The Marquess of Ravenswood hated dramatics.
He also loathed crowds, prying eyes, and London. Yet, there he sat, in the very back row of what was surely the most infamous, crowded event in the city's history. Only one thing could pry him to this cesspool.
The Hellfire Club was having an auction.
Even Ravenswood couldn't resist
that
temptation. He shifted in the rickety wooden chair, his large frame unused to such cramped spaces. A growl of impatience left him. "For a gathering that's supposed to be secret, there are crush of fools here."
Next to him, Lord Seth Cardew rolled his eyes. "Only you would call two hundred attendees a crush, Will. It's been almost a year since the last auction, you know. Our membership craves this sort of diversion, even those whose pockets won't let them bid."
Will grumbled. Truth be told, he wouldn't be attending this blasted event, if it weren't for the letter. Even in the wilds of Yorkshire, he kept up with London's underbelly. Gossip had reached him, quietly and with the archest of tones, that suggested he might find tonight's auction particularly interesting. He didn't dare hope that what he looked for would be on display, however. In the five years since Violet had left him, no woman had tempted him for long. To think one of the women here, willingly selling herself to the highest bidder, would fill that void was ludicrous. He would be a damned, romantic fool to assume such a thing.
Just in case, though...
Just in case, here he was. Dressed like a Christmas goose, in his top hat and tails, and antsy. He'd taken the train down just that morning. "Get on with it," he growled.
As if bidden by his thoughts, the electric lights dimmed. The audience members, or buyers he supposed, were left in shadows, while the slightly raised stage remained illuminated by a host of white, glowing tapers. A woman stepped out of the gloom and onto the stage. Hers was a serious beauty, made more so by the candlelight. Inky black hair swept back in a chignon, with features as sharp as a hawk, she reminded Will of a governess.
If governesses wore men's clothing, of course. The mistress of ceremonies was kitted out better than Will. On her tall, slim frame she'd donned black trousers, a perfectly tailored jacket, and gleaming, emerald silk waistcoat. The only nod to her femininity was the bright red stain on her lips.
Will roused a little, intrigued against his will. She wasn't for him—too sharp, when he'd been spoiled by curves—but he appreciated beauty in all forms.
"Welcome, friends, to The Hellfire Club's Mistress Auction," she said in a deep, throaty voice. The room quieted even further. "I am Madame Valerie, purveyor of fine mistresses and the ringleader of this particular circus. We'll start, as always, with the gold contracts."
"Bring on the whores!"
She narrowed her eyes at the audience, skewering the interrupter. "These are not
whores
, sir. The women who take part in this auction are of the highest breeding and class, women who have willingly signed their contracts and are bestowing their talents onto select, respected persons. We vet not only our mistresses, but their protectors." Her tone suggested the man in question could kiss his luck tonight goodbye. Madame Valerie straightened and continued her introduction. "As I was saying, we'll start with the gold contracts. For those who are new to our ranks, I will explain."
"The Hellfire Club color codes our contract levels, each corresponding to a prescribed set of limitations. Gold contracts, the rarest, are entered into very carefully. There are no limits on what you can do, after purchasing a gold contract, aside from inflicting permanent bodily harm. For whatever amount of time she signs on for, the mistress will be under the buyer's complete control, both sexually and personally."
"She is, for all intents and purposes, an indentured sexual servant. Though, one who is paid
quite
handsomely for her time. We start the gold contract bidding first, so that your pockets are filled to her liking. Shall we begin?"
Enthusiastic applause met her questions. With a flick of her wrist, Madame Valerie cued someone offstage and three women filed up the stairs, then into the light. Each was shrouded, from head to toe, in a velvet cloak. Red, green, and white, they looked like Christmas decorations, The Hellfire Club's sadistic nod to holiday merriment. They stopped behind Madame and bowed their covered heads in unison.
Madame Valerie nodded her head. She smiled, cold and fast. "Very good, girls. Now, Twenty-Two do come forward. We begin with your contract."
The green-cloaked woman moved forward. Even covered by velvet, her generous body was evident, hips moving in sensuous rhythm with each step. Will stirred, aching for a closer look.
That walk.
It struck a chord in him, unfurled some long-tamped desire to possess.
His lips twisted in the gloom. What foolishness. Underneath that cloak, she would be like every other woman he'd had. Beautiful, surely, but uninspiring.
As if reading his mind, Madame Valerie reached out one slim hand and untied the other woman's robe. It fell to the floor in a puddle of emerald.
The audience gasped. Several people around Will flipped through their programs, searching for her information page.
Will started. She was completely nude, save an extravagant green half mask. Tumbling waves of long, dark red hair rioted around her, framing her body with flame.
God, what a body.
Twenty-Two was all curves. Generous breasts, more than a handful each, sat high above lush hips and an impossibly narrow waist. Will grew hard with just one glance, his cock insisting that he open his wallet, give her whatever she wanted. Anything to take her.
Was her skin really so fair, or was she scattered with light freckles up close, like gold leaf over a canvas? Suddenly, it seemed the most important thing that he find out.
He'd so loved Violet's freckles.
The hand on his shoulder shocked Will out of his daze. He was half out of his chair, Seth restraining him with a smile. "Patience, Will," his friend whispered, with a laugh.
Right. The Hellfire Club would have its pomp and circumstance. No matter that Will was the richest man here by a mile, heir to both a dukedom and an American shipping fortune. This girl was already his, no question. Whatever amount of time she was contracted for, Will wanted her. Perhaps she, so like his first love in both coloring and form, would be the one to finally flush that need from his system.
He would pay millions for such peace.
***
The Countess of Mulvane shivered.
Despite the fires raging in the ballroom, Georgiana was chilled through. Standing naked in a room full of your peers trembled even the most stalwart body. Given her life lately, she wasn't feeling particularly hardy. What foolishness, to think
this
would be the easy part.
After agonizing over this decision, the Countess was ready to get on with it. There would be no more worry, simply pure sensation. Meet the man, fuck him madly for six months, then spend the rest of her life free. What a lovely word that was.
Free.
Funny, really, that giving in to a stranger's every sexual whim was her ticket to true freedom. Not only would her sisters be safe from scandal, but little Camille would be set up for life. All for something she enjoyed immensely. Stephen, damn his treacherous soul, had been a terrible husband, but an adventurous lover.
And yet...
And yet nothing had quite prepared her for this feeling. Lascivious eyes raked over her body. Hundreds of masked and shadowed figures loomed in the darkness ahead of her, making appreciative murmurs of her form. If her mask should slip, all would be lost. The utmost secrecy of the contract was part of what lured her to the Hellfire Club. No one but her lover need know that the Countess of Mulvane had sunk so low. All of Stephen's failures were overturned, in exchange for half a year of Georgiana's service.
It wasn't even a choice. She willed the mask to stay put.
"Please turn around, Twenty-Two," Madame Valerie ordered.
Georgiana slowly pivoted to the back, conscious of every inch of her body. The audience's gazed tickled over the flare of her hips, down the swell of her bottom. Only two men had seen her so bare. To think that number was now multiplied a hundredfold, in less than a minute.
Her eyes burned into the masked faces of the two women standing robed, at the back of the stage. The snowy fall of white silk and the bright crimson velvet shimmered in the light. What circumstances had brought them here? Were they desperate to right a wrong, like Georgiana, or merely in search of a few hedonistic thrills? Would that she could see their faces, find solace in their shared experiences. Madame Valerie had kept them in separate rooms, until right before the auction began. Time for one last reflection, the intimidating woman had suggested.
