Page 87 of Scandal’s Daughter

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.”