Page 111 of Noble Scoundrel

Epilogue

Two months later

Mason snuck into the Mayfair mansion through the garden entrance. All was silent. As expected for the late hour. Though stealth wasn’t his strong suit, he did his best to lessen the noise of his movements by shedding his heavy, rain-soaked greatcoat and wet boots and leaving them by the door before creeping quietly down the hall.

He didn’t get far before he stopped abruptly to listen.

An unexpected sound. And not far away.

A sneaking suspicion arose and he continued carefully forward. Then he saw it—the subtle glow of candlelight flickering in the room ahead.

Emboldened, he approached the doorway to risk a peek inside.

Just as he’d thought.

“Papa!”

Claire saw him first. Warmth rushed through him as her soft cheeks widened in a smile. She lifted a sugary pastry in his direction. “Sweets.”

He chuckled and strode forward to where his daughter sat atop the tall wooden table. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he glanced over her head and met his wife’s dark gaze.

Contentment.

Such an odd word. And an even odder feeling. But he was getting used to it.

He drew back to ask softly, “Another nightmare, sweet pea?”

Claire stuck her bottom lip out in a pout as she nodded sadly.

“Spiders,” Katherine clarified.

Relief washed through him. Claire’s memories of the time she’d been abducted were slowly fading away. Nightmares about spiders were a welcome exchange. “You know I won’t let anything hurt you. Not even spiders.”

Claire shook her head. “No hurt spiders!”

Mason glanced to Katherine with a raised brow.

“Claire was trying to save the spider from a giant boot.”

“I see,” he murmured thickly as he slowly wrapped the little girl in a strong embrace. “You’re a kind, brave girl, you are.”

After a moment, Claire wriggled to be free. He released her and she immediately stuffed a huge bite of pastry in her mouth.

Katherine had come around to his side of the table and he turned to take her in his arms next. She melted against him, her arms encircling his neck as she raised her face for a kiss. It was quick and chaste, but it still stirred his blood.

“How is it going?” she whispered.

Pulling back, he looked into her eyes and felt a connection unlike anything he’d known before. It startled him sometimes.

He considered evading her question but knew it’d be futile. His jaw clenched. “It’s damned dangerous. Not for me. But Warfield...”

She frowned. “What can I do?”

He stopped her with a quick squeeze and a sharp shake of his head. “Nothing, luv.”

She nodded, but before she could reply, a newcomer in nightshirt and robe stumbled into the kitchen. Combing a hand back through sleep-tousled hair, Freddie glancing about in confusion. “What’s this?”

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