Page 2 of Deviant Duchess
“I said go on,” Nigel whispered angrily, giving her a shove.
Deborah stumbled forward, and as the bright lights of the stage hit her, all her raging fears stopped at once. She gathered her balance quickly, and with a silent grace, she walked to the center of the stage.
“Well, well, well,” the announcer mused loudly, “Look what we have here, gentleman, a woman of fire!”
A roar of cheers and applause erupted from the masked men surrounding the stage, and though she despised them all, Deborah fed off their approval and used it to steel her spine. Her lips twitched into a smirk, her chin lifted, and she looked for her target. Her smirk shifted to a satisfied grin as she saw his signature gray mask, as well as the note she’d sent him in his hand, as he and several others began to raise their hands and announce their bid.
The note had been simple, and delivered by one of the other barmaids the moment Deborah had recognized him.The lady in red wants to be yours.She knew he would like that. Like to be desired; feel special. So special she would make him feel- whatever it took to get him to win the bid.
“Ten thousand pounds!”
“Twelve thousand!”
“Eighteen!”
Twenty-five!”
Exhilaration tunneled through Deborah’s veins as her bid grew higher, but no matter how ridiculous the number, she kept her eyes on the gray-masked Sylvester, silently urging him to win.
“Twenty-eight!” He shouted, his eyes locked on her. Even with his mask, she could see how wide his eyes had grown.
She winked at him, letting him know he was ‘special.’
“Thirty!” He shouted again when the big number passed twenty-nine thousand.
“Thirty thousand pounds for our lady of fire, my goodness!” The announcer boomed, “Is anyone bold enough to counter?”
Satisfaction rolled through her veins as Deborah heard the profound answering silence. This was it. She was going to win. She was going to ruin him. She was going to-
“Fifty thousand!”
Deborah’s head wrenched toward the voice before she could stop herself; her flirtatious expression dropped the momentsuch a ridiculous number was announced. She found a man in a crimson red devil’s mask standing in the back of the crowd, towering above everyone else. Unlike the other masks the men wore, it only covered the upper half of his face. The lower half was exposed, but covered in a thick yet well-trimmed dark beard and mustache. A wicked smile was on his lips, showing off startling white teeth that, for a second, Deborah almost mistook for fangs.
“Fifty thousand pounds,” the announcer said, emphasizing each word with a touch of awe as the full room fell eerily silent.
Deborah wrenched her gaze away from the devil and looked toward Sylvester’s gray mask. She leaned toward him, eyes begging him not to give up.
No. No! You cannot give up now!
Yet even as she shouted the words in her head, she knew by the way his hand slowly lowered to his side that he was accepting defeat.
“Well? Is this done or what?” The devil loudly snapped.
Seeing her plan fall apart in front of her very eyes, she gave one more pleading look toward Sylvester. This time, he simply turned his back to her and made his way through the crowded room, disappearing among the sea of black jackets.
“No!” Deborah rasped, her body moving toward the vanishing man without a thought.
Then a hand wrapped around her arm, tight as a vice, and before she could take another step, she was pulled behind the stage.
CHAPTER TWO
“Do you have any idea?” Deborah seethed as she was pushed into the carriage with the red devil, “Anyidea of what you have just done?!”
Although she was sure she should be afraid, rage had taken over her again, and it had only built with every step she had been forced to take away from Sylvester and toward the man who had won her bid. She had been so close! Then the man before her just swept in and ruinedeverything.
With a bored sigh, the man pulled off his mask, revealing not just youthful, handsome features, but familiar ones. Deborah blinked, shocked into silence at who her bidder was.
“I believe I just won your bid,” he replied, his deep voice radiating with boredom as he tossed the mask to the empty seat beside him, “And I believe your next words should be ‘thank you. Miss Deborah Hunt.”
