Page 40 of Tender Blackguard

Alastair stilled as Turner’s words twisted through his mind. An important event.

“Wait a moment,” Portia said thoughtfully, pulling Alastair from his thoughts. She was looking at her husband intently. “One of the girls tonight pulled me aside before we arrived to give me some advice as the new girl. She made a clear point of warning me that the lords could be rather intense in their pleasures, which was to be expected, but that if any of them expressed an interest in taking me to a private party outside of Mayfair, I should make any excuse possible to refuse. She was quite adamant, but before I could question her further, our discussion was interrupted.”

“She gave no indication of why you should avoid it?” Alastair pressed.

“I’m afraid not,” Portia replied before directing the next words to Turner once again. “But I know how to reach her. I believe I can get her talk to me in more depth.”

Turner’s expression darkened as he shifted his attention from his wife back to Alastair. Arching a brow, he asked, “I understand you advised Hale that you had no need for assistance in your investigation. Have you changed your mind on that issue?”

There was an obvious pause. “It seems I must have,” he said finally and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

“Am I right in assuming you provided Hale and Lady Katherine with only a vague overview of this issue?” When Alastair didn’t deny it, Turner added, “It’ll save a great deal of time and resources if you shared everything you’ve discovered about the brotherhood’s activities. Past and present.”

“Everything?” Alastair asked coolly. “Is that all?”

“Every detail,” Turner noted evenly. “There’s no telling what might be a critical bit of information.”

If he was going to take on partners in this endeavor, he realized he couldn’t do it in half measure. “I understand.”

Over the next hour and a half, he imparted the facts as he knew them, whether gleaned from his mother’s distressed accusations over the years and her letters, his sire’s notes on the brotherhood’s activities, or his own investigations to date. He left out nothing of his suspicions regarding the brotherhood’s suspected connections to the missing housemaids over the last few years. When he began to disclose the bits of evidence he’d gathered on that topic, the Turners shared an intense glance. And all the while, Turner took meticulous notes in a notebook he withdrew from his pocket as Portia interjected with ever more pertinent, pointed, and insightful questions along the way.

“These noblemen target girls and young women who they consider of no consequence. They lure them and trick them and deceive them into trusting them. Then they use them for their amusement and pleasure. They’ve been doing it for decades. And these women have had no recourse for justice. No way to fight back. If any of them did, they were quickly silenced.” He clenched his teeth. “And now, young women are going missing with disturbing regularity. Never to be heard from again. We may learn of a great deal more once we have the names of the other members.”

Turner nodded.

“It’s truly frightening how long these men have been allowed to operate,” Portia muttered.

“They’ve got powerful allies, Mrs. Turner. Garnered through favors, blackmail, or cash. People who may not know exactly what they’re helping to cover up but who are willing to accept the benefits of doing as they’re told. Constables, judges, even a member of the royal household. I assure you, my dissolute sire didn’t earn his title through noble means.”

“Well”—Turner sighed as he slipped his notebook back into his pocket—“this certainly puts the investigation into greater context.”

“We need undisputable proof of their crimes. And undeniable evidence linking each of the men involved,” Alastair insisted. “Information that cannot be disputed or covered up through bribery.”

“I imagine you will be angling for an invitation to the upcoming event,” Turner noted.

“Of course.”

“Hopefully, our early departure this evening won’t cause any damage to your licentious character, my lord,” Portia noted.

Her husband made a low sound that might have been dissent or reluctant agreement. But he gave a short nod to his wife then rose to his feet. Extending his hand to the lady, he drew her easily to his side.

Alastair felt the need to offer a fair warning as he also stood. “I appreciate the risk you took this evening, Mrs. Turner, and although I’d be grateful for your continued efforts, I must stress the degree of danger these men pose. Do not underestimate what they’re capable of.”

The lady arched a fine black brow and narrowed her gaze just a bit. “I wouldn’t underestimate me, either, Lord Warfield.”

Turner’s voice was firm with pride and conviction. “My wife is very competent in her role. She wouldn’t be my partner if it were otherwise.”

While the lady in question beamed at her husband’s reply, Alastair met his hard stare. For a man who seemed to convey such a neutral demeanor and appearance, there was suddenly a great deal to be read in those eyes.

With a chuckle, Portia patted her husband’s arm. “Shall we be off, darling? We’ve much yet to do this night. And I’m anxious to start with getting myself out of this infernal getup. Of all the costumes I’ve worn, this must be the worst.”

Turner’s expression shifted from his stoic facade for the first time as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear that brought an immediate sparkle to her eye and a blush to her cheeks.

Alastair felt a need to clear his throat. “Allow me to see you out.”

Before leaving, Turner paused and turned back to Alastair. “You mentioned your father’s memoir, my lord. Might I borrow the notes for a time?”

Tensing, Alastair nodded. “It’s a personal accounting of his experiences within the brotherhood prior to his exile. Although it goes into a great deal of detail regarding his own depraved experiences, it will not likely have much of benefit referring to the brotherhood’s current activities.”

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