Page 6 of No One's Bride
“More’s version of an ideal world is flawed. ’Tis a symbol of an unjust system. In a perfect place, men will nae dominate women. They’d be equals. The book is a reminder of the ongoing fight.”
The lord huffed. “You cannot afford to beat my price.”
He was probably right. “We shall see.”
Five other men wanted More’s book. The frantic bids came from all corners of the room. Before Ailsa could catch her breath, the price reached six hundred pounds.
Lord Denton would win again. The wicked glint in his eyes said he meant to own the prized volume. Doubtless, pride was a factor.
“Eight hundred and twenty pounds,” he said, the words like the lash of a whip, punishing the lowly fools who thought to best him.
One by one, his competitors withdrew.
Ailsa made a quick calculation. She could afford an extortionate twelve hundred pounds but questioned whether vengeance was her only motive for wanting the book.
“Well, Miss MacTavish?” Mr Murden prompted.
The room fell deathly silent.
Then the door creaked open, and a colleague waved Mr Murden to the back of the room. The auctioneer’s cheeks turned the colour of his burgundy waistcoat.
“You’ve a moment to consider your next move, Miss MacTavish,” he said before giving a bumbling apology and leaving his lectern to attend to the interruption.
“I’ll pay two thousand pounds,” Lord Denton said with a hint of compassion. “Three thousand if I must. I suggest you withdraw and let us bring this matter to a swift conclusion.”
Having heard his reason for wanting this rare edition ofUtopiaand accepting she did not have the funds to win, she conceded.
“Did ye speak the truth? Do ye mean to donate the book in yer brother’s memory?” His brother had died years ago after contracting a tropical fever abroad. Surely he wouldn’t be so callous as to play to her emotions.
He inhaled sharply. “I have many faults, madam, but I never lie.”
Gripping a letter in his hand, Mr Murden returned to his lectern. He shuffled on the spot, his cheeks still flaming. “Erm, forgive me, but the clerk forgot to hand me the written bid. An anonymous collector is also keen to purchaseUtopia.”
Lord Denton shot to his feet. “I shall pay two thousand pounds. Call proceedings to a close and declare me the lot’s winner.”
Mr Murden started shaking. “My lord, the collector agrees to pay up to ten thousand to secure the copy.”
“Ten thousand?” the lord spat. “This better be a joke, Murden.”
Ailsa had never seen the viscount so angry.
To bring an element of calm to the situation, she tugged his coat sleeve. “’Tis more than ten times its worth. Dinnae fret. There will be other copies. I’m told there’s a similar edition at a sale in Oxford next month.”
A muscle in the lord’s jaw twitched. With a murderous glint in his blue eyes, he looked every bit a fallen angel. “I demand to know the name of the bidder.”
“The information is c-confidential,” Mr Murden stuttered. “If you mean to continue, you must place your next bid, my lord. It currently stands at eight-hundred and seventy pounds.”
“This is outrageous. I’ll not drive up the price and increase your commission. Know this shoddy approach will leave a stain on your reputation.”
“Can we just get on with it?” one person called.
“I’ve an appointment across town in an hour,” another said.
Mr Murden raised his gavel. “This is your last chance, my lord.”
Lord Denton cursed under his breath while Ailsa gave a relieved sigh. Feeling the sharp sting of disappointment would serve the viscount well. The man couldn’t have everything his own way.
The gavel came crashing down on the lectern.
