Chapter 34
“Wherein revenge is served with cool satisfaction.”
They returned Lord Nibley home and then Georgiana, with as little noise and attention as was possible.
Céleste had sent all the servants to bed as she’d been told to and took Georgiana up to bed herself, nodding at her husband’s instruction to burn the bloody clothes she wore without so much as a blink.
Sindalton climbed back into the carriage with Falmouth after promising Georgiana that he would come to no harm and would call on her as soon as he was able.
He faced Falmouth across the carriage and wondered how it had come to pass that in the same night he’d shot his best friend, he found himself allied with a man who considered him an enemy.
“I’ve never had the chance to apologise,” he said, his voice uncomfortably loud in the confines of the dark carriage. Falmouth’s cold grey eyes glinted, his face devoid of emotion. “For what happened with ...”
“When you sent my ex-mistress to my house to cause a scene and the woman I loved to flee, you mean?” the earl said with a smile that looked like he wanted to rip his throat out, with his teeth.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Yes. For that.”
“Then please do.”
God he was a cold bastard, Sebastian thought, though not without a grudging admiration.
“I thought you were using her,” he admitted. “I had no idea you were offering marriage. Your reputation was not the kind that made the thought enter my head.”
He saw something in the man’s posture shift a little, the taut line of his jaw perhaps a little less rigid.
“I’d never been in love before,” he said, his tone gruff.
Sebastian laughed, nodding.
“I know just what you mean ... with Georgiana!” he added, seeing the murderous glint return to the earl’s expression. “Anyway, I am sorry for it. I had no idea of the mischief the woman would cause, but she clearly had her own agenda.”
Falmouth grunted. “That she did,” he replied, his tone dry as he stretched his long legs out in the confines of the carriage.
They were quiet for a moment, the rumble of the carriage through the dark streets of the capital the only sound.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, needing to make him understand that he was only too aware how deeply he stood in the man’s debt. “For tonight, and for everything you did in ... in giving Georgiana her come out. She’s told me how very kind and generous you’ve been.”
“I only did it to annoy you,” Falmouth replied, and this time the smile was genuine.
Sebastian laughed. “Well, that I do believe.” He frowned, suddenly more than curious about the enigmatic earl.
His reputation was that of a dark and violent character and judging from the motley crew that had turned up with him tonight, Sebastian was only too willing to believe it.
“Who are those men?” he demanded. “And why does the word pirate spring to mind whenever I look at them?”
The earl just gave him an inscrutable smile and shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean, your grace.”
***
The Baron Dalton’s town residence was an elegant, stuccoed house on Upper Wimpole Street.
Whilst not an address of the haut ton, it was home to the wealthiest on the fringes of that exclusive world, and the nouveau riche.
The carriage took them some way past the house, stopping quietly and moving swiftly on as Sebastian, the earl and those of his men who had ridden on the outside, jumped down.
Another carriage, some distance farther back, also disgorged a number of rather terrifying looking occupants who, at a gesture from the earl, disappeared to the rear of the house.
Moving quickly and with surprising stealth, the earl motioned for Mousy, the unlikely name of the largest man Sebastian had ever seen in his life, to go to the front door.
This the big man did and crouched down, with some small iron pins in his hand. To Sebastian’s surprise the front door sprang open, without the faintest sign of protest, and he and Falmouth stepped inside with Mousy and two other armed men at their backs.
There was a quiet scuffling sound from below stairs which was quickly subdued, and then a large, barrel-shaped man stuck his tattooed arm around the door signalling them to enter with a rather devilish grin.
“Well done, Harry,” Falmouth said, nodding his approval. The men spread out, opening doors and checking the downstairs rooms were empty before they made their way up the stairs.
They halted behind a door, the only one of which showed a glimmer of light at the threshold.
“We’ve dealt with ‘is missus,” Mousy whispered as he came striding out of one of the other rooms and then gave Sebastian a reproachful look at his horrified expression. “Keep yer ‘air on, yer grace, we didn’t ruffle ‘er none. Just tied her up and tol’ ‘er to keep mum, is all.”
From this Sebastian deduced with some difficulty that the woman was alive but restrained and gagged, and he turned back to the baron’s door.
“After you,” Falmouth said, with a polite gesture.
Sebastian snorted and went to move forward but the earl’s arm checked him.
“Don’t kill the bastard,” he warned. “I quite sympathise, but London will be waking soon and it’s a bloody difficult time to dispose of a baron.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to demand how he knew that and then closed it abruptly.
He didn’t want to know.
The baron sat up in bed with a start as Sebastian strode through into his bedroom.
“What the devil is the meaning of this?” he barked, his face reddening with fury as the Duke of Sindalton and the Earl of Falmouth sidled into the room as if they owned the place.
Sebastian lost no time in grabbing the man by his night shirt and hauling him to his feet. He pushed him into the room a little and the baron stumbled back, looking around at the two men with growing rage. “My God, I’ll have your heads for this!” he shouted.
Sebastian didn’t wait to hear more but drew back his fist and punched the man full in the face. There was a rather satisfying crunch as the man’s nose broke and a howl of rage as he went down.
“That was for laying your filthy hands on Miss Bomford, you bastard,” he growled and hauled the man to his feet to repeat the process. The baron slammed back against the wall, blood pouring from his nose.
“Don’t think your titles will protect you,” he spluttered, the words somewhat distorted through the blood. “I’m a powerful man ... I have friends ...”
Falmouth took an exaggerated look around the room.
“Where?” he demanded, one black eyebrow raised. “I see no friends, do you, your grace?”
Sebastian put his hand to the baron’s throat and began to squeeze as the man clawed at his wrist. “I don’t see a soul, Falmouth. I think the man must be delirious.”
“Probably lack of oxygen,” the earl remarked, watching with a placid expression as Sebastian put his mind to throttling the life out of the despicable creature who had terrorised his beloved.
“Best put him down now, your grace,” Falmouth said, with obvious amusement. “You don’t know where he’s been.”
With great reluctance, Sebastian let go and watched as the man slid to the floor, the baron’s slightly blue-tinged face turning a deep purple with rage and humiliation.
“I-I’ll get you ... for ... this ...”
“No,” Sebastian replied, his tone even. “You won’t.
The only reason you’re still breathing at all is because Falmouth there thinks disposing of you would be more trouble than you’re worth.
” He crouched down and put his face level with the baron’s.
“You’re a cowardly brute who likes to inflict pain, just because he can.
Well, you bastard, now it’s our turn, and we mean to have our pound of flesh. ”
The man blanched, perhaps finally realising the threat for what it was.
“What is it you want?”
Sebastian snorted. “What I want is you dead at my hands, but as that has been denied me,” he said, sending a chagrined look at the earl. “Then I’ll have to be satisfied with being rid of you.”
“I hear America is ... pleasant at this time of the year,” Falmouth replied, making a show of inspecting his fingernails.
“You can’t make me disappear!” the baron exploded, apoplectic with rage.
Falmouth reached out his hand and gave a quiet tap on the door, stepping back as it flew open and the room filled with men.
Suddenly silent, the baron looked around with wide eyes at the disreputable looking crew assembled in his elegant bedroom.
He stared at Falmouth.
“Who the devil are you, really?” he demanded.
“It’s really best you don’t know,” the earl replied, his eyes cold and hard. “Help him pack Mousy, there’s a good fellow.”
“Aye, aye, capt’n,” the big man said with a nasty grin as the earl left the room.
Sebastian stayed for a moment, staring down at the despised and now terrified creature at his feet.
“What will happen to the good baron if any rumours should begin about Miss Bomford, Mousy?” he asked, never taking his eyes from the baron.
“Oh, don’t you be worrit about that, yer grace,” the big man said, a chuckle rumbling through his big frame. “We’ll explain all about it to ‘im once yer safe away. An also what might ‘appen, should ‘e go gettin’ a fancy to come back to England, I reckon.”
He rubbed his hands together, looking more piratical than Sebastian could credit. “Seems the crew o’ The Redemption are on a trip to America, an they’ll ‘ave plenty o’ time to see the baron understands jus what’s in store for ‘im, should that maggot ever enter ‘is brain, like.”
Sebastian laughed and slapped Mousy on the shoulder. “Well then, if I can just find some paper and ink, I have one last little job for the man before he sets off on his travels.”