrde. Shall we advance to eighteen thousand? Do I have eighteen thousand for this exotic beauty from the mysterious East? She is talented in ways quite unknown to her sisters from the West, and of a yielding disposition. Eighteen?” After a brief pause, he said, “Eighteen thousand is bid by Monsieur Inigo. Shall we have eighteen thousand five hundred? I have eighteen thousand five hundred from Lord Madderly. Do I hear nineteen thousand? Monsieur Inigo bids nineteen thousand guineas. Who will bid nineteen five?”

There came another, longer pause. “It is little enough to pay for this Oriental enchantress.” It was, in fact, more than had been paid for any slave that evening save Elle, who had been auctioned off to Lord Cutbridge for twenty-seven thousand five hundred guineas, a new Slave Week record.“Nineteen thousand. Do I hear nineteen five?”

Several seconds passed. “This is your last opportunity, gentlemen. . . . That's it, then.”A crack rang out as Mr. Riddell's gavel struck the podium. “Sold for nineteen thousand guineas to Monsieur Inigo! Monsieur, you've only to see Lord Rexton to execute the necessary documents, and the bewitching Tulip will be yours.”

“Get ready,”Mr. Llewellyn whispered to Caroline.

“Be Rose, be Rose, be Rose,”Caroline breathed.

Lili kissed her cheek. “Rose is beautiful, and she knows it. She'll love standing on that dais. You'll see.”

“Our next offering,” Mr. Riddell announced, “is an exquisite and sweet-natured creature certain to please the most discriminating taste. Gentlemen, I give you . . . Rose.”

Mr. Llewellyn opened the door and ushered Caroline into the hall with a sweeping gesture of his coach whip. Applause greeted her as she stepped up onto the dais and took her place next to Mr. Riddell's podium.

She turned to face the audience, which was now comprised not just of the two dozen gentlemen, but of the thirteen slaves who had been auctioned off thus far, each with her leash wrapped around the fist of her new master. Some of the slaves were standing, like Elle. Others rested on their haunches, which was the position Mr. Llewellyn had taught them to adopt when their master issued the “sit” command. The other commands were “kneel,” “hands and knees,” “await,” which meant to stand bent over with one's hands braced on the legs, and “kneel down,” which meant to kneel with one's cheek resting on the floor, a posture that Caroline found mortifying. Finally there were the lying-down commands, “supine” and “prone,”which were to be executed with spread legs.

Caroline's hands trembled in their manacles; heat suffused her face. If she'd felt exposed before, she felt doubly so now, standing nearly naked on this stage with so many eyes upon her. She kept her own eyes aimed straight ahead at the empty musicians' gallery across from her, but her field of vision encompassed most of the vast room. On the exterior wall, between two windows, was a tall console table at which Inigo, with Tulip at his side, stood signing papers handed to him by Lord Rexton.

“If you will consult your compendia, gentlemen,” said Mr. Riddell,“you will see that our beguiling Rose has been plucked but once, and so will suit any gentleman who relishes innocence without the onus of taking a maidenhead. She is charmingly naïve, but eminently trainable, and of a complaisant temper. And I need hardly point out that her beauty is second to none. We shall open the bidding for this novice slave at the customary two thousand guineas. Thank you, sir,” he said as Mr. Boots's hand shot up a fraction of a second before the others. Two thousand from Sir Thomas Quirk.”

Please let Mr. Boots buy me,
Caroline silently prayed.
Please . . .

“Do I hear twenty-five hundred?” Mr. Riddell asked. “Twenty-five hundred is bid by il Conte Montesano. Who will bid three thousand guineas? I have three thousand from the Marquess of Dunhurst.”

No, no, no, not him. Please, God, anyone but him.

“Do I have three thousand five hundred . . . ?”

The auction proceeded swiftly, with nearly all of the dozen or so remaining men participating eagerly. Caroline's heart raced as the purchase price surpassed ten thousand guineas, then fifteen. The field of prospective buyers narrowed more slowly than she would have expected, possibly because only Lili and Saffron remained to be auctioned off after her; if one didn't want to be left without a slave, now was the time to bid.

Several men—including Mr. Boots, worse luck—dropped away at the twenty thousand mark, having obviously reached their limit of affordability. A drone of murmurs filled the hall as the bidding approached Elle's purchase price of twenty-seven thousand five hundred guineas. When the Italian count named Montesano offered twenty-eight thousand, the other men applauded the new record. “Well done, old man!” “She's worth every penny!”

Twenty-eight thousand guineas,
Caroline thought dazedly. After the ten percent she would owe the auction house and law firm, that left twenty-five thousand two hundred guineas, an astonishing sum, more than enough to buy a cottage and a school—or perhaps she would have a house built to her specifications, a big one with room for classrooms and a dormitory.

Caroline's excitement dissolved when Dunhurst responded to Mr. Riddell's call for a bid of twenty-eight thousand five hundred. He slid a cold sneer toward Caroline as he raised his walking stick.

“Do I hear twenty-nine thousand?” the auctioneer inquired. “I have twenty-nine from
il conte
. Twenty-nine five hundred? Twenty-nine five from Lord Dunhurst. Who will bid thirty thousand?”

The count hesitated. He looked toward Caroline, as if to confirm that she was worth the price. She met his gaze with what she hoped was a sweetly seductive smile.

Please, oh please . . .

He raised his hand to cheers from his colleagues.

Caroline let out a pent-up breath.
Please keep bidding. Please win me. I can't go to Dunhurst.

The bidding alternated between the two men until Dunhurst's bid of thirty-nine thousand five hundred guineas.

“Do I have an advance on the marquess's bid?” Mr. Riddell inquired of il Conte Montesano.

Montesano's expression as he regarded Caroline was pained.