Their Kidnapped Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 1)

I held up my hand, not able to keep up with her long list of services. In fact, I was still considering twenty men a night. Clearly she was forcing my hand toward marriage. That, most likely, was her intention all along, allowing me to believe I had a choice. Licking my lips, I asked the relevant question. "How much money did you pay Thomas for me?"

"Seven hundred dollars."

My brows went up. That amount of money was a drop in the bucket for the James family and I could have paid her readily enough after a quick trip to the bank, although not any longer.

"At less than a dollar a roll, that would be hundreds of men. You'll most assuredly be here for a lengthy duration. After that...." She shrugged her shoulders and let what she didn't say speak for itself. "Or you could be gone tonight."

I pursed my lips. She, in a perverse and roundabout sort of way, was helping me. She couldn't just let me leave; too much money was at stake. Marriage helped me while she helped herself. There really wasn't much choice. The groom himself wasn't a choice either. It seemed Mrs. Pratt would decide that, or at least narrow the choices to a small cadre of eligible men who had the means to offer her the money she wanted. Based on her profession and business sense, their initial requirements included baser sexual needs and wealth. "You can guarantee the man I marry is not a drunk, geriatric or a beater?"

Her blue eyes met mine. "I can."

"I'll...um...I'll take the marriage auction."

"A wise choice." She moved and opened the door. "As

I said, these men want you to fulfill very distinct, very clear needs. Being dominant is not akin to being cruel. Remembering that will serve you well."

CHAPTER TWO

EMMA

Hours later, I stood before a group of men in just my shift, the new one I'd purchased with such eagerness earlier in the week. Mrs. Pratt, while seemingly kind, felt it prudent to let the bidders see more of me than what my dress exposed. Now, I was berating the very feature I'd so admired, as the material was so fine as to be translucent. I couldn't look at any of the men, seeing the looks on their faces as they looked at my body as if inspecting a horse for purchase. I kept my focus lowered to the floor.

Looking down, it prompted me to what they could see of me. The color of my nipples was plainly visible, the tight tips poking out. My shift fell to the middle of my thighs and I was sure the dark color of the hair between my legs was clearly discernible. The fine embroidery detail along the hem only drew the men's eyes to the short length. It had been pleasurable to me to wear such decadence beneath my modest dresses, with secret knowledge of what was beneath, but to be exposed in such a way to a roomful of men was mortifying. Humiliating. Downright scary.

It was almost impossible not to cover myself with my arms, to tug on the hem with trembling fingers, but Mrs. Pratt had made it clear that my future husband wanted a good glimpse of what he would purchase. If this were the case, I should be naked, however I most certainly wasn't going to suggest such an idea. Fortunately, the small room wasn't overly bright, only lit by a few lamps, which cast a muted yellow glow. It wasn't cold, but goose flesh rose on my arms nonetheless. The slight odor of kerosene combined with tobacco filled the air.

And so I stood, hands by my side, fingertips rubbing together, eyes averted from all of the men as murmurs filled the air. Mrs. Pratt was the only other person in the room and I knew all eyes were on me, the men sitting in chairs in a semicircle around me. They could have any woman below stairs, so why me? Why an inexperienced virgin when a veritable courtesan could meet their every need without the burden of wedlock? Clearly, with that option available and not taken, these men were serious about their intentions. I'd briefly glimpsed four men as I entered, but refused to meet any of their eyes. It wasn't as if I was afraid I'd be an acquaintance of any of the men – the chances were remarkably slim being in Simms, and not Helena – but I didn't want to see their looks as they took in my dishabillé. I didn't want to see their expressions as they gazed upon me.

"She is a virgin?" a man asked to my right.

Mrs. Pratt, who stood behind me, spoke, her words clipped and surprisingly sharp. "Do not question the integrity of my auctions, Mr. Pierce."

The man made a sound in his throat of dissatisfaction, but did not reply.

"I want her naked," another man added.

"Emma," Mrs. Pratt addressed me instead of responding to the request. "What has a man seen of your body?"

I turned my head toward her voice, looked up at her through lowered lashes. "Ma'am?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Has a man ever seen your ankles?"

I flushed hotly at the very idea. "No." I dropped my gaze and concentrated on the carpet beneath my feet.

"A wrist?"

I shook my head. "No."

"This is the first time a man has seen you in just a shift?"

Why did she have to point out the extent of my innocence? I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. It felt as if it would beat right out of my chest. Licking my lips, I responded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then, Mr. Rivers, to witness her reaction to being naked with a man will be saved solely for her husband. Bid the highest and that man will be you."

A voice spoke from my left. "She has been trained to meet her husband's needs?"

"Of course not, Mr. Potter. Her training is her husband's responsibility."