Page 5 of The Lady in Pearls
Daphne’s throat constricted. She still couldn’t believe she was really doing this, meeting with men in hopes that they would want to marry her. How was this different from prostituting herself? At least, she shared her body with only one man, and she didn’t live with the shame of a brothel address.
“Gentlemen, please form a line so I may make your introductions to Miss Westfall.”
The men formed a queue, and one by one she was presented to each. They were all charming, friendly, and genuine. With each introduction, she grew more relieved. She had a minute or two to speak with them and found she liked each one. Stirling had kept his promise.
The last man who approached her was different. She had to tilt her head back to see his face. He was incredibly tall, with broad shoulders. She felt tiny in his presence. He was a little more muscular than the others and a bit intimidating. She almost retreated a step, if only to see his face better.
“Miss Westfall, this is Lachlan Grant, the Earl of Huntley.”
“It is a pleasure,” Lachlan’s deep voice was heavy with a Scottish brogue.
“My Lord,” she replied, staring into his dark blue eyes. They were a lovely deep sapphire, yet a strange gleam flashed in their depths and then vanished behind a polite smile. Had she merely imagined that? Perhaps so. She had heard more than once that Scotsmen tended to be brooding and intense, and it seemed Huntley was no different.
“You’re from Scotland? Whereabouts, if I may ask?”
“The town of Huntley is a half day’s ride north of Edinburgh.” His eyes remained locked on her with an almost predatory gaze. She shivered, trying to think of how to continue their conversation and draw out more of his personality.
“I’ve never been north of Edinburgh. I imagine it must be lovely.”
There it was, a momentary softening of his eyes and mouth. “Aye, ’tis stunning, especially in the spring when the heather blooms.”
“Would we live there most of the year, if your bid is successful?” It was something she asked of each gentleman. She needed a home, a place she could feel safe, a place to escape the judgment of thetonfor her father’s crimes.
“We would. I only visit London once or twice a year. Would that suit you?” he asked.
“Yes, whatever you do will be fine for me, I’m quite sure.” A home in the Highlands…she loved the idea, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to marry someone as serious and brooding as the man who stood before her.
“Now,” Stirling smiled at the men. “Place your bids, and then please wait outside.” Several of the men offered Daphne warm, hopeful smiles before writing down their bids and sealing their envelopes.
Daphne’s gaze was drawn to Lachlan as he scratched his numbers on the bit of paper he held. His eyes met hers and a bolt of shock ran through her as if she wereownedby him in that instant. The sensation frightened her and yet she couldn’t look away from him even as he placed his envelope on Stirling’s palm and strode from the room.
The final men handed their envelopes to Stirling before leaving the room. After the last man left, Stirling and his manservant, Finchley, opened the bids. Daphne watched them rearrange the pieces of paper in order as the higher bids moved to the top. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs that she had trouble breathing. Which of the strangers was to be her husband?
“Ahh, here we are.” Stirling glanced her way. “We have our winner. I shall thank the others and send them home.” Stirling exited the room. The click of the door sounded far too loud in the awkward silence. Daphne clutched the edge of a chair for support, her nails digging into the floral pattern of the fabric as she struggled to calm herself.
The door opened and Daphne sucked in a breath. Sir Stirling entered, followed by the Earl of Huntley. Once again, she became the focus of that brooding gaze. Wasn’t he pleased to have been the highest bidder? The tight purse of his lips suggested otherwise. A pit formed in her stomach and she struggled to breathe. She was to marry him…the man who spoke of Highland heather in the spring, but who looked like a wolf about to devour her. Which was his true nature? Perhaps he was a man torn between his duality of nature. Perhaps she might never know the real Lachlan Grant.
Stirling approached her while Huntley waited inside the door, hands folded behind his back like a military general.
Oh dear…
“Miss Westfall, Lord Huntley was by far the highest bidder at fifteen thousand pounds, which he has agreed to place into an account where the trustee of your choice will oversee the funds for you.”
Daphne barely listened. Instead, she stared at Huntley and he at her. A slow smile curved his lips. It was not a cruel smile, no, but it warned her that she was pledging herself to a wolf. She was tempted to look away, to yield to that dominating stare, but she held her ground and lifted her chin.
Yet her instincts warned her to run far and fast from Lord Huntley.
“Sir… Stirling, may I have a minute to speak with you?” she asked, her voice wavering. Huntley shared a look with Stirling before he nodded and left the room.
Stirling approached, concern in his eyes. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”
“Lord Huntley, is he a good man? You promise that I’m safe with him?”
“I promise,” Stirling vowed. “Huntley is a long-time friend. I would trust him with my life. He’s rich and has excellent lands—”
“I don’t care about that. I care abouthim. Is he the sort of man to care for his wife? Not…harm her?” She bravely forced the question out, even knowing it was not polite to speak of such matters.
“He’s never harmed a woman. If he seems a bit cold, it’s because his older brother, William, died only two months ago. He was close to William. His brother’s death changed him, hardened him in some ways. But I promise you, he is a good man.”
