Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor by Rue Allyn Read Free Book Online

throat and shook his head over the folly of anyone who would believe claims of a virgin whore. It didn’t take a childhood in a brothel to know that virginity could be faked and very easily if the man taking that virginity was drunk enough. False virgins aside, his bordello childhood had given him a wealth of information to which the majority of Duval’s clientele weren’t privy.
    He caught a glimpse of the judge at the far end of the bar and headed in that direction.
    A gong sounded over the din of voices and music.
    “That’s the start of the auction. We better git goin’ if we want us good seats.” The king’s words carried as he passed by Dutch.
    Forcing him along, the crowd of men pushed toward the open French doors near the far end of the bar then through to the next room where velvet covered chairs stood in rows facing a table. He managed to snag the door molding near the bar with one hand and drew himself to a halt next to his parent.
    Nodding to those men he knew personally, Dutch turned his back to the open entry of the auction room. He did not want to answer questions about why he was here when his disdain for whorehouses was well known. He tapped the judge on the shoulder.
    An envelope in one hand, full glass in the other, the older man swung unsteadily toward his son.
    Dutch took the sloshing drink. Bad enough to leave here smelling like a whorehouse, he didn’t want to smell like a drunk, too.
    The noise in the auction room quieted at a loud clap of wood on wood.
    “All right gentlemen,” said Cerise Duval’s dusky voice, “Tonight’s auction is for the privilege of introducing an eager young lady to the pleasures of the flesh. Bidding opens at five hundred dollars. Who wants to start?”
    “That’s mighty expensive. Don’cha think we should see the gal first?” A gruff voice spoke in response to Duval’s announcement.
    “Hey, give that back.” Judge Jeremiah Trahern, errand boy for the bosses in Sacramento, lunged for the glass.
    Dutch raised his arm, taking the glass out of the shorter man’s reach.
    “I see we have an opening bid from the tall fellow at the bar.”
    He heard Duval chuckle and wondered which fool nearby was stupid enough to pay a cool half grand for a whore sight unseen.
    An odd smile lit the judge’s face, and he turned his back on Dutch. “Barkeep, I want another whisky.”
    A chorus of drunken shouts came from the auction room. “Where’s the whore?”
    “Yeah, bring ‘er out.”
    The bartender looked from the judge to Dutch.
    “I wouldn’t if I were you,” menaced Dutch.
    “Mebbe later,Yer Honor.” The barkeep backed away.
    In the auction room Cerise pitched her voice to sooth the audience of bidders. “The young lady has asked to remain anonymous, but my reputation for the finest quality should assure you that she is beautiful.”
    “Good lookin’ or not. I want a piece o’ that fancy tail o’ hers,” said one man. “I’ll bid seven-fifty for it. You say she’s from a convent?”
    “Word has it that she is,” came the cool reply from the auction room. “The bid is seven hundred and fifty American dollars. Do I hear one thousand?”
    Closer to hand the judge grumbled, “Is that any way to treat your father?”
    He strolled past Dutch to a table with a clear view of the auction room, tossed down the envelope, and picked up the deck of cards laying there. “Sit down, son. Act as if you’re happy to see me.”
    Dutch considered walking out. And he would, just as soon as he got what he wanted. He shifted his stance and watched shaking hands clutch the pasteboards. Was the judge afraid or just too drunk to be steady? “You haven’t come back to San Francisco openly since the vigilantes ran you out in ’51. I’m surprised you found the guts to show your face.”
    Leaving the glass on the bar, Dutch sat with his back to the auction and stretched his arms then linked his hands behind his head. He wanted the judge to think he was completely