by Amy Sandas
“My name’s Mason Hale,” he began once they’d all stood in silence for a few minutes.
As he probably should’ve expected, the name inspired a flicker of recognition in the eyes of at least two of the older servants.
“As you’ve likely heard, there’ve been some recent transgressions against your young master. I’m here to see to his safety, and I’m looking for a couple men who’d be willing to take on some additional tasks to those they already manage.”
There was shifting stances and one of the young ones muttered something beneath his breath.
Watching the men closely, he added, “There’ll be a corresponding increase in wages, of course.”
Judging by the subtle reactions observed so far, he already knew of one man he wouldn’t be training. Stepping forward, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Now,” he said with a frisson of anticipation, “do any of you have any fighting experience?”
“What? Do you mean like in a boxing ring?” an older footman asked with barely suppressed scorn.
Mason responded with a dangerous grin. “Like in a boxing ring. Or a gymnasium. Or a back alley in the East End.”
The youngest of the lineup, a boy with sturdy bones and broad shoulders who clearly hadn’t finished growing into his frame, gave a shrug. “I’ve been fighting my brothers all my life.”
One of his mates snorted but Mason ignored it. “Older or younger?”
“All older, sir.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“How often d’you win?”
“When it’s me against all of them or one against one, sir?”
The boy’s response told him all he needed to know. Mason gave a nod and sent his gaze over the others. “Anyone else?”
“I can hold my own,” one of the senior footmen offered.
After a few more questions, Mason told three men to stay while letting the other two return to their duties.
In addition to physical training, Mason advised the footmen they’d be expected to regularly assess the mansion’s grounds and entrances. He’d already determined the need to add a few more locks, which he’d addressed with Foster the night before, but locks could be picked and windows could be broken, so the household staff would need to be more vigilant.
To date, the attacks had all occurred away from the residence. That didn’t mean the kidnapper wouldn’t get bolder at some point. Before dismissing the men, he assured them their performance under his direction wouldn’t and shouldn’t interfere with their roles as footmen.
Lastly, he gave one of them the responsibility of keeping watch over Freddie for the next few hours. Mason needed to address another pressing aspect to this whole thing.
Nightshade’s current headquarters were located in a small, nondescript townhouse not far from Mayfair. With Dell Turner—Nightshade himself—away from London at the moment, his right-hand man was the next best option for what Mason needed.
The door opened almost immediately to Mason’s heavy knock, as though Morley had been expecting him. A man of diminutive height—especially in comparison to Mason—Nightshade’s man possessed a wiry build and iron-grey hair smoothed back in a tight queue. His small dark eyes, oversized nose, and perpetually grimacing mouth gave him the look of an angry hawk. “This way,” he muttered with a jerk of his head as he gestured toward the study at the back of the house.
“Hello to you, too, Morley,” Mason offered sardonically as he passed the much smaller man to cross the entry hall.
“Mr. Turner suspected you’d be comin’ by. I didn’t figure it’d take as long as it did,” the older man replied in his characteristically sour tone.
Though Morley always seemed to be annoyed by something, he possessed a steadfast nature and had more than proven himself to Mason when he’d helped in rescuing Claire and the other children from Bricken’s warehouse.
Once in the study, Morley continued to the desk set near the fireplace. After removing a slim book from the top drawer, he rummaged in another drawer until he found a pencil. Then he looked up at Mason with a frown that accented the hawk-like appearance of his nose. “D’ya wanna sit?”
“No,” Mason replied, stepping forward. “This shouldn’t take long.”
Flipping open the booklet, Morley wet the tip of the pencil with his tongue and set it to the paper. “Wot are ya needin’, then?”
“I need you to find out all you can about the Duke of Northmoor. Not just Freddie, but the prior duke, as well. I want to know who the family associated with before coming to town and who Freddie and his sister have been in contact with since arriving in London. Then I want you to dig up whatever you can about the Marquess of Warfield. He’s in line to inherit if anything happens to the boy. Supposedly, he’s been away from England for years. I want to know if he’s popped back over the channel recently. And if so, who he’s spoken to, who he’s bedded, where he spent his money. Everything.”
“Is that all?”
Mason grinned. Despite the man’s put-out attitude, he knew Morley would see to everything Mason was requesting. “For now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
Morley snorted and closed the booklet. Without looking up again, he asked, “How’s the scamp doin’, then?”
“Freddie’s well enough for now, but someone’s after him. Whoever it is, they’ll soon regret it.”
Mason’s next errand took him deep into the rookery.
During their conversation that morning, Freddie’d revealed a great deal of information he’d previously been holding close to his chest. Though Mason could understand the boy’s need to protect himself in uncertain circumstances, he wished he’d known the full story much sooner. He could’ve followed up on the threat when everything was fresh.
Though the men who’d attacked their carriage the day before hadn’t sounded familiar, Freddie’s detailed description of the two men who’d locked him in a cupboard definitely sparked some recognition. It didn’t hurt that Freddie had heard them call each other by name.
Being late morning, the streets were relatively quiet. A few vendors plied their trade from rickety carts, but the most profitable time in the neighborhood came at night.
The flash house Mason sought was also quiet. The revelry of the night before likely hadn’t finished until well after dawn, but he suspected the man he wanted to talk to would still be awake.
Despite arriving outside the usual hours of operation, Mason walked boldly into the tavern. A large, lumbering fellow was moving about the common room, straightening tables and righting chairs. He looked up at Mason’s entrance then gave a nod of acknowledgement before going back to his work.
Crossing the front room, Mason headed toward the hall that ran behind the bar to the small office in back. As expected, Decker Reid was seated at his desk, tallying up the profits from the night before.
The old man looked up as Mason filled his doorway. Surprise mingled with guarded curiosity in his expression. “Hale? What in all that’s holy brought you out so damned early in the day?”
“I need to cash in on one of those favors you owe me.”
Reid tensed and quickly scooped up the stacks of bills and coins he was counting to stash it all in a box that he tucked below the desk.
Mason could have assured him he had no interest in the man’s profits. But he didn’t bother.
“What favors?” Reid countered bullishly. “I don’t owe you anything.”
With a lowered chin, Mason eyed the man for a full, long minute. “No games, Reid. I haven’t the time.”
The manager gave an exaggerated laugh. “Of course. Right, then. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for two men. Butler and Green.” When Reid immediately started shaking his head, Mason added, “I know they come round to your place on the regular. I just need to know where to find them.”
“Can’t,” Reid said as he shifted in his seat.
Mason stepped forward to plant his hands flat on the desk to lean
over the other man. “What d’you mean can’t?”
Reid met Mason’s heavy scowl with another shake of his head. “Butler and Green are dead. They were found floating in the Thames a couple weeks ago. Rope cinched tight ’round their throats.”
“Fuck.” Mason straightened as all the implications of that news filtered through his mind. He flicked a glance back to Reid. “Who did it?”
The manager gave a heavy snort. “Don’t think anyone bothered to find out.”
“D’you recall hearing anything about a job they’d been hired for involving a boy?”
Reid’s bushy white brows lowered in thought. “Those two knew how to keep things close to the vest. Never talked about the work they did. But I do know that a few weeks before they turned up dead, they spent a good hour or so chatting up a stranger in my front room.”
“Describe him.”
“Can’t,” Reid repeated. “He wore a cloak with the hood pulled up and had his back to the room for most of the time he was here.”
“Dramatic,” Mason scoffed. “Did Butler or Green say anything about the stranger?”
“As I said, they weren’t talkers. Didn’t deserve what they got.”
Unless they hadn’t been killed for talking, but for failing. Which suggested whoever’d hired them wanted others to know he expected the job to get done.
“Those two did seem to have a good amount of extra blunt after that meet-up. Whatever the bloody rotter wanted them to do, he’d paid well for it.”
“You see or hear anything more on this, you let me know.”
There was only a slight hesitation before Reid nodded.
“I’ll be seeing you.”
After a brief and productive stop at the docks in Wapping, Mason made his way back toward the West End and Pendragon’s Pleasure House.
His sister’s high-class brothel was also closed for the day, but Mason walked around the large, understated brick building to the service door. A man with a forbidding grimace blocked his way before recognizing him with a bow of his head and a quick shuffle to the side.
“Mr. Hale. Is Madam expecting you?”
Mason grinned. “Of course not. You know I like to surprise her.”
In all honesty, Mason made it his mission to tease and torment his older sister whenever he had the chance. Callista wielded an obscene amount of power as custodian for the most debauched sexual secrets of London’s high society, but she had a way of forgetting anything existed beyond her business. Mason considered it his duty to remind her that life didn’t have to be all work and no play.
Though the rest of London knew her as the enigmatic and seductive Madam Pendragon, Mason would never forget how she’d done her best to protect him from their father’s wrath until she’d been forced out to make her way on her own. Her business and her personal success would always be Callista’s top priority, but Mason came in a sure second.
As far as he knew, there was nothing after him.
The doorman shook his head and returned to his post. “Just be sure to tell her I did my duty to try to stop ya.”
“Always,” Mason called over his shoulder as he strode down the darkened hall to the back stairs that led up to his sister’s personal rooms. He suspected she’d be in her sitting room, enjoying a final drink before retiring for the day.
The lush red carpeting cushioned his steps, allowing him to approach silently. Still, before he stepped into the doorway, Callista called out from within. “Don’t lurk in the shadows, Mason. It’s unbecoming.”
Crossing into the room decorated in shades of red and black, he found his sister seated on an elegant chaise, claret in hand. Her fair hair was twisted and curled into a sophisticated coiffure that showed off her long neck, bare shoulders, and deep décolletage. Though older than Mason by nearly twelve years, she looked to be no more than thirty until you got close enough to see the fine lines fanning from her bright green eyes and the world-weary cynicism in her gaze.
Mason’s smile was genuine as he replied. “You know I don’t give a shit for appearances.”
“Which is why you’re still in the East End and I...” She gave a dramatic gesture with her slim hand, flashing the tattoo of a dragon that spanned her arm from wrist to elbow. “I am here.”
Crossing to take a seat in an oversized leather chair, Mason cocked his head. “I happen to like the East End.” He ignored her condescending expression of disbelief to add, “But you’ve managed to hit on the reason I stopped by. I’ve changed addresses.”
“Thank God. That house of ruffles and frills was a monstrosity. The blasted place gave me a headache whenever I visited.”
“You came by once.”
“And I got a headache. Hence the fact I never returned.”
“Well, my new residence will likely meet your exalted standards. It’s in Mayfair.”
She threw back her head and laughed. The sound was sultry and smooth. Not at all the boisterous laughter he recalled from the rare instances of humor they’d shared in childhood. “Don’t be absurd, Mace. If you’re going to lie about something, you know better than to make it so impossible to believe.”
“I’ve been hired as bodyguard to the Duke of Northmoor.”
His sister’s glittering eyes narrowed. Shrewd intelligence sparked in their depths. “I’m unfamiliar with him.”
“Not surprising, Lissy. He’s a boy.”
Her keen interest dispersed in an instant once she heard Mason’s duke wasn’t a potential client. Sipping from her crystal glass, she eased back against the raised end of the chaise. “How’d you land that job?”
“The boy’s sister is very intent on his safety.”
“She sounds overzealous,” Callista said dismissively before tilting her head to eye Mason curiously. “Or is she?”
“No. There’s a true threat to the boy. He’s the one I found with Claire.”
“Interesting.”
“I need to find out who’s behind the threat. The only real suspect so far is the Marquess of Warfield. Know him?”
“Hmmm. I knew of him. Some years ago, there were rumors about a man named Warfield. Sinister rumors,” she added heavily. “The kind women of my profession never forget. If I recall correctly, the man was exiled following a particularly damaging scandal that was very effectively kept from common knowledge. If he’d returned to London, I’d have heard of it.”
“Are you sure?”
A pale brow arced. “Do you doubt me?”
Mason flashed a smile. “Never. I suppose he could be directing things from afar. If you hear anything in regard to the man, could you let me know?”
His sister’s expression tightened. “You know my rules.”
“As Warfield isn’t currently one of your clients, the rules wouldn’t apply.”
“Yes, but any information obtained from a member of Pendragon’s is off-limits. My girls are provided the same protections, Mason. You know that.”
He did. His sister fiercely guarded the privacy of her clientele. He loved his sister. Always would. But the hard-edged determination that had gotten her from the gin shops to the current degree of luxury and influence she currently enjoyed also reminded him time and time again that Callista was now Madam Pendragon. And she never, for any reason, put her exalted livelihood at risk.
With a gruff sound, he rose to his feet. “Then I’d better hope information is available by other means.”
“I’ll share what I can.”
“I know.”
“Since you’re here, I’ve a request for you, as well.”
Mason arched a brow. His sister rarely asked for anything. “What’s that?”
“I’ve recently lost two of my flash men. I’ll need replacements by the end of next month.”
Callista was well-known for being demanding and extremely selective when it came to the people who worked for her. Mason was familiar with her unique and strict requirements for the men she employed, which was why she came to him whenever she was in need of n
ew muscle to keep her establishment secure and her women protected.
“That doesn’t give me much time to ensure they’re trained to your usual specifications.”
Callista’s smile was short and somewhat dismissive. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“I will,” he agreed, but then offered a smile of his own as he thought of his shifting business focus. Once the threat to Freddie was resolved, he still needed a new vocation. “Of course, you’ll be happy to spread favorable reports of my services to the many varied establishments in London that might also have need of well-trained men.”
His sister sighed. “Must I? I rather enjoy having a monopoly on the best flash men in town.”
Mason laughed. “You’re the one who taught me never to give without expecting something in return.”
She wrinkled her nose in a way that reminded him of the girl she’d once been. “I did teach you that, didn’t I?” She waved her hand. “Very well. You’ll soon become the most sought-after supplier of muscle this town has ever seen.”
He didn’t doubt it. In many ways, Madam Pendragon held more influence than the Prince Regent.
He left the brothel, anxious to return to the Northmoor mansion. Though he didn’t expect another attack on Freddie so soon after the prior day’s failed attempt, he’d been away long enough, and he wanted to see how Claire was faring in her new surroundings. She’d been so tired the night before after romping around with Freddie in the schoolroom that she’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d tucked the covers beneath her chin and kissed her soft cheek. He’d seen her again this morning, but it had been just a brief visit.
And then there was Lady Katherine. He’d wager a near fortune the woman wouldn’t be happy about his extended absence today.
Blooded heat rushed to his cock and a smile widened his lips. That he was looking forward to a confrontation with the fierce woman said something about his twisted nature. And he didn’t feel the slightest bit of shame for it.
Chapter Thirteen
Katherine was restless and worried and growing angrier by the second.