She thought about the way the diners had looked at her, eyes moving across her body like invasive fingers. She began to blush, longing for whatever was to follow to be over and done with, confused by the strange mixture of feelings she was experiencing. Deep in thought, the unseen guards lead Emily through the rabbit warren of corridors and passages. She didn't even take notice of which way they turned.
Finally there was the sound of doors opening and subdued voices close by. As she moved along under the guidance of the guards, the voices faded to an expectant hush.
"And today's final lot, ladies and gentleman -" Emily heard Leonora's distinctive voice. "Lot 27, a Caucasian female, 19 years old. This lot comes with a certificate of virginity. The sale price is for exclusive rights for a twenty four hour period to be agreed post sale."
Emily was guided up onto a low step. The voices rose again.
"Turn around, let them look at you -" said a male voice close to her.
Slowly Emily circled – even behind the blindfold she could sense the eyes. Eyes that explored and roamed freely over her almost naked body, assessing her worth, her capacity for compliance. She shivered, imagining the images the bidders could see. Her nipples had hardened in the cold. Their scarlet peaks pressed against the thin cotton, silver rings glittering as she shivered. Her naked sex, barely veiled by the wisp of transparent cotton, offered an untested pleasure.
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the fear, and the tears – and, more disturbing, the little dark glimmer of pleasure that curled low in her belly. She shuddered again, trying hard to quell the bubbling sense of panic that was growing inside.
From amongst the subdued hubbub came the first bid. The size of it took Emily's breath away. She thought miserably about Peter Howard's debt; at this rate she would clear it in a single day.
A single tear soaked into the blindfold as a voice on her left raised the bid. She recognised it as the voice of the man she had met so briefly in the dining room, when she had knelt beside him and his lover.
"We've barely had a chance to view this lot," said another voice from the room. "What are we getting for our money?"
Emily flinched. Rough hands closed on the neck of her shift and she let out a thin unhappy shriek as the fabric was ripped down over her shoulders. Cool hands lifted her breasts.
"Plump, ripe and ready," said an unnerving masculine voice.
"And the rest," snapped a voice nearby.
The unseen man laughed dryly and jerked the thin shift up around her waist, fingers splaying the lips of her quim amongst the flutter of rags. "As I said, all ready. Turn around. Let the punters see you."
Emily flushed scarlet as the unseen porter splayed the cheeks of her backside. "Open an' eager," he said brushing the bruised bud of her backside. "This is a prime lot, nicely stretched for your pleasure, gentleman." He slid a finger into Emily's backside making her tremble.
"Now," snapped Leonora. "The bid is on my left, any advance?" Leonora kept the bidding brisk, the sum rising every few seconds, the voices rising in a clamour of excitement. Emily tried to block out the voices until finally she heard the unnerving sound of the hammer falling and Leonora's voice.
"Sold to Mr and Mrs Haroldson -"
Emily thought she might faint as she felt a strong jerk on the leash.
Close by, Kai whispered. "Come on, it's over now." She jerked the lead again. Dumbly Emily fell into step, the sound of her heart beat thumping out a calypso rhythm in her ears.
Kai led her into a back room; it was quiet there. Emily couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They coursed down her face soaking the blindfold. She had been sold. Her virginity, the prize she had held onto for so long as a gift to a treasured lover, for a wedding night, was forfeit to an unseen buyer.
Instead of a wedding dress she was wearing a garment designed to make her look like a slave – a possession. It wouldn't be Peter whose loving hands undressed her, whose body moved across hers. She let out a miserable wail. Sobs wracked her body as she curled into a ball on the floor. 'Peter,' she whispered on a thick breath. 'Oh, Peter…'
Upstairs in the impressive offices of Deuvar, Leonora was writing a receipt for the cheque that had purchased Emily Lawrence for a day, while Max Fielding looked on. He had delayed his departure to watch the sale – and, in view of the fact that it had been the Haroldson's that had been the successful purchasers, he was wondering whether it might be worth staying on a little longer.
The Haroldson's rented a particularly nice guest house in the grounds of Deuvar. Set back amongst a stand of mature copper beeches, their house was on one of his favourite walks through the park.
But, of course, it wasn't the scenery that was persuading him to stay. George Haroldson was an ageing socialite and his wife… Max smiled as the stunning six foot blonde folded the receipt into her handbag. Dressed in haute couture, her shoulder length hair cut into a gleaming bob, Naomi Haroldson's tastes were legendary.
She glanced at Max and ran her tongue around her wide perfectly painted lips.
"Would you care to join us, Max?" she purred.
Max raised an eyebrow. "Very kind, Naomi, I thought you'd just spent a small fortune securing exclusive rights to our little friend."
Naomi pouted. "Oh, Max, I don't want you to play. I just thought you might appreciate a front row seat."
Max nodded. "I'd be delighted."
Naomi's reply was a bright tinkling laugh. "It's time we had another playmate for Franz. Such a shame Leonora won't consider selling the girl with slave rights. I should have liked to have trained her myself."
Max grinned and opened the cocktail cabinet. "We all need a hobby," he said.
Naomi snorted. "Max, you are such a fool. Shall we say eight for eight thirty?"
He nodded and lifted a glass in her direction. Naomi Haroldson shook her head. "Not for us, we need to get home to organise everything for this evening." She turned on her spiked black heels. Her diminutive husband followed in her wake without a word.
When the door had closed, Leonora laid the cheque on the desk. "Showing the video tape of her with the guard last night was master stroke. Do you think Johnson will be satisfied with the price we got for her?"
Max shook his head. "The only thing Johnson wants is Peter Howard and Magenta. Twice that amount wouldn't be enough." He looked up at the office clock. "You'd better ring him and let him know what she made. Oh, and don't tell him I'm still here -"
Leonora smiled. "Or that you'll be staying another night?"
Max snorted.
Emily lay very still. The floor beneath her was carpeted and soft. The tears had dried on her face and she had lost all sense of how long she had been lying there. Since the auction it seemed as if she had been forgotten. Her arms ached from being secured so tightly behind her and the leg chains meant that she could barely move. Even if she stood up, blind folded, she would probably injure herself if she tried to walk. She strained to pick up some sound, any sound. All that she could hear with any certainty was the whisper of the wind.
She hesitated; if she could hear the wind then she must be close to a window or a fireplace. Wriggling she tried to get her bearings, wishing she had taken more notice as she had been led into the room.
They had come downstairs – most likely the ground floor. The dining room overlooked the grounds, but this room seemed too small to be a dining room and she was certain that if it was she would be able to hear voices. She rubbed her face against the floor, trying to slide the blindfold up a little.
"What are you doing?" snapped a male voice. Emily froze; she had assumed she was alone. Lying still, she heard the muffled sound of feet crossing the carpet.
"I want to use the bathroom," she said lamely, wriggling a little to add emphasis.