Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,94
into a dead run.
He watched in horror as the carriage lurched forward. He wasn’t going to reach it. They were getting away!
Another sound of raw fury forced its way up from Mason’s chest. Stark terror twisted through his stomach. Though every primitive instinct urged him to keep after her, he’d never catch them on foot. Heart pounding, he prayed for the first time in his life as he begged whatever power was in control that Newton had seen his wave. He glanced swiftly over his shoulder to see if the Northmoor carriage was near. Instead, a curricle pulled by two horses approached at a reckless speed before coming to an abrupt stop beside him.
The Marquess of Warfield stared at Mason from the driver’s perch with eyes that glittered strangely in the dark. Mason had known a few men with eyes like his—frozen, emotionless—but none with this man’s sharp intensity.
“Get in.”
Mason didn’t hesitate. He leapt into the swift two-wheeled vehicle. The second his arse landed in the seat, Warfield flicked the reins and they started off. The black carriage was already slipping into the darkness ahead of them.
“Faster, dammit,” Mason growled. He didn’t trust the man beside him one fucking bit and had no idea why he’d inserted himself into this rescue, but as long as they were following Katherine, he’d have jumped in with the devil himself.
The man beside him gave another flick of the reins and the curricle leapt to greater speed, forcing Mason to focus on keeping his seat.
“If we lose them, I’ve an idea where they’re likely to be going. Though...if I’m right, it doesn’t bode well for your lady.”
Warfield’s voice was starkly controlled despite the breakneck pace they were keeping through the streets.
Mason turned a glare on the man. “What d’you know of it?”
Without shifting his focus from the street in front of them, Warfield replied, “Lord Shelbourne, the gentleman who took her, is involved in some very dark dealings.”
“Like murder and kidnapping?” Mason retorted. “We’re aware.”
Warfield did turn his head then, giving Mason an intense look. “Worse.”
An icy fear slid down his spine. “What does he want?”
The marquess frowned and the angles of his face sharped. “I suspect it has something to do with the prior duke’s work.”
Katherine’s instincts had been right.
Mason’s chest tightened painfully and a growl rumbled up from deep in his core. Dammit. He’d feared the kidnappers would turn their attention to her if they couldn’t get to Freddie, but he’d believed he’d be able to protect her.
He should have had her locked in her bedroom—and him with her—until this whole fucking business was dealt with.
While his head and heart churned with emotions he hadn’t felt since he’d gotten Claire back, he started to notice the distance between them and the black carriage was slowly widening. The curricle was slowing. Mason turned to snatch a fistful of Warfield’s coat. “What the fuck are you playing at, Warfield?”
Unperturbed, the marquess replied, “I told you I know where he’s taking her. At present, I don’t believe he realizes hes’s being followed. If we hope to have any element of surprise, we’ll need to be stealthy in our approach. I know another way.”
“Why should I trust you?”
The other man’s expression darkened as a tic became visible at the edge of his jaw. “I’ve no desire to see my cousin harmed,” he muttered angrily.
Mason scowled. “That’s why you’ve been following them?”
“It is, actually. I was trying to determine if they were in any danger. When I realized they’d enlisted a guard, I figured they’d be safe.” Warfield sneered. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
It was unbelievably difficult to resist the urge to send a swift jab into the man’s arrogant face, but Mason somehow managed. “And why’d you think they might be in danger? What else d’you know?”
The marquess clenched his angular jaw and stared straight forward. When he finally replied, Warfield’s voice was as black as the night sky above. “That is none of your concern.”
Losing patience, Mason tightened his grip on the man’s coat and leaned forward to stare directly into Warfield’s unnaturally light eyes. “Everything about this is my fucking concern. Talk.”
The marquess narrowed his gaze to glittering slits. “Release me, Mr. Hale, or I may decide not to assist you.”
“I don’t need your bloody help.”
Warfield’s expression hardened. “Yes. You do. You’ve no idea what you’re up against.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m getting the woman out of there and that gentleman can go to the devil.”
“That he will.” He tipped his head forward. “We’re approaching the estate.”
Mason