Page 5 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
Does every man here have gray hair? There cannot be a soul under forty years of age.
The nausea she had been fighting all day was building, and she glanced at the refreshments, wondering if food would make her feel better or worse.
The table was overflowing with all manner of delicacies. Long slices of roast ham and tongue flopped over the plates, wilting in the heat of the room. Cakes and preserves were scattered everywhere, but the majority remained untouched.
The decanters of wine, however, were already half empty.
She stared around her incredulously, fighting the desire to scream at the top of her lungs.
The men in the room were pompous oafs, every one of them, congratulating one another on how much money they had and how they would win their future bride.
I cannot believe this has happened to me, that I am to be auctioned off by my own father. Surely, there is a way I can escape!
She looked around desperately for her mother again, but to no avail. The Duchess of Bentley was nowhere to be seen. Lydia was quite alone.
Scowling, she watched her father move slowly through the room. He shook hands with everyone, a broad smile on his face, as if he had something to be proud about.
I am to be sold like cattle for his convenience.
There had been a time many years ago when Lydia had loved her father. She had loved him in a way a daughter must, knowing that he was an important figure in her life and always wishing to impress him.
Her governesses had encouraged her to “respect and obey,” and she had done so willingly. It was only later that she learned how worthless his good opinion was.
The Duke of Bentley was a ruthless individual, cruel to a fault, choosing himself above all others. He had ruined her mother’s health with countless affairs, destroying her loyalty and faith one day at a time. And what was her mother’s crime? Simply that she could not bear him a son.
Lydia snarled at the back of her throat, startling a certain Lord Flemming who was cleaning his spectacles a few feet from her. He arched a brow in her direction with a most disapproving look.
Perhaps if she scowled at every man in the room, she would be labeled unsuitable, and they would all leave. Let him stare.
I have to get out of here.
Looking through the sea of suited backs and cigar smoke, she saw that the door to the terrace was open, letting in a small amount of breeze.
Lydia chewed her lip, thinking feverishly.
If I were to slip away now, would anyone even miss me? They are all too busy trying to impress one another.
She glanced again at the refreshment table where Lord Flemming was now plucking at pieces of meat and adding them to his plate. There was a group of his men to his right, guffawing at a joke one of them had told. Everyone appeared suitably distracted.
Without giving herself time to think it through, Lydia walked to the table and reached around Flemming, deliberately knocking over the decanter of wine to his left.
The stopper sprang free just as the delicate neck shattered across the table, and the dark liquid went all over the unsuspecting gentleman’s trousers.
“Oh, my Lord!” he exclaimed loudly, dropping his plate for good measure as it smashed against the side of the table, shattering into pieces. Wine dripped pleasingly from the tablecloth, staining everything in its path and pooling around his feet.
A throng of servants descended to assist with the mess and clear away the shards of fractured china. In the commotion, Lydia was able to slip behind the crowd and toward the door, out into the cool, clear air of the gardens.
She inhaled deeply, pulling the door closed behind her on a sigh.
Now that the intense scrutiny of the men in the room was somewhat removed from her, the sickness in her stomach finally started to dissipate.
She gazed up at the pink and purple streaks beginning to flood the sky. It was getting late in the evening, and the moon was already just visible behind the scudding clouds overhead.
What a beautiful end to my final day of freedom.
Taking another deep breath in, Lydia was about to walk into the gardens for a few blessed moments of peace when she made the mistake of turning back to the room.
Her father’s eyes were pinned on her through the crowd, and as she watched, he began to advance in her direction.
