Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,2
back at him, cool and silently assessing. Then he gave a short nod signaling the topic was at rest. At least for now. Since that situation had involved someone close to Turner, Mason suspected it would be a long time before the matter was fully forgiven.
Probably rightfully so.
Still...Mason couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do the same if Claire ever again ended up in peril. Which brought him back to Freddie, the boy who’d done his best to protect the little girl when Mason couldn’t.
He ran his hand along his jaw. “Could be Freddie’s got some other reason for not wanting to go home. How could a young nobleman end up in the hands of a man like Bricken in the first place?”
Turner tilted his head. “Good question. That blighter sure as hell wouldn’t’ve had the means to abduct a duke and likely never would have thought to try, which means he probably acquired Freddie by a stroke of luck or random opportunity.” He paused. Hazel eyes darkened in thought. “Or someone saw Bricken as a convenient means of disposing of the boy.”
“Shit,” Mason muttered. “What d’you know of the sister?”
“Only that Lady Katherine Blackwell is twenty years of age and never had a London debut. As I said, they’ve lived a very reclusive life.”
“Could she be behind it all?”
“There is not enough information to confirm nor refute that possibility.”
But it was a possibility. “Until there is,” Mason replied, “we consider her a threat.”
“Assuming Freddie and this Duke of Northmoor are one and the same.”
Mason considered Freddie’s manner of absolute self-containment and that subtle air of command he possessed without even trying. The way he kept silent about his home and people. His stiff manner and suspicious gaze. A certainty settled in Mason’s bones. “It’s him.”
Turner didn’t refute his statement, leading Mason to think he believed the same. “Well, at least there are no rumors connecting the boy with a certain former bare-knuckle boxer.”
Mason thought for a moment before replying. “Maybe there should be.”
Turner’s brows lifted. “You want to invite some trouble?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mason replied with a slow, humorless grin. “Have one of your people get word to this Boothe that the boy might have been seen at my old place.”
“It’ll be done,” Turner replied with a short nod, “but I won’t be able to join you. I’m leaving town tomorrow for a few weeks.”
Mason chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I can handle one retired Runner. I’ve just got a few questions for the bloke. I won’t be turning Freddie over to anyone who might be of a mind to harm him further.”
Turner rose to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles from the coat. “If you need anything while I’m gone, get in touch with Morley. You know where to find him?”
Mason nodded, then couldn’t resist the opportunity to poke at the man a bit. “Your partner stopped by this morning,” he noted casually.
Turner’s features remained flatly composed.
“Or shouldn’t I call her that?” Mason asked as humor twisted his lips. “The lady said you two weren’t working together anymore. In fact, she didn’t seem too pleased with you at all. Honeymoon over?”
When Turner finally responded to Mason’s ribbing, it wasn’t in the way he’d expected. Instead of revealing irritation, Turner’s mouth curved in a crafty smile. “Just the opposite. The honeymoon begins tomorrow.”
Mason should have figured Nightshade would have an angle. He shook his head and gave a short laugh. “You’re a brave man. She doesn’t seem the type of female who’s easily managed.”
Turner rolled his eyes and made a low sound of frustration, and for the first time during their conversation, a hint of cockney entered his voice. “An understatement of mythic proportions, mate. Good thing I’ve decided to stop trying.” Then he turned and left, leaving Mason in the parlor filled with pastel ruffles and flowery prints and knickknacks on every surface and furniture he couldn’t sit in.
Mason had rented the fully furnished house the day after saving Claire and Freddie from Bricken’s gang. His old place had been an office building where he’d conducted his business, running the stakes for the bare-knuckle fights in which he’d been undefeated before retiring from the ring. Though he’d also used his office as a residence, it wasn’t suitable for two children.
If he intended to stay in this house of flounce and frippery, there was a lot he’d need to change. But he knew even less about decorating than he did about caring for children, and he had no idea