Page 36 of Noble Scoundrel

“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.”

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