What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1) (28 page)

Dampierre’s mouth twitched, causing his artistically trimmed mustache to shift to the left. “You
will
get into the carriage, Miss Beaufort,” he insisted in a menacing tone.

Sophie noticed Marie’s wide eyes and discreet shake of the head. Was it a silent warning to obey or to bolt?

Then Dampierre played his trump card. Drawing his sword, he thrust it out to the right, missing Marie’s cheek by a whisker. “I would hate for Marie to have an accident. Scars … they can look so unsightly on a woman.”

Against all logic, against the voice screaming for her to flee, Sophie acceded to his wishes. Casting Marie a reassuring smile, she walked past Dampierre and climbed into the carriage.

Once they were all seated, with Marie deciding to sit next to Sophie, Dampierre sighed with satisfaction and said, “There … a much more refined approach, do you not think?” With the top of his cane, he banged twice on the roof and the carriage lurched forward, tearing out of the North Mews at breakneck speed.

“Victor,” Marie shouted in disbelief.

“Where are you taking me?” Sophie cried as she clung to the edge of the seat. Once they were out of the mews, it would be nigh on impossible for Dane to find her. “Here,” she reached around her neck in an attempt to remove the necklace. “Take it and let me out.”

Dampierre laughed: a high-pitched cackle that chilled her to her bones. “You think your pitiful necklace is worth the same as a man’s freedom?” he asked, his expression darkening. “Well, it is not.”

Sophie struggled to catch her breath. If he didn’t want the necklace, then what did he want?

Madame Labelle appeared aghast. Her gaze swept from Dampierre to Sophie and back again. “But, Victor,” she pleaded. “You said once you had the necklace you would be satisfied. You said it would be a fitting reward —”

“Be quiet, Marie,” he scolded. “I said Miss Beaufort would provide me with a fitting reward.” He turned his attention to Sophie. “Do you know what your brother’s interference has cost me?” He did not wait for an answer. “It has cost me my freedom. I cannot stay in this country of yours,” he said with an indolent wave of the hand. “I shall forever be looking over my shoulder and I cannot tolerate such a thing.” He leaned forward and gripped Sophie’s knee with his bony fingers. “But you, madame, you shall atone for the sins of your brother.”

Sophie brushed his hand away. “I will do no such thing,” she said straightening her spine.

“Oh, you will,” he replied firmly. “I do not need your permission. In truth, I prefer it that way.”

“No!” Madame Labelle yelled. “Miss Beaufort does not deserve to pay for the crimes of her family,” she choked, a look of torment etched on her face.

Dampierre banged his cane on the floor of the carriage. “And I did not deserve to pay for the crimes of mine,” he bellowed, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. “These people they think they are superior, think they can dismiss me as though I am nothing.” He paused for a moment to regain his composure and then said with some impatience, “We will be married, and she will bear my sons and they will never have to bow and scrape. Their mother will be a lady, not some back alley whore, and I will show them all I am something.”

While Sophie sat in stone-cold silence, her face a mask of indifference, fear clawing at her soul, Madame Labelle brought her hands to her face and wept.

Chapter 26

Lord Delmont was in his study, standing in front of the fire when the Sebastian came charging through the door.

“Where is she?” Sebastian roared as he marched over to Lord Delmont, who was marginally taller and considerably broader than Sebastian, and punched him squarely in the face. Delmont reeled, raising his hand as a shield. Before he could even attempt to fight back, Sebastian grabbed him by the ends of what was a perfectly starched cravat and pulled him down so that they were eye level. “I shall give you until the count of three,” he snarled.

Sebastian was so enraged, so damn scared, he could barely think straight. He had stood and watched two hundred or more guests pile out onto the terrace and in the time it had taken to draw a breath, Sophie was gone.

No doubt, Delmont had been watching them, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

“Do not dare tell me you know nothing about it,” Sebastian continued, wrapping his hand around the ends of the cravat to tighten his grip. He didn’t care if he strangled the man. “Was it your idea to lure me away with a decoy?”

Sebastian had pushed and shoved his way to a corner of the terrace, the elevated position giving the ideal opportunity to scan the crowd. Some of the guests had used the distraction to sneak off into a quiet corner as Delmont was renowned for having the largest and most secluded garden in the row.

Then he’d noticed Sophie, albeit it was only her elaborate wig and the back of her red dress. She’d stepped away from the crush and escaped through a topiary arch, out of sight. He had spent almost fifteen minutes weaving in and out of sculptured animals and giant cones before crossing the gravel path to another section of equally monstrous shrubbery. When he had eventually caught up with her he discovered, to his dismay, that the woman was not Sophie, but Antoinette.

“I had no choice,” she’d cried, “I had to do it.”

But Sebastian had not waited to hear her explanation. Trying to suppress the feeling of panic, he raced through the maze of shrubs and trees, past the more amorous couples, until he was back out onto the lawn. He’d charged through the middle of the crowd, pulling and pushing people aside, ignoring their cries and complaints, searching … searching, but to no avail.

Just when he thought fate had conspired against him, he’d spotted Delmont. Minus his mask, Delmont strode across the lawn and Sebastian had followed him back into the house.

“Well, was the decoy your idea?” Sebastian repeated. When Delmont did not answer, Sebastian firmed his grip and with his left hand delivered Delmont a low blow to the stomach.

Delmont spluttered and tried to catch his breath. He stumbled forward, his arms flailing as he attempted to free himself. Mustering every ounce of strength he had, Sebastian refused to let go.

His future, his whole life was in this man’s hands.

“If you do not tell me what I need to know, I promise you, I will make it my life’s mission to ruin you, to torture you until you beg for mercy. Do you know the penalty for kidnapping the wife of a marquess?” Sebastian clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, to stop him from pounding the life out of the man before he had a chance to speak.

Delmont raised his head to meet Sebastian’s cold stare. “What … what do you mean?” he gasped, his eyes suddenly fearful.

“The lady you have spirited away is my wife and the mother to my unborn child.” It was not a lie. As far as Sebastian was concerned, both were inevitable.

Delmont shook his head, his eyes glazed as he stared at nothing in particular. “Your wife … your wife,” he muttered like a man deranged. “I thought she was a … well, I did not know she was … she was your wife.” Delmont struggled for breath and Sebastian released the cravat and stepped back, wiping his face with the palm of his hand in a bid to calm his erratic heartbeat.

Delmont took a few deep breaths. “I swear to you … I swear I did not know,” he gulped, rubbing his fingers around his throat in a soothing motion. “Dampierre had my marker. I would have lost everything.”

Sebastian had dealt with men like this before, men whose lives were governed by the throw of a dice. There was always some underlying cause why they felt it necessary to fritter away their inheritance and, for a brief moment, Sebastian found himself wondering what Delmont’s story was.

“From where I stand you have lost the only thing that should matter,” Sebastian said pitifully. “You have lost your honour. You are no gentleman.”

Delmont hung his head and then said with a sigh, “I … I escorted her to the mews and left her there, with Dampierre and the woman.”

Sebastian muttered an obscenity, raked his hand through his hair and shuffled restlessly. “Were they on foot, in a carriage, a hackney?”

“They were in an unmarked carriage,” Delmont grimaced.

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian yelled as he punched the air. Delmont flinched. “You will pay for this,” he warned as he turned on his heels and strode towards the door. He needed his carriage and he needed it now.

Sebastian was already striding down the hallway when he heard Delmont call out. “Wait, let me come with you,” Delmont said as he hastened after Sebastian. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

Sebastian stopped, but he did not turn around. For some unfathomable reason, he pitied the man. Perhaps because he knew what it was like to be considered a wastrel. People often made assumptions regarding character, but tonight Delmont had lived up to his reckless reputation. Had it not been Delmont, then Dampierre would have used some other fool to do his bidding. A part of him wondered if the Delmont he had heard so much about was indeed the full measure of the man. Well, he would give him one chance to prove himself. Besides, out of the two of them, Delmont was the only one who could identify Dampierre. Perhaps he would prove useful.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Sebastian said, “Very well, but if you so much as breathe in the wrong direction, I will kill you.”

It occurred to Sebastian, as he sat in his carriage, that he was missing something, some vital clue as to Dampierre’s motive. Why kidnap an innocent woman and then keep her locked in a brothel for days? Why not put her to work, if that was the intention? All the other girls at Labelles were prostitutes; Dampierre only needed to say that Annabel, having failed as a governess, had decided to choose a different profession. Neither story could be proved, nor would any of the girls speak out against him.

“What do you know of Dampierre?” Sebastian looked across to Delmont, who had been silently studying him. He could almost hear the grinding of cogs as Delmont attempted to assess his character. “Have you ever had any dealings with him before?”

Delmont shook his head and scraped a golden lock from his brow. “No. I hadn’t even heard of him until a few days ago when I met him outside my club. I’d lost my marker to Wainscot and well,” he shrugged, “Dampierre had something Wainscot wanted and so the story goes.”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “Do you always play so deep?”

Delmont laughed. “I’m afraid that pleasure and pain are very much the same to me,” he answered cryptically. “Look,” he said in a more serious tone, “do not ask me why I do what I do, or why I am sitting here with you. I can hardly believe it myself. But I find that my conscience has been kicked from its comfy bed and so I feel I must make amends in some way.”

Sebastian appreciated his honesty and was equally as frank. “I hope, for your sake, no harm befalls her.” He paused for a moment to let Delmont feel the full force of his words. “Let me ask you a question,” he continued in a more reasonable manner. “Why would a man like Dampierre, kidnap a respectable young woman, force her to live in his brothel but not make her work?”

“Dampierre owns a brothel?” Delmont said somewhat unsurprised. He considered Sebastian’s question. “Is the woman innocent, untouched, I mean?”

“I believe so, yes.” Well, perhaps before she met Beaufort.

“But not his relative?” Delmont queried.

Sebastian shook his head. “No, not a relative. The woman had no living relatives to speak of.”

A flash of recognition lit Delmont’s face. “Some men, as I am sure you are aware, gain a great deal of pleasure from the fact a woman is untouched by man. Perhaps Dampierre ran out of virgins and so sought other means in which to restock his harem.” Delmont stared at Sebastian as though waiting for a reaction, in case he had offended with his flippant remark. “There was once a plantation owner in the West Indies,” Delmont continued filling the silence, “who paid two thousand guineas for a pure English virgin. Although it was her father who sold her out and shipped her off. I have never seen the fascination myself. I expect it to be a rather clumsy affair and so have always avoided inexperienced entanglements.”

After a moment’s reflection, Sebastian sat bolt upright and Delmont, as if anticipating another blow, covered his head with his hands.

“You are a genius, Delmont,” Sebastian exclaimed. Banging on the roof of the carriage, he thrust his head out of the window and shouted up to his coachman, “Haines, I need to call on Dudley.”

Although Dudley had been woken from his bed at midnight, a relatively early hour for the likes of Delmont, he did not show any signs of irritation. Nor did he demand an explanation. Instead, he sat patiently, in his robe and bare feet, and listened to Sebastian swiftly relate the events of the evening.

“And you let him accompany you?” Dudley asked astounded, casting Delmont a look to suggest he was lucky to be alive. “Did you not castrate the last man who betrayed you?”

Had it been in any other circumstances, Sebastian would have regaled them with a host of fabricated details, just to make Delmont squirm. “Forgive me, but we do not have much time,” Sebastian urged. “I need the address of the warehouse in Wapping, the one owned by the same company as Labelles.”

“You believe Dampierre has taken your wife to a warehouse?” Delmont asked with some apprehension, as he sat in the corner like a boy no one wanted to play with.