Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,5

me.”

“Do not underestimate me,” she replied coldly.

“If you shoot me, you won’t find the boy.”

A soft, swift inhale. “You do have him.”

Mason strode forward until the expanse of his heavy oak desk was the only thing between them. That, the pistol, and the gathering darkness. “What d’you want with him?”

“Not your concern.” Irritation colored her tone and shortened her words. “Release him to me.”

Mason lifted a brow. “You keep making demands, dove, but you’re not the one in charge here.”

She made a subtle gesture with the gun. “I beg to differ.”

Without warning, Mason placed his hand flat on the surface of the desk and vaulted over it. The woman took an instinctive step back, which allowed him to land right in front of her. At the same time, he grasped her slim wrist and raised her hand with the pistol above her head to pin it to the wall. Another step brought his body to within a fraction of an inch of hers. The velvet material of her cloak brushed against his woolen trousers while the pulse at her wrist fluttered against his palm.

To his surprise, she didn’t panic and flail in his hold. The only sound she made was the initial gasp of surprise as he’d pressed her to the wall. She briefly tested his hold, but only once and subtly. There was no point in resisting his strength, and apparently, she was clever enough not to waste time on futility.

She stilled. But tension radiated from every inch of her form.

Mason’s body responded readily to the proximity of her warmth and her stubborn, subtle resistance. The stirring of lust in his blood was unexpected.

“Release me,” she demanded.

“No.”

“You dare—”

“I dare,” he interrupted in a heavy murmur. “That and more.”

Finally, she tipped her head back to meet his gaze and her hood slid back to reveal a very angry countenance and dark hair smoothed into a twisted chignon.

Dusk was slowly sliding into full night, darkening the shadows in the room, but it wasn’t yet so dark he couldn’t make out the details of her face. If Mason had still harbored any doubts the woman was Freddie’s sister, they would’ve disappeared then. She was basically a female version of the boy, with the same refined bone structure, the same wide, dark, fathomless eyes beneath thick slashing brows. And though her gaze flashed with a familiar intelligence, the way she glared at him before arching one formidable brow in a subtle signal of derision was an expression all her own.

She was a beauty. A woman of elegant wrath and graceful contempt.

Mason was captivated.

Chapter Three

Lady Katherine Blackwell forced her breath to a steady rhythm. Difficult, when she stared up into an intent gaze set within harsh, hardened features. As she noted the furrow in the man’s brow and the insanely strong line of his jaw, the trembling in her belly threatened to expand to her limbs, but she willed it under control.

She could not allow this overmuscled brute to think she was fearful even though the sheer size and obvious strength of him was enough to terrify anyone. Poor Mr. Boothe hadn’t stood a chance against him.

The former Runner had been recommended to her by Lord Shelbourne, an associate of her father’s and the only person she was acquainted with in London. After her father’s death, Shelbourne had sent a letter of condolence, which had been followed up by several more, inquiring after their well-being, offering assistance in any way should she ever need it. Not knowing where else to turn when she discovered Frederick’s disappearance, she’d taken the lord up on his offer. Shelbourne had advised that a personal investigator would be more effective than the authorities and exceedingly more discreet. Apparently, discretion was everything in London society.

Despite Lord Shelbourne’s insistence, there had been several times she’d nearly gone to the authorities anyway. The days and days without a single clue as to what had happened to her brother had been torturous. Then, about a week ago, she’d received a note. Hastily written in Frederick’s hand, it had stated simply that he was well and he’d contact her again soon. Though the note had assured her Frederick was alive, she feared he’d written it under duress.

And then finally today, Boothe received a tip that a boy of Frederick’s description had been seen at this address.

The former Runner had tried arguing with her that it wouldn’t be safe or proper to accompany him to such a place. He’d tried to deter her by explaining