Page 70 of Sinfully Daring

Jacques,

Prepare the fortress for an extended visit. I have a bad feeling Louis is going to need to disappear for a while and you know I prefer to prepare for the worst. We’ll need extra security in place at the club, too. I’m taking no chances. If his suspicions are correct, I fear for him. I’m not sure he can endure this again.

―Excerpt of a letter from Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere to Jacques Toussaint, Manager of Rogue et Noir, Paris.

17th July 1842, Mrs Belvedere’s Ball, Bloomsbury Square, Holborn, London.

To the relief of all concerned, Gabriel was not so far out of his mind with fury as to cause a scene before the entire ton. Instead, he whispered in Mr Price’s ear that he wanted a private word, giving the fellow the kind of smile any other fool would have recognised as bad for one’s health.

Mr Price, was not so bright as he might have liked to believe, and swallowed the murmured enticement about a lucrative investment hook, line, and sinker. The moment Gabriel got him outside and in private, however, he took hold of his cravat and shook him like a rag doll.

“You son of a bitch!” he growled, as Mr Price’s eyes bulged with shock. “You vile excuse for a man. You dare to come sniffing about my daughter? My daughter, when all the while you’ve got some poor girl in the family way? You miserable worm!”

“Oh, c-come, sir,” Mr Price stammered, clawing at Gabriel’s wrists to no avail. “Hannah is no better than she ought to be. I admit the child is a shame, but it’s one of those things. She ought not to have—ooof!”

Mr Price sucked in a breath as Gabriel grabbed hold of his balls and twisted. Montagu and Rosamund’s father winced but did not intervene.

“You, Mr Price,” Gabriel growled, his voice low and menacing. “You ought not to have. You are supposed to be a gentleman, not a low life rat who goes about preying on innocent girls. That young lady is going to have to pay a high price for her mistake, because the poor creature is going to have to consider the prospect of marrying you! But you are going to offer for her, Mr Price.”

“No!” Price squeaked, his voice several octaves higher than usual. “I c-can’t! M-Mother will kill me if I don’t marry money.”

“Then I foresee a great deal of pain in your future, Mr Price, but I can promise you it will be worse if you do not!” Gabriel twisted a bit harder, and the man shrieked in alarm.

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to her… I will,” Price said, his eyes watering, gasping and clutching at Gabriel’s arm. “Please!”

With obvious reluctance, Gabriel let him go, but before he could say another word, Price kicked him in the shin and ran.

Mr Knight uttered a profanity Rosamund had never heard before—which, considering she had brothers, she found rather impressive—and set off in pursuit.

Montagu sighed. “That was quite obviously too easy. He ought to have kept hold of his balls until he passed out. Always best to err on the side of caution in my experience.”

Rosamund glanced at her father, who nodded his agreement with this statement. She turned to stare at her husband.

Sebastian shrugged. “Yes. They’re terrifying,” he agreed. “So, I’m promising you right now I’ll be the model husband. I had no intention of ever putting a foot wrong, but I swear I never will. Please don’t set them on me.”

Despite everything, Rosamund smiled. “Idiot,” she muttered fondly, before hurrying after them.

They made their way back into the ballroom, searching for Mr Price, who had gone to ground like the snake he was.

“Have you seen Humphrey Price?” Mr Knight demanded of Lord Bainbridge, interrupting his conversation with Gabriel’s son, Felix Knight, and Rosamund’s brother, Jules.

“No. Don’t wish to, either,” Bainbridge said, blunt as ever. “Man’s a prat. Why d’you want him?”

“Unfinished business,” Gabriel muttered darkly.

Bainbridge perked up at once. “Oh, a mill, is it? Need a hand?”

Gabriel shrugged. “If you can find him, certainly.”

Bainbridge, being one of the tallest men in the room, scanned the ballroom. “Follow me,” he commanded, waving them on as he strode through the gathering, scattering lesser beings as he went.

They were halfway across the ballroom when Mr Price caught sight of them and gave a little shriek. He turned to run, only to find Miss Morcombe standing in his way. She slapped him, hard.

Gasps and exclamations followed as the gossip mill blazed to life at once, the promise of another scandal carrying through the room like a spark chasing gunpowder.

“Get out of my way, you little slut. Haven’t you done enough?”

Price pushed her aside savagely. Miss Morcombe stumbled, and Sebastian lunged forward, grabbing hold of her before she could fall.