Page 1 of Deviant Duchess
CHAPTER ONE
“Head up, Ellen,” Deborah urged, “Do not let them see your fear. There are those out there that enjoy such a thing and you do not want to end up purchased by such a man!”
Ellen’s eyes widened in apparent shock, but she snapped her mouth shut and quickly brushed the tears from her eyes. With her settled, Deborah moved on to the other young woman who had just been brought in.
Nigel, the auction’s wrangler, had all but tossed her into the dressing room, and the poor woman looked even more frightened than Ellen did.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Deborah soothed, going to her, “Nigel is far too rough. Are you alright?”
The young woman’s breath started to come in shorter, quicker bursts as she looked around the dank room. Fearing she was going to faint, Deborah reached for her shoulders.
“Hey now,” Deborah cooed, “No need to get overwhelmed, my dear. It is not as scary of an ordeal as it seems. My name is Deborah. What is yours?”
It was a lie. Depending on who was winning the bid, the ordeal could be quite terrifying. However, she was not going to admit that. The poor woman was frightened enough. This was not Deborah’s first time watching the auction- but hopefully it would be her last. Either coming in disguised as a barmaid or dressing as one of the men in their masks, Deborah had seen it all as she waited for her opportunity to get revenge on Sylvester.
“Beatrice,” the woman answered, her voice shaky.
As she did with Ellen, Deborah explained how to keep away from the men who were aroused by fear. Only when Beatrice looked a little stronger did she take her leave and find a quiet place to prepare herself.
Three years. She had waited three. long. years. to enact her plan, and finally, tonight, she would be able to put it in motion. Hester had not been the only one hurt by the Earl’s boasting tongue. He, too, had suffered the consequences of the rumors he had once spread about her sister and had stayed away from the auction. Tonight, though, she had finally seen him again- and she was determined to be purchased by him. She’d even gone so far as tosneak him a note earlier, letting him know thatshewantedhim.Something a man with his ego surely could not refuse.
Deborah’s heart hammered as she changed out of the barmaid dress she wore when serving the pigs surrounding the stage. She removed her dark brown wig, letting her auburn locks flow loose around the shoulders of her taffeta, blood-red and copper gown. It had taken her many odd jobs to afford the dress. It was money that she could have used to feed her family for a week, but it was a necessary sacrifice to make the Earl pay.
Satisfied with the way it fit her yet still kept her modest, she moved on, smudging a bit of rouge to her cheeks and lips, just enough to make her look naturally rosy, and fluffed out her auburn waves as she studied her reflection in her small mirror.
It was not just the auction house that Deborah had kept her eyes on. It was the brothels and gambling hells as well, using every possible opportunity to learn more about her enemy. She’d learned how to disguise herself, make herself seem invisible in the way she blended in. Through these skills, she had gathered much-needed information about Sylvester. He liked women who appeared confident, but not cocky. He preferred women who could amplify their natural beauty, not those who coated their faces in cosmetics. He also had a penchant for redheads and blondes.
Deeming herself ready, Deborah snapped her small mirror compact shut, shoved her other clothes behind a crate of bottled liquor, and left the storage room, nearly running head-on into Nigel.
He sneered at her at first, but as he took her in, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.
“Blimey,” he rasped, raking his eyes down her person, “Where did you come from?”
Deborah looked for any spark of recognition in his eyes and smiled as she found none. Of course, he would not recognize her facial features. He was a man who did not care to notice anything other than breast or waist size.
“Lord Stanhope told me to come in,” Deborah replied, the lie coming out smooth on her tongue. “Said I would not be sorry.”
At the mention of the auction operator’s name, Nigel’s eyes shot immediately up to hers.Of course,that would get his attention. Jeffrey Stanhope, the Marquess of Ramsbury, kept himself apart from the auction for the most part, buteveryonewho worked the auction knew who their benefactor was. And, as her research had taught her, no one would dare question her if she brought up his name. They were all too afraid to.
“Right,” Nigel muttered, scratching under his hat. “Of course. Well, he should be very happy about the price you’re about to fetch that is certain. I thought the last bid was going to be our highest on record, but with you-” he stopped, but let out a low whistle.
“The last bid?” Deborah asked.
Nigel nodded his head, still looking dazed. “The frightened one. Came in a yellow dress.”
Beatrice.
Deborah’s heart went out to her, and she sent up a silent prayer that whoever purchased her was kind and willing to make her a wife.
“Come on then,” Nigel said, taking a step toward the stage, “Might as well get you up there.”
Though it was the moment she had waited three long years for, Deborah’s nerves began to fray as she followed Nigel to the stage. There were so many things that could go wrong. She had been careful to keep her true looks and identity hidden all this time, but what if someone recognized her? What if Sylvester did not bid on her? What if everything she had been working for fell apart in the very next moment, and instead of getting revenge on the man who ruined Hester, she made things worse for her family?
Her hands began to shake. Her heartbeat boomed in her chest. Her breath grew short and unreachable as her mind whirled over what could go wrong.
“Go on, girl,” Nigel murmured as they reached the corner of the stage.
Deborah’s feet would not move as black spots overtook her vision.Wait. I’m not ready. I need more time to plan. I need more time to-
