What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

“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.”