Noble Scoundrel (Peril & Persuasion Book 1)

by Amy Sandas

  Shelbourne’s features tightened with anger. “None of this would have been necessary if you’d minded your own business.” A red flush crept over the lord’s face as his knife hand wavered, causing the blade to slide gently across the side of Kathrine’s neck. Though she remained still and unflinching, a faint line of red appeared in its wake.

  All pretext fled at the sight of her blood and Mason ceased his casual stalking.

  Quickly assessing Katherine, he noted she was as steady, alert, and resolute as ever. He sensed with full trust that she was prepared to take advantage of any opening he could instigate.

  Also, Shelbourne wasn’t a natural aggressor and wasn’t as confident as he appeared. The old man was a sneaky bastard, keeping to the shadows while ordering others to do his dirty work. His preferred methods of operation were deception and manipulation. It was doubtful he had any experience at all in facing overt aggression.

  “She is my business, you bloody rotter,” he growled. Curling his hands into heavy fists and rolling his shoulders, he took a menacing step forward. “She’s everything. And you’ve just made a big fucking mistake.”

  Instinctively retreating from the undeniable menace Mason presented, Shelbourne took a quick, frightened step back and lifted the knife to direct it toward the greater threat as he yelled, “Stay back.”

  But it was too late. The words hadn’t even left his mouth before Katherine—no longer under the blade—ducked beneath his arm and kicked out against the side of his knee. His grip on her arm loosened as he cried out in pain and his leg buckled beneath him.

  Mason charged in. Within a second, he had the old man gripped around the throat, lifting him to his toes as he twisted the knife from his grip with his other hand and tossed it across the room.

  Glaring into the old man’s grey eyes gone wide with fear and a lack of oxygen, Mason snarled, “I should snap your neck for all you’ve done.”

  “Mason.”

  Katherine’s soft but stern voice tempered the violence inside him. With a smirk, he drew back his fist and sent it into the man’s gut before allowing him to crumple to the floor, gasping for breath.

  Then he turned and, in two long strides, swept Katherine into his arms. Locking one arm around her waist, he cradled the back of her head with his hand, holding her close. She tucked her face against the side of his neck and held him back just as tightly.

  It felt like his chest was going to explode with the emotion coursing through him. The rawness of his fear and the overwhelming relief at having her safely back in his arms. He couldn’t let her go. Ever.

  His heart gave a lurch when she pulled back abruptly to look up at him with a heavy scowl as she brought one of her hands around from behind his back. Her fingers were smeared with red blood. “You’re injured,” she said sharply. Grasping his coat, she tried to turn him around so she could see the source of the blood.

  Mason chuckled and tightened his arms around her. “Just a scratch, luv. Promise.”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat had them both turning swiftly back toward the stairs.

  At the sight of Warfield, Katherine turned in Mason’s arms to face her cousin more directly. In her mind, he was still another possible enemy. The woman’s bravery never ceased to amaze him.

  Mason smoothed his hand down the length of her spine as he murmured assurance. “He’s all right. For whatever reason, the marquess helped me get to you.”

  The marquess swept an icy blue gaze over the room before sliding his attention first to Katherine then Mason as he approached them in a casual stride. “Got it all in hand, then?” he asked as looked down at the man on the floor, who was slowly bringing himself to his knees with his head bowed.

  “Once again, you arrive just after the work is done,” Mason retorted with a half smile.

  Warfield arched a brow. “I wouldn’t have wanted to interfere in your heroics. They’re so impressive, after all.”

  Mason snorted.

  “Perhaps the two of you can continue your verbal bout another time,” Katherine interrupted. “I believe there are other things requiring our attention. Such as fetching the authorities.”

  The two men shared a glance as she swept past them to lead the way back upstairs. Mason followed with Shelbourne, keeping a tight grip on the older man, who didn’t show any inclination to struggle. Something about the gentleman’s behavior felt off. Had the arrogant lord resigned himself so easily to his fate, then?

  Upstairs, Mason was happily surprised to find Newton standing watch over the trussed-up guards, some of whom had started regaining consciousness.

  “Jack. Good to see ya, mate. How’d you make your way here?” Mason shoved Shelbourne toward the staircase, where the lord silently took a seat. “Don’t move.”

  “I caught sight o’ ye hoppin’ into that fancy curricle. I knew ye wouldn’t’ve left the lady unguarded, so I reckoned she was in danger. Being too far back to follow, I stopped for a chat w’ the butler, instead.” The older man grinned. “It took a bit o’ convincin’ but he decided to show me where ye were headed.”

  “I’m grateful to you, mate,” Mason said with a clap on the other man’s back.

  “What will happen to Lord Shelbourne?” Katherine asked, glancing toward the hunched old man sitting on the stairs.

  “He’ll answer for his crimes,” Mason assured.

  “Never,” the man gasped roughly. “My sins, my secrets, my darkness...die with me. Loyalty...beyond life...and...death.”

  A swift suspicion flared and Mason lunged forward to grasp the man by the shoulder. Shelbourne’s head lolled to the side and his grey eyes stared unseeing up at Mason as a white foam tinged with red began to bubble from his pale lips.

  “Fuck.”

  Mason released his hold as the lord’s eyes rolled back and his body was seized by violent tremors.

  “What’s happening?” Katherine stepped forward in alarm, but Mason turned to block her.

  “Don’t watch, luv,” he said gently, looking into her eyes as understanding dawned and horror lit her features. “There’s nothing you can do. It won’t be a pretty death.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Mason would have preferred to get Katherine out of there and leave Warfield to provide whatever explanation he deemed appropriate to the authorities. But she insisted on staying to provide her accounting of the evening’s events and all that had come before to the constable. The man wasn’t confident anything could be done to recover her father’s journals but assured the writings would be returned to her if they were ever found.

  Mason got the sense that with Shelbourne’s self-induced death and Katherine being unharmed, the authorities were happy to consider the case closed. Considering it involved a man of wealth and prestige, he doubted they’d put much effort into investigating the many questions and mysteries surrounding the entire plot.

  It didn’t surprise him. It took a lot of power and influence to go against Britain’s aristocracy.

  Mason, however, wasn’t prepared to let the matter get swept out the door. After listening to Katherine’s recounting to the constable, he was convinced there was something deeper and darker going on with Shelbourne’s involvement. There was a lot more to this story, and the missing journals remained a link to the Blackwells. Something had to be done about that.

  It was also clear that Warfield knew a lot more about the situation than he’d let on to them or the authorities. Mason intended to put a bit more pressure on the evasive lord at the earliest opportunity. Luckily, Katherine insisted her cousin join them for dinner the next night, after they’d all had a chance to rest and recover from the ordeal.

  It was nearly two hours after the constable’s arrival before Mason managed to get Katherine back to the mansion in Mayfair. Together, they went to the third floor to look in on the children before going to bed.

  They found Frederick sprawled carelessly across his bed, a soft snore echoing through the room. And Claire was tucked safely in her
bed, curled on her side in the light of early dawn, her hands tucked sweetly beneath her cheek.

  As they descended the stairs to the second floor, Mason could sense the weight of worry in the woman beside him. Though some things had been resolved through the drama of the last several hours, there remained a heavy shroud of uncertainty over the whole thing. When they paused at her bedroom door, she looked up at him with an unreadable shadow in her eyes even as she tried to form her lips into a smile.

  Mason lifted his hand to trail his fingertips over her temple and down along the strong line of her jaw. She closed her eyes with a weighted sigh, and he allowed himself the luxury of soaking in the lovely lines of her face. There was so much more to be seen and admired in the details of her features than he would have thought possible. He recognized her ferocious loyalty in her straight brows and firm chin. He saw nobility and courage in the curve of her cheek and compassion in the fan of her lashes. Her lips, so pink and full, were softened by...sadness.

  A raw ache tightened the muscles of his chest.

  “All right, dove?” His voice was roughened and raw.

  “Mm-hmm. Just tired.”

  When she opened her eyes, he saw the weariness she’d been holding at bay, probably for much longer than he’d realized. But he saw something else as well, something that reached out to batter his heart.

  She parted her lips as if to speak, but when no sound emerged, she gave a gentle shake of her head and smiled before trying again. “Thank you. For everything. For rescuing me tonight. For insisting on coming to the party. For keeping Fredrick safe. For...everything,” she finished with a heavy sigh.

  The words sounded like a good-bye.

  And why wouldn’t they be?

  With Shelbourne dead and the threat to Frederick apparently eliminated, his purpose was concluded. She would likely expect him to find a new residence as quickly as possible.

  Perhaps he should tell her his suspicion that Shelbourne was involved in something that went much farther than the work her father had done for him. That there might be others...

  Not tonight. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. Tonight, the woman needed rest.

  After reaching past her to open her door, he swept her up into his arms. Rather than resist him as he half expected her to, she cuddled into his chest and sighed.

  Laying her out atop her bed, Mason went about removing the trappings of her fine evening attire. She barely stirred as he stripped her down to her chemise then tucked her into bed.

  When he straightened and would have walked away, she reached out to wrap her hand around his wrist. “Stay with me,” she murmured softly.

  With his heart beating thick in his throat, he replied roughly, “Not tonight, luv.”

  Her hand dropped away as she slipped into sleep. To keep himself from crawling into the bed with her after all, Mason turned away and left the room.

  UPON WAKING THE NEXT morning, Katherine immediately went in search of Frederick. She didn’t want to wait another moment to tell him the man behind the abductions was gone for good. She found her brother in the schoolroom with Claire.

  The little girl saw her first and scrambled quickly to her feet to run across the room and lift her arms toward Katherine. With a smile, she scooped the toddler into her arms and held her close, breathing deep of the child’s sweet scent.

  “My lady.” The nurse rose from her chair in the corner to curtsy.

  “Good morning.” She glanced to Frederick, who’d been sitting at a small writing desk but now crossed the room to her.

  “Morning, Kit,” he said with a smile. “How was your evening?”

  “Eventful,” Katherine replied, “and exactly what I came to talk with you about.” Her brother arched a brow. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Shall we walk down together?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ll take Claire,” the nurse offered, hurrying forward.

  Katherine looked at the girl in her arms who’d started twirling a tendril that had fallen from Katherine’s coiffure around her little finger. “Has she eaten yet?”

  “Uh, no. We were planning to ring for something shortly.”

  “Do you mind if she joins my brother and me downstairs?”

  The woman looked at her in shocked silence. After a long moment, she sputtered, “I don’t think that’d be proper, my lady.”

  Katherine laughed. “You may’ve noticed we don’t worry a great deal about what is proper. I think she’d enjoy a little time away from the schoolroom.” Smiling at the flustered nurse, she assured, “I’m sure we can handle a little egg and sausage. I’ll bring her back immediately after, I promise.”

  “Of course, my lady,” she finally said with another curtsy.

  Lowering the girl back to her feet, Katherine took her hand. “To the breakfast room, then?”

  “Fweddie come, too?”

  “I’ll lead the way,” her brother replied.

  Not much later, they were all settled at the small dining table in the sunny yellow room with plates filled from the generous breakfast buffet. A footman had found a large, firm cushion to boost Claire higher in her seat, and Katherine sat close beside her, with Frederick taking a place across from them.

  Assisting the little girl triggered a swift rush of memories to when Frederick had been the same age. Though they’d eaten in the schoolroom together, Katherine had always insisted on helping her brother with his utensils and, later, with his table manners. Looking up now, she grinned at the capable young man he’d become. She hadn’t done too bad a job in her devoted mothering of the boy.

  “So, what occurred last night?” he asked. “You said the party was eventful.”

  “It was, indeed,” she replied.

  As her brother commenced to cleaning his plate and Katherine paused here and there to re-tuck Claire’s napkin or assist in capturing a particularly resistant piece of sausage, she related the events of the evening with a reasonable amount of detail.

  By the end, her brother was surprisingly stoic.

  “I’m sorry you were forced to go through that, Kit.”

  She reached across the table with a shake of her head. “I’m not. Because now we know the face of our enemy. And he’s no longer a threat.”

  “But Father’s journals are still missing.”

  “True,” she said with a sigh as she straightened in her chair and looked at her brother with steady eyes. She couldn’t forget how Shelbourne had consistently used the word we when going on about his plot to force Frederick into recreating Father’s formula. “There is very clearly a broader picture to this story, which we’re not currently privy to. However, I think our cousin Warfield will soon be enlightening us.” She smiled tightly. “In fact, I’ve invited him to dinner tonight. I’ll leave it entirely up to you if you’d like to join us.”

  Frederick’s expression was thoughtful, but he replied without hesitation, “I’d very much like to meet the new marquess. He’s the heir to Northmoor, after all. It’s important we get to know the man.”

  Katherine couldn’t agree more.

  SEVERAL MINUTES BEFORE the appointed hour, Katherine sat in the center of the sofa in the front parlor awaiting her dinner guests. Frederick was expected to be down soon, but for now, she was alone. She’d dressed in a new gown of seafoam green with violet trim. It was important the Blackwells made a strong impression, so she chose the most sophisticated dress she owned. As dinner tonight was intended to be a more formal affair than anything they’d had at the house before, she’d considered wearing a set of her mother’s jewels, but decided against it as she’d feel much more herself without them. Mason arrived first—as usual avoiding proper announcement by her butler. One moment, she was glancing anxiously about the room, and in the next, his impressive form was filling the doorway. Dressed in proper evening wear—including a dashing cravat—he took her breath away.

  Rising to her feet, she tried to smile with a confident air but wasn’t sure she’d managed to pull it off
as she recalled how he’d helped her to bed the night before and chose to leave though she’d asked him to stay. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  He grinned and her belly flipped. “I’ve learned to do as my duchess commands.”

  She resisted a smile to arch her brow. “Is that so?”

  His chuckle was deep. Warm.

  “I hope Claire wasn’t too disappointed that you didn’t join her for dinner.”

  “I did join her.” Then he lowered his head toward hers to whisper, “Healthy appetite, remember.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant the words to sound sensual and suggestive, but that was how her body took them as heat flowed through her.

  Before she could respond, Foster appeared in the doorway. “Lord Blackwell, Marquess of Warfield, my lady.” The butler stepped aside as Warfield entered the room.

  He was dressed all in black but for a white cravat, which appeared to be his common style even when he wasn’t spying. As he came forward into the room, his blue eyes slid to Mason first. The two men took each other’s measure with cool, assessing stares. Then Mason gave a short grunt as his mouth tilted in a cocky half grin.

  The marquess turned away almost dismissively to greet Katherine with a proper bow. As he straightened, she offered a tempered smile. “Welcome, my lord. I’m pleased you were able to join us.”

  Though he returned her smile, Warfield’s pale eyes remained indifferent. “Lady Katherine, I was under the impression your invitation didn’t allow optional attendance,” he replied in a voice that was all silk and velvet in texture though slightly rigid in tone.

  Mason gave a snorting laugh, which earned a swift scowl from Katherine before she addressed the marquess with another smile. “An intuitive deduction, cousin. Please have a seat. We’re still waiting for my brother to join us. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  Warfield gave a shallow nod. “As I am him.”

  As she turned to lead the way to the arrangement of sofas and chairs, Katherine caught Mason’s fierce expression as he eyed the marquess. She gave him a quick frown of warning—do not make this any more uncomfortable than it already is—to which he responded with a subtle twisting smirk that assured her of nothing.