Sophie sat in stupefied silence, wondering what on earth Lord Delmont was up to. Why had he raised his voice when they were all just a few feet away? She noticed Dampierre glance back over his shoulder, to the walking cane he’d left on top of a crate.
“You have your marker,” Dampierre said with contempt. “You will get nothing more from me.”
Delmont laughed. “I would agree, if the marker was authentic.”
So his only reason for following them, his only reason for storming into the warehouse and waving his pistol about, was money. And when satisfied, was he just going to walk right out again and leave her tied to the chair?
Dampierre took a step towards Delmont. “Are you questioning my honour?”
“I am,” Delmont nodded confidently, pointing his pistol a little straighter. “And as I appear to be the only man who is armed,” he boomed as if to exaggerate his point. “I do not suppose there is much you can do about it.”
There was a faint rustling sound in the far corner of the room. Dampierre heard it too and narrowed his gaze, peering beyond Lord Delmont’s shoulder.
Sophie noticed the flicker of a shadow and watched helplessly as Delmont lost focus and made the foolish mistake of turning to look. Sensing it was his prime opportunity to alter the turn of events, Dampierre lunged forward and knocked the pistol from Delmont’s hand. Morgan hurled himself at Delmont, grabbing him around the neck, pulling him to the floor and pounding him with his fists until he was practically unconscious.
“No,” Sophie yelled. Not because she gave a hoot what happened to Lord Delmont, but because it meant Dampierre would have a weapon and another means with which to threaten.
Like a man possessed, Dane charged out of the darkness in an attempt to reach the pistol before Dampierre could get his hands on it. But he was too late. And, once again, they found themselves in the precarious hands of the Comte de Dampierre.
“You will stay where you are,” Dampierre shouted, his arm shaking from exertion as he pointed the pistol at Dane. When Dane ignored his threat and took another step forward, Dampierre switched direction and aimed at Sophie’s head.
Her heart skipped a beat, but she did not believe Dampierre would pull the trigger. Somewhere in his warped mind he believed he needed her, else why would he have gone to so much trouble. Dane, on the other hand, must have believed him capable of carrying out his threat and so stared at her, his face ashen, his eyes wide and fearful.
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.