The lush red carpeting cushioned his steps, allowing him to approach silently. Still, before he stepped into the doorway, Callista called out from within. “Don’t lurk in the shadows, Mason. It’s unbecoming.”
Crossing into the room decorated in shades of red and black, he found his sister seated on an elegant chaise, claret in hand. Her fair hair was twisted and curled into a sophisticated coiffure that showed off her long neck, bare shoulders, and deep décolletage. Though older than Mason by nearly twelve years, she looked to be no more than thirty until you got close enough to see the fine lines fanning from her bright green eyes and the world-weary cynicism in her gaze.
Mason’s smile was genuine as he replied. “You know I don’t give a shit for appearances.”
“Which is why you’re still in the East End and I...” She gave a dramatic gesture with her slim hand, flashing the tattoo of a dragon that spanned her arm from wrist to elbow. “I am here.”
Crossing to take a seat in an oversized leather chair, Mason cocked his head. “I happen to like the East End.” He ignored her condescending expression of disbelief to add, “But you’ve managed to hit on the reason I stopped by. I’ve changed addresses.”
“Thank God. That house of ruffles and frills was a monstrosity. The blasted place gave me a headache whenever I visited.”
“You came by once.”
“And I got a headache. Hence the fact I never returned.”
“Well, my new residence will likely meet your exalted standards. It’s in Mayfair.”
She threw back her head and laughed. The sound was sultry and smooth. Not at all the boisterous laughter he recalled from the rare instances of humor they’d shared in childhood. “Don’t be absurd, Mace. If you’re going to lie about something, you know better than to make it so impossible to believe.”
“I’ve been hired as bodyguard to the Duke of Northmoor.”
His sister’s glittering eyes narrowed. Shrewd intelligence sparked in their depths. “I’m unfamiliar with him.”
“Not surprising, Lissy. He’s a boy.”
Her keen interest dispersed in an instant once she heard Mason’s duke wasn’t a potential client. Sipping from her crystal glass, she eased back against the raised end of the chaise. “How’d you land that job?”
“The boy’s sister is very intent on his safety.”
“She sounds overzealous,” Callista said dismissively before tilting her head to eye Mason curiously. “Or is she?”
“No. There’s a true threat to the boy. He’s the one I found with Claire.”
“Interesting.”
“I need to find out who’s behind the threat. The only real suspect so far is the Marquess of Warfield. Know him?”
“Hmmm. I knew of him. Some years ago, there were rumors about a man named Warfield. Sinister rumors,” she added heavily. “The kind women of my profession never forget. If I recall correctly, the man was exiled following a particularly damaging scandal that was very effectively kept from common knowledge. If he’d returned to London, I’d have heard of it.”
“Are you sure?”
A pale brow arced. “Do you doubt me?”
Mason flashed a smile. “Never. I suppose he could be directing things from afar. If you hear anything in regard to the man, could you let me know?”
His sister’s expression tightened. “You know my rules.”
“As Warfield isn’t currently one of your clients, the rules wouldn’t apply.”
“Yes, but any information obtained from a member of Pendragon’s is off-limits. My girls are provided the same protections, Mason. You know that.”
He did. His sister fiercely guarded the privacy of her clientele. He loved his sister. Always would. But the hard-edged determination that had gotten her from the gin shops to the current degree of luxury and influence she currently enjoyed also reminded him time and time again that Callista was now Madam Pendragon. And she never, for any reason, put her exalted livelihood at risk.
With a gruff sound, he rose to his feet. “Then I’d better hope information is available by other means.”
“I’ll share what I can.”
“I know.”
“Since you’re here, I’ve a request for you, as well.”
Mason arched a brow. His sister rarely asked for anything. “What’s that?”
“I’ve recently lost two of my flash men. I’ll need replacements by the end of next month.”
Callista was well-known for being demanding and extremely selective when it came to the people who worked for her. Mason was familiar with her unique and strict requirements for the men she employed, which was why she came to him whenever she was in need of new muscle to keep her establishment secure and her women protected.
“That doesn’t give me much time to ensure they’re trained to your usual specifications.”
Callista’s smile was short and somewhat dismissive. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“I will,” he agreed, but then offered a smile of his own as he thought of his shifting business focus. Once the threat to Freddie was resolved, he still needed a new vocation. “Of course, you’ll be happy to spread favorable reports of my services to the many varied establishments in London that might also have need of well-trained men.”
His sister sighed. “Must I? I rather enjoy having a monopoly on the best flash men in town.”
Mason laughed. “You’re the one who taught me never to give without expecting something in return.”
She wrinkled her nose in a way that reminded him of the girl she’d once been. “I did teach you that, didn’t I?” She waved her hand. “Very well. You’ll soon become the most sought-after supplier of muscle this town has ever seen.”
He didn’t doubt it. In many ways, Madam Pendragon held more influence than the Prince Regent.
He left the brothel, anxious to return to the Northmoor mansion. Though he didn’t expect another attack on Freddie so soon after the prior day’s failed attempt, he’d been away long enough, and he wanted to see how Claire was faring in her new surroundings. She’d been so tired the night before after romping around with Freddie in the schoolroom that she’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d tucked
