“You take her, Finglesham, I’m done.”
“No, I concede, Abinger. You said seventeen, not I.”
“Did I? I thought that was you.”
The heat of embarrassment enveloped Felicity. Neither of them wanted her at all! Her heart sank. The mockery was justified. What else did she expect?
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, if you please. Allow me to be the judge.” The auctioneer was moving across to join them when a deep voice spoke.
“Enough of this folly, Nalderwood. I will give twenty guineas for the lady.”
Felicity followed the sound as all eyes turned towards the speaker. She glimpsed a tall man, darkly shadowed. As he moved into the light, the breath stopped in her throat. It was the gentleman she’d glimpsed before she took the dais. Watching her. Or so she’d thought. Heavens, it was indeed he! Lean and powerful, with strong, stark features and shaggy, raven hair.
A thread of discomfort snaked through Felicity and her mind clouded. The whole scene slipped into unreality and her head felt light. Panic gripped her.Donotfaint,donotfaint.
“My lord Lynchmere wins it,” cried the auctioneer, throwing up his arms. “Miss Temple is yours, sir!”
Felicity watched his approach, only half aware of the hush that fell upon the room. Rendered speechless by this wholly unforeseen outcome, she met the hard stare in a pair of steel-grey eyes.
“Miss Temple?”
A hand was offered. Felicity put out quivering gloved fingers and a strong clasp closed over them.
The girl was trembling. She almost tripped as she stepped off the dais and Raoul had to reach out his free hand to help her down.
“Steady!”
She threw a glance up at him out of those unexpectedly candid eyes that had stared at him as he came up. “My thanks.”
Low and unsteady. Conscious of a sliver of sympathy, he guided her away from the dais. But as he moved towards the table where he must pay for this folly, he saw Angelica bobbing about behind it, evidently trying to catch his eye. He hardened his heart.
“Am I so formidable, Miss Temple? Or is it the experience of putting yourself up to the highest bidder?”
Another glance. Eyes of a colour intense yet indeterminate. Green? Blue? Grey? A mixture. Apprehensive, certainly. But her words belied it.
“Both, sir. You would scare anyone to death and the ordeal dismayed me.”
Raoul almost laughed out. “You may blame my cousin for both. This was her notion and she insisted upon my presence.”
Angelica had heard him, just as he intended. She moved in, smiling at the girl as she gestured to the table. “Sign your promise, Raoul. He is a very lucky man, Miss — Temple, is it? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The girl removed her hand from his arm and dropped a curtsey. “We have not, ma’am.”
“I am Angelica Summerhayes, and this ill-mannered boor who has won you is my cousin Raoul. He is the Marquis of Lynchmere, you must know.”
Raoul was signing his IOU for twenty guineas, presented by a clerkly fellow who was keeping the tally. He threw down the quill and straightened. “I consider Miss Temple a bargain, Angelica.” He offered his arm. “I believe you are mine for the evening. Is that not so, dear cousin?”
“For supper, Raoul. You need not monopolise poor Miss Temple all night.”
“What, my twenty guineas buys me only supper? For shame, Angelica. I shall claim a deal more than that.”
He produced a wolfish smile for his cousin’s edification and swept Miss Temple away from the table. She did not appear to be either flattered or troubled as he guided a path for them, skirting the low chattering crowd as the bidding started up again. She was scanning the room searchingly.
“You have lost something, Miss Temple?”
Her gaze came back to his. “My chaperon.”
“Ah, I was wondering why I had not been accosted by a worrisome mama. They are usually very eager to seize the day.”
