What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1) (30 page)

Sophie’s throat grew tight, her vision blurring as tears welled. Perhaps it was because of Dane’s tortured expression, or Marie’s look of guilt and remorse, or Delmont’s body lying battered and beaten on the floor. Whatever the reason, tears trickled down her cheeks and she shook her head in an attempt to make them stop.

“Sophie,” Dane whispered, but that one word sounded like a heart-wrenching apology.

Dampierre flicked his gaze towards her. “Stop it,” he yelled. His eyes conveyed contradicting emotions: fury and fragility. Anger was the only emotion Dampierre understood or had the capacity to cope with.

The more tears that fell, the more volatile Dampierre became. At one point he stepped closer, grabbed Sophie by the arm, the pistol wavering between her heart and her head.

“Don’t,” Dane pleaded, his handsome face etched with pain.

“Shut up,” Dampierre cried, turning the pistol towards him. “Perhaps if I shoot you, then we can continue as before. It would not take much to finish Lord Delmont,” he said gazing down at the large body slumped on the floor.

As the tension in the air grew more palpable, Marie jumped to her feet. “What has happened to you, Victor? You must stop all of this,” she said wearily. “For goodness sake, listen to what you are saying. You can’t just kill them.”

Dampierre aimed the pistol at Marie. “No? Then perhaps I should shoot you, Marie. You think you have fooled me with your protestations of loyalty. But you are the traitor here and now you have tainted Miss Beaufort with your sobs and your snivels.”

Sophie noticed Morgan edge closer to Marie and she shouted out, “Please, sit down, Marie,” in the hope of warning her. Morgan looked like a man who would beat a woman as easily as he had Lord Delmont.

Ignoring Sophie’s plea, Marie cried, “I cannot take any more of this.” She opened her arms wide, providing the perfect target. “Shoot me, Victor. Shoot me, for I swear to you if I leave here, you will never set eyes on me again. Now, I am going to release Miss Beaufort —”

A loud crack resonated through the air as the Comte de Dampierre fired the pistol. Sophie screamed. Unable to cover her face with her hands, she closed her eyes as she could not bear to look into the cold, lifeless eyes of her friend, Marie.

In that second of silence, as the acrid smell of burnt sulphur invaded the room, Sophie promised herself she would see Dampierre hang for what he’d done.

“Morgan!” Marie screamed and Sophie opened her eyes to see Dampierre’s man lying on the floor, blood gushing from a wound to the chest as he gasped his last few breaths. Marie was scrambling to her feet and Sophie guessed that Morgan must have pushed her out of harm’s way. Marie sank back down to the floor by Morgan’s side and stroked his brow and cursed him for being so stupid, telling him to hold on and everything would be fine.

Dane used the distraction to attack Dampierre.

Tackling him to the ground, they fought and struggled as Dampierre threw away the now useless pistol, in a bid to reach his cane. For what seemed like an eternity, they wrestled on the floor, with Dampierre showing surprising resilience when Dane punched him in the face and stomach. In desperation, Dampierre kicked out, sending Dane flying backwards. As Dane reached into his boot and pulled out his hunting knife, Dampierre managed to get to his feet. He grabbed his cane, ripped the sword from its sheath and Sophie barely had time to blink before the sharp point was at her throat.

“Slide the knife across the floor to me,” Dampierre cried amidst breathless pants. “Do it now or I will kill her.”

Without any hesitation, Dane did as he asked, but the knife slid past Dampierre, who was not in any position to attempt to retrieve it.

“If you harm a hair on her head, I will kill you,” Dane warned, but the threat only roused Dampierre’s ire.

“What is she to you?” he asked with some irritation. “That you would risk your life in such a manner.” He lowered the sword so the point fell just above Sophie’s breast, just above her heart. “Tell me,” he yelled, pricking Sophie’s skin with the tip of the blade.

She refused to cry out, even when she looked down to see the small drop of blood escaping.

“She is everything to me,” Dane replied abruptly, gradually coming to his feet.

Dampierre gave a condescending snort. “And does Miss Beaufort know you frequent my establishment? Does she know you’ve been intimate with Antoinette?” He spat on the floor by way of an insult. “You dishonour her with your filthy words, for it is you who has allowed her to parade around so disgracefully, you who has sullied yourself and now think to sully her by association.”

From the floor behind him, Marie looked up from Morgan’s dead body. Patches of blood as dark as claret stained the front of her dress, her hands and her cheek. “Hypocrite,” she shouted. “It is you who defile everything you touch. You who vilify …”

In a fit of rage, Dampierre turned slightly but became distracted when Delmont, who had rolled onto his side, began to moan, cough and splutter.

“Shut up,” Dampierre cried, getting more and more agitated as his gaze flew from Lord Delmont to Dane and then to Sophie.

“Murderer,” Marie yelled. “Murderer.”

“Shut up,” he spat, hitting his head with his free hand. His countenance suddenly improved when he whipped the tip of his sword to rest on Dane’s heart. “If I kill you then I shall be free to leave here with Miss Beaufort.”

“Don’t,” Sophie cried. “I promise you … I shall leave with you, just don’t …”

The Comte de Dampierre stared at her for a moment as he considered her words. “You care for him,” he said bluntly. “Therefore, I cannot let him live.”

Dampierre pulled his arm back slowly, ready to thrust the sword into Dane’s chest. Marie ran to him and began tugging at his arm but Dampierre batted her away and she fell to the floor behind him.

As Dampierre pulled his arm back once more, Marie got to her feet and charged at him, growling as she hit him in the back.

Everything went strangely silent for a few seconds.

Sophie looked at Dampierre, who stood frozen to the spot, staring out into nothingness — then he coughed, a gurgling sort of sound as blood bubbled and frothed from his mouth. The sword fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. As he sank to his knees, Sophie had a clear view of Marie, standing with wide eyes, the knife in her hand smudged with Dampierre’s blood.

When Dampierre collapsed to the floor and finally stopped heaving and spluttering, Marie whispered, “We are free.”

Chapter 28

Having untied the ropes binding Sophie’s hands, Sebastian took her in his arms and kissed her repeatedly on the temple. He stepped back and scanned every inch of her, checking for cuts and bruises, pushing away the tendrils of hair from her face.

He stopped and examined the ebony curls, his brow raised in curiosity. “What happened to your wig?” he asked as he caressed her cheek.

“I lost it,” Sophie replied, placing her hand on top of his. “Morgan knocked it off … well, pulled it off, when I tried to escape.”

He forced a smile, brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers by way of a distraction. He did not want to think about what had happened to her during the last few hours, what could have happened to her.

“I need to alert a constable,” he said with some trepidation. “Haines will take you and Madame Labelle home while I stay here and deal with this.”

He looked over his shoulder and gestured to the two bodies sprawled out on the floor. Morgan was lying face up; his vacant eyes open as he stared at the ceiling, his chest an island of deep-red blood amidst a sea of clothes. Dampierre lay face down, his head resting on his arm as though sleeping.

“I’ll stay with you,” Sophie insisted. “I can explain what happened, I can tell them —”

“No,” Sebastian snapped. He took a deep breath and then softened his tone. “I need you to escort Madame Labelle home.”

“Her name is Marie. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll ever be Madame Labelle again.”

Sebastian glanced back at Marie, who was sitting in the chair, her bloodied hands resting in her lap, her face pale and listless.

“Haines will take you to Labelles. I want you to help Marie pack some things. Do you feel able?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything to help.”

He placed his hands on Sophie’s bare shoulders, dismissing the urge to trail his fingers over the smooth, creamy-white skin, dismissing the urge to stroke and caress her worries away. “Marie must not say anything about what has happened to Dampierre or Morgan.”

Sophie looked soulfully at Marie. “What will happen to her?” she whispered. “You cannot let her hang for this, Dane.”

He thought for a moment. “She has suffered enough at the hands of Dampierre,” he said. “But if I am to lie for her, then I need to know she will not contradict my story.”

“But how will you explain all of this?” Sophie asked nodding to the dead men, an anxious frown marring her brow.

“I will have to make it look as though Morgan stabbed Dampierre and before he fell, Dampierre shot him in retaliation,” he explained and then added with some confidence, “Lord Delmont will corroborate the story. No one will question the word of two peers.”

Sophie glanced at Lord Delmont who had managed to sit upright, albeit with a groan. “You should go to him,” she urged. “He’s in a bad way.”

“Wait here,” Sebastian said as he turned and left the warehouse. He used the bird call to alert Haines and when the carriage rumbled into view he returned to Sophie. “Haines will take you now.” He bent down and brushed his lips against hers. “Be as quick as you can at Labelles and then return to Red Lion Square.”

Sophie pursed her lips and nodded. He watched her walk over to Marie, rubbing the red marks on her wrists where the rope had dug in. “Come, let me take you home,” she said putting her arm around Marie and lifting her up from the chair.

Marie made no comment and simply allowed Sophie to escort her from the building.

Sebastian stepped over Dampierre’s lifeless body and knelt down next to Delmont. His right eye had swelled to twice its normal size; he had a split lip and a deep graze on his forehead.

“Delmont,” Sebastian said softly, placing his hand on the man’s arm. “Do you feel well enough to stand?”

With his breathing slow and measured, Delmont turned to Sebastian, grimacing as he gave a weak smile. “The next time … you invite me to … to one of your gatherings,” he said, wincing as he held his arm across his abdomen, “remind me to decline.”

Sebastian bit back a chuckle. “I believe you invited yourself,” he replied, surprised that Delmont was still able to deliver one of his witty quips with his face so badly beaten. “I need to call at the Thames office to fetch a constable and a doctor to look at your injuries.”

“The only thing injured,” Delmont panted, “is my pride … and perhaps a rib or two.” He glanced towards Morgan. “You could have warned me … I’d be up against a champion boxer. The man was an animal.”

“An animal with a heart, apparently. He saved Madame Labelle’s life.”

Delmont gestured towards the comte’s listless body. “I take it Dampierre shot him. But who killed Dampierre?”

“I did,” Sebastian replied without hesitation. He did not know Delmont well enough to trust him with the truth. “I did not think it necessary to involve the ladies, so I sent them home.”

Delmont’s eyes scanned the floor and settled on the blood-stained handle of the knife. He examined Sebastian’s clean hands and coat and offered a dubious frown. “I understand you do not wish to embroil your wife in a scandal. But how will you explain …” Delmont paused and put a hand to his ribs, “how will you explain our presence here?”

Sebastian raised a brow and with a sly grin said, “Well, that’s where you come in. I thought we could say that Dampierre kidnapped you with the intention of —”

“Kidnapped me!” Delmont cried. “Kidnapped … I shall never be able to show my face in my club again.” Delmont shook his head. “Can you not think of some other reason, something more heroic?”

“There was nothing heroic about the way you escorted my wife out into the mews and left her alone to deal with Dampierre,” Sebastian growled, reminding Delmont he had still not forgiven him entirely for the part he had played.

“I understand that,” Delmont sighed, “but … but to say I was kidnapped.” He thought for a moment. “Could you not say that Dampierre discovered me helping this Madame Labelle? Perhaps she was running away and I had met her here to pay for her passage to … well, you could think of somewhere.”

Sebastian considered the request. If Madame Labelle went abroad for a while, it would add credence to their story while ensuring she did not confess to the crime out of a sense of guilt. He could send her to France, to stay with Marcus Danbury, just for a month or two.

“Very well,” Sebastian agreed. “You were helping a poor woman flee the country and paid for her fare to France. I came along to assist and we were both held against our will. Dampierre will have gunpowder on his hands, so we’ll say an argument broke out when we offered Morgan a substantial sum of money to help us. Morgan stabbed Dampierre, who swung around and shot him. It’s best if you say you can’t remember much. One look at your face and no one will dare argue.”