“The former duke lived a reclusive life in the country until he was killed in a house fire several months ago. His wife had passed a number of years earlier so Northmoor’s death left behind two orphaned children. Since the fire that took their father also destroyed much of their home, the young duke—currently aged twelve—and his adult sister moved into the long-neglected London residence.” Turner paused before adding, “The new Duke of Northmoor is also known as Frederick Blackwell.”
Mason stared. Incredulous. “You’re saying Freddie’s a blasted duke?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Mason thought of the boy currently upstairs. Judging by the clothing he’d worn when he’d been found and his refined manners, it was highly likely he came from a noble family.
But a goddamned duke?
He met Turner’s solemn gaze. “A newly minted duke goes missing and there’s not a whimper of it in the papers? No demand to drain the Thames? There should’ve been an army of Runners choking the streets and knocking on every door.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” Turner agreed. “The two have been as reclusive in town as they’d been in the country.”
Mason began to pace across the room but stopped when he nearly toppled an entire display of porcelain farm animals. “If Freddie and this duke are one and the same, he had to’ve gone missing weeks ago. Assuming it’s the sister who’s searching for him, why wouldn’t she have gotten the full force of Bow Street on the case instead of one retired Runner?”
Turner shrugged. “Why would the boy refuse to reveal his identity once he’d been rescued from Bricken?” He cast a sardonic glance about the room. “Nothing against your new place, but you’d think the boy would be anxious to return to the luxury of Mayfair.”
The two men looked at each other. Turner’s expression was calm, alert, implacable, whereas Mason could feel frustration in the tugging weight of his brow and the hard clench of his jaw.
He hated mysteries and wanted the one about Freddie cleared. He didn’t like owing anyone and this debt was too big to ignore. It wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw Freddie reunited with his people. A difficult task, since the boy had not been forthcoming on that issue.
“Northmoor is a wealthy dukedom. Maybe he’s worried you’ll demand a ransom to return him once you discover his origins.” There was an obvious tone of reprimand in Turner’s voice. “You have employed similar villainy in the past.”
Mason narrowed his gaze at the overt reference to his less than honorable behavior when he’d been desperate to recover his daughter. In the weeks prior to abandoning Claire, Molly had been working Mason over for money. She’d claimed she wanted to start a new life free from prostitution and the draw of opium. But when Mason hadn’t gotten the funds she’d demanded fast enough, she’d threatened to take Claire somewhere he’d never find her.
As a moneylender for underground boxing matches, Mason was forced to call in markers on every loan pending repayment. Even one he’d been inclined to let slide. Back then, he’d still believed Molly was a good mother, despite her selfishness and her struggle with opium. If he’d known what she was capable of, he’d have claimed his daughter and left her mother to fend for herself.
There was a helluva lot he’d have done differently, if he’d been less selfish himself.
“I’m not proud of what I did to the Chadwick chits,” he replied stiffly. He wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself to anyone, but figured he owed something on this. “I was out of my head when Molly threatened to take Claire away and needed the money their father owed.”
Turner stared back at him, cool and silently assessing. Then he gave a short nod signaling the topic was at rest. At least for now. Since that situation had involved someone close to Turner, Mason suspected it would be a long time before the matter was fully forgiven.
Probably rightfully so.
Still...Mason couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do the same if Claire ever again ended up in peril. Which brought him back to Freddie, the boy who’d done his best to protect the little girl when Mason couldn’t.
He ran his hand along his jaw. “Could be Freddie’s got some other reason for not wanting to go home. How could a young nobleman end up in the hands of a man like Bricken in the first place?”
Turner tilted his head. “Good question. That blighter sure as hell wouldn’t’ve had the means to abduct a duke and likely never would have thought to try, which means he probably acquired Freddie by a stroke of luck or random opportunity.” He paused. Hazel eyes darkened in thought. “Or someone saw Bricken as a convenient means of disposing of the boy.”
“Shit,” Mason muttered. “What d’you know of the sister?”
“Only that Lady Katherine Blackwell is twenty years of age and never had a London debut. As I said, they’ve lived a very reclusive life.”
“Could she be behind it all?”
“There is not enough information to confirm nor refute that possibility.”
But it was a possibility. “Until there is,” Mason replied, “we consider her a threat.”
“Assuming Freddie and this Duke of Northmoor are one and the same.”
Mason considered Freddie’s manner of absolute self-containment and that subtle air of command he possessed without even trying. The way he kept silent about his home and people. His stiff manner and suspicious gaze. A certainty settled in Mason’s bones. “It’s him.”
Turner didn’t refute his statement, leading Mason to think he believed the same. “Well, at least there are no rumors connecting the boy with a certain former bare-knuckle boxer.”
Mason thought for a moment before replying. “Maybe there should be.”
Turner’s brows lifted. “You want to invite some trouble?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mason replied with a slow, humorless grin. “Have one of your people get word to this Boothe that the boy might have been seen at my old place.”
“It’ll be done,” Turner replied with a short nod, “but I won’t
