“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 k
ill 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?”