Portia’s hand was pressed to the center of Dell’s back, and she could feel every ripple of tension through him as he stared down the intruder.
She had recognized the voice instantly. As soon as the initial burst of alarm swept through her, she realized they were not likely in danger, though Hale sounded fiercely angry.
When Dell did not respond right away, she peeked around his shoulder to get her first look at Lily’s ruthless abductor and the man who had sketched the image of his daughter with such loving, ethereal lines.
Mason Hale was furious. And huge. And undeniably intimidating.
It was impossible to dismiss his towering form, the thick breadth of his shoulders, or the roped and bulging muscles in his arms. He was all height and breadth and physical strength. He was younger than she had expected. Barely thirty, she would guess, perhaps even younger. He had long blond hair tied back at his nape. Some strands had worked their way from his queue to fall rakishly against his bold, squarish features, currently forced into a fearsome scowl.
If not for the violence in his expression and his unsavory history with her family, she may have considered him handsome. In a rough, brutish sort of way.
“I am waiting, Turner, and my patience has worn frightfully thin in the last weeks,” Hale threatened between clenched teeth.
Finally, she felt the tension slide down Dell’s spine until he shook his head. “Fine. This way, Hale.”
He gestured to his study, and Hale turned to lead the way with floor-eating strides. Portia followed along behind Dell, though after that first protective action, his focus had remained steady upon his unexpected guest.
Once they were all in the study, Hale swept his gaze in her direction. His eyes were hard and angry.
“Leave your wench outside. This can be of no interest to her.”
Dell glanced aside at Portia as she continued forward into the room. She forgot she still held her woolen cap in her hand, and though she wore boys’ clothing, the long braid falling over her shoulder gave her away. She looked back at Dell with a mulish expression, telling him she would not be chased away without a fight.
Dell swung his gaze back to Hale. “She stays.”
Hale turned to look at her less dismissively, his intent gaze taking in her appearance from head to toe. His eyes narrowed, and his brows lowered darkly.
“Do I know you?”
Portia lifted her chin and gave a falsely bright smile. “Not personally. But you know my family, and you have had the unique pleasure of my sister’s unwilling company. People say we do look similar, though she is by far the more genteel and forgiving. You choose your victims well, Hale.”
His eyes flickered. “You are one of the Chadwick chits,” he stated.
Portia executed a saucy little curtsy, made all the more mocking by her boys’ togs. “I’d say it is a pleasure,” she replied with smooth charm, “but…you understand.”
Hale stared at her a long moment. She could see the muscles along his jaw working as though he was struggling with words. Rather than saying any more to her directly, the former prizefighter glanced again at Dell. “An explanation, Turner,” he demanded, but his tone was not nearly so ferocious as when he had arrived.
“We were at Gregor Dune’s today following up on some information about your daughter.”
Hale’s entire body stiffened, and his large hands curled into imposing fists at his sides. “What do you know of my daughter?”
There was a long pause. “You hired me to find her,” Dell replied in a carefully modulated voice, as though he were not quite certain of Hale’s reaction.
Hale’s wary gaze swung between Dell, dressed as Robert French, and Portia, dressed as a boy. Then he heaved a deep and torturous sigh as the tension in his body fled him in a rush and he dropped down into a chair, doubling over until his elbows propped on his knees and his face fell into his hands.
With a gruff sound, he rubbed his hands over his face and then sat up straight again, having collected himself. He looked to Dell. “You are Nightshade?”
Dell nodded. “I am.”
There was a pause of silence, during which Portia wisely held her tongue. She sensed the moment was vital to Hale’s trust in Turner.
“What of her?” Hale asked, jerking his chin toward Portia though his gaze remained trained on Dell.
Dell took a breath before answering. “Miss Chadwick has insisted upon helping with this task.”
“Why?” Suspicion was evident in Hale’s tone.
“Because I did not want my sister’s misadventure to be for naught,” Portia answered as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I know why you needed the money. If you truly had no other options, I may even understand why you chose to kidnap Lily in order to get it. But my sister was an innocent victim, Mr. Hale. I would not see another innocent injured in this wretched plot if I can assist in preventing it.”
Another long stare from Hale then a short nod. “Fair enough.” Turning back to Dell, he asked, “And what have you learned of Molly’s whereabouts? Is she back in town, then? Is that why you were at Dune’s?”
The hope in his voice was unmistakable and heartbreaking, considering what they had just learned of Claire’s possible fate.
Dell tugged off his wig and removed the prosthetic nose that transformed him into French. Portia held back, watching Hale. Watching Dell. This was not going to be an easy conversation.
“There has been nothing to suggest that Molly Andrews has returned to London,” Dell began as he set the pieces of his disguise on a side table. “The truth is, Claire is not in her company and has not been for these last two weeks.”
Hale’s glower would have made anyone tremble. But Dell met his gaze squarely.
Portia realized then the mutual respect between the two men went beyond that of mere acquaintances. The realization was a bit of a shock. Why hadn’t Dell told her Hale was his friend?
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Molly left Claire in the keeping of her former roommate, Suzanne.”
“What?” Hale rose to his feet in a rush of muscled intention. “She has been in that bloody hovel this whole time? Dammit. I could have gone in there and gotten her myself.”
Dell held up his hand when it appeared Hale intended to go back to Dune’s that very second to do just that. Hale’s entire body was primed to fight. His shoulders squared off, and the muscles in his arms bulged beneath his coat as his hands formed into block-like fists.
“She is not there.”
Hale stopped. His expression was heavy as he stared hard at Dell, perhaps finally sensing the reluctance in Dell’s tone. “Tell me, Turner. Where is she?”
“I hope to have that exact information within the next several hours, but right now we do not know.”
The sound of grief that emanated from Hale’s chest hit Portia like a blast, making her heart ache.
“Have you ever heard the name Troy Bricken?” Dell asked.
“No,” Hale growled. “Should I have?”
“An extremely elusive criminal, he manages his business from an ever-changing location, hiring new employees, constantly altering methods of conducting his dealings.”
“What is his business?” Hale asked tightly, growing impatient and tense with Dell’s lead-in.
Portia understood Dell’s decision to slowly reveal the circumstances they were facing. He had once told her that sometimes there simply was no hope for a happy ending despite all he may do. He was trying to prepare Hale for the worst-possible potential, should they be unable to track down Bricken’s current operation. Or if once they did, it was too late.
“He sells children into the labor market, most often overseas.”
“And this man has Claire?” Hale’s voice had lowered to a deathly whisper.
The tone sent chills across Portia’s nape. She had seen people furious before—her father when he lost big at the tables, Lord Fallbrook after she kneed him in the groin—but she had never seen anyone with unmistakable murderous intent until that moment. Hale was clearly as dangerous as she and her sisters had always feared.
Dell met Hale’s fierce gaze. “I hope so. If he does, we will get her back.”
They all knew what was left unsaid. If Bricken no longer had Claire, they would likely have little chance of finding her.
“I will find the bastard, and then I will kill him,” Hale grumbled under his breath as he took a couple of lunging steps toward the door.
Portia swiftly stepped around to place herself directly in his path, lifting her hand to press her palm flat to his expansive chest.
In another second, Dell was there as well, standing just to the side, his expression a dark glower, his body tensed to intervene.
Hale stopped to look down at her with an expression so full of violence and anguish it nearly took her breath and her courage. But she held fast to both, even finding it in herself to give him a fierce little scowl in return.
“Remove yourself, woman. I am in no fucking mood.” He spoke in a tight growl, the words barely sliding past his clenched teeth. His solid chest heaved beneath her hand.
“Hale.” A single, low-spoken word from Dell. An unmistakable warning.
“You are going nowhere,” Portia said. “You will turn around and sit yourself back down in that chair.”
His lips twisted into a sneer, and his hands came up as if to grasp her and bodily remove her from his path. Dell shifted beside them, and Portia cast him a swift glance that begged he leave off for another moment. Then she continued in the tone Emma had used so often to brook no argument. “If you do not,” she stated sharply, pressing harder into his chest, “if you rush down to the docks as you wish to do, and go blasting through every tavern and warehouse and dark alley with those massive fists of yours, Bricken will panic and take off. He will hide Claire away until he can be rid of her for good. You know this is true.” She paused, seeing a wavering in Hale’s gaze. Then she added gently, “Put your faith in Nightshade. Trust Dell to do his work, and you have a chance of seeing your daughter again.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Do you understand me, Mr. Hale?”
The large man stood still for a moment, staring at her while his breath remained tight and difficult. She could feel his resistance, his instinct—his need—to fight. But then his bullish head swung to where Dell stood watching the scene intently.
“Do you deal with this kind of bossiness on the regular?” Hale grumbled.
Dell quirked a half smile. “She is right, you know.”
Hale dropped his chin in a brief show of defeat before he lifted his gaze again to pin Dell with as fierce a look as any Portia had ever seen.
“You will find her, Turner, and when you do, nothing will stop me from coming with you to retrieve her.”
Dell stared back at him for a long moment, convincing Portia even more that these two men shared a particular bond of friendship.
Hale did not move until Dell gave a short nod of agreement, then he finally stepped back and returned himself to the chair. “How long will it take for your informants to gather the necessary information?”
“Could take hours,” Dell replied. “Would you like a drink?”
“No,” Hale said with unnecessary force. “I drank more than enough when I learned of Molly’s deceit. The indulgence wasted nearly two days I could have been looking for Claire. I intend to hold on to my wits going forward.”
“There are preparations to be made before we raid Bricken’s lair,” Dell said as he started toward the door, catching Portia’s eye in a silent request that she follow him. “You will stay?” he asked Hale just before leaving the room.
The large brute of a man heaved a sigh and lifted his hands to rub them over his blunt features. Then he tipped his head to rest it against the high back of the chair and closed his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere until you do, Turner,” he muttered. “Still can’t believe you’re that one they call Nightshade.” He opened his eyes just enough to look at Dell through thin slits. “Deceitful bastard.”
Dell gave a low chuckle as he strode from the room.
Portia followed, knowing she needed to get home, though she hated to leave right then.
After only a few hours of sleep that morning, she had left in her boys’ clothes before anyone could be expected to venture from their bedrooms. She had left a message for Emma, stating she had gone to the park to practice her riding. She could only hope that no one would have thought it necessary to actually check for any missing horses or grooms to corroborate her story.
It was a risk to lie so blatantly when she could so easily have been found out. But Portia had counted on the fact that her sisters were both rather distracted these days. Still, it wouldn’t be easy to sneak back into the house without being seen in her boys’ clothes.
It was exhausting—all of the sneaking out, sneaking in, staying up all night only to catch a few brief hours of sleep in the late morning. Portia naturally enjoyed later hours, but trying to keep up with two lives was more complex than she had anticipated.
Still, it was entirely worth it, except for those moments when she had to leave Dell.
“I am not going to be able to keep you from joining us, am I?”
Dell had stopped with her in the front hall and turned to look at her with a dark, unreadable expression. She could see he was still upset by the altercation outside Dune’s building.
Portia shook her head, but had to ask, “Do you really want to?”
He lifted his hand to brush a few stray wisps of her hair from her brow, then continued his caress down the length of her braid, brushing his knuckles along the curve of her spine, until he grasped the end of the long plait in his fist. He pulled gently downward until her head tipped back even farther, exposing the length of her throat above the high-button collar of the boys’ shirt, lifting her lips toward his until she parted them on an expectant breath.
“I like having you with me, though I am sure I must be mad to confess such a thing,” he murmured, his tone husky and deep. “It is a dangerous mission we face tonight, love. There is no way to fully prepare for what we will encounter. No way to know how many men Bricken will have, where they will be housed, or how many children might be in his custody. We find Claire and get out of there as quickly as possible. We cannot save them all,” he warned.
Portia disagreed. They would save every last child they discovered.
But now was not the time to argue that point.
“I am coming with you, Turner. Do not dare to even try to keep me away.”
“And what of your dinner party?”
His question was uttered with light curiosity, but Portia sensed something weightier beneath his tone. She wondered at it, but answered him with confidence. “I shall return home for a bit, make a quick appearance to convince my family I am unfit for socializing tonight, and then I will return here. I shall be gone for barely more than a couple of hours. Obviously, if you receive your information before then, you must not wait for me. You must save Claire.” She rose up to her toes, pulling away from his still-secure grip on her braid until she could press her lips lightly to his. “I will be here when you return,” she whispered softly before claiming a kiss.
His arms encircled her slim form. One hand palmed her rear as he lifted her against him to deepen the connection.
A moment later, he set her back on her feet and forcefully turned her toward the door. “Off with you then,” he said as he gave a sharp smack to her bottom.
Portia tossed him a teasing scowl, then sauntered away with a deliberate swing in her hips. Just before she stepped through his front door, she took a moment to coil her braid back atop her head and cover it with the wool cap. Then she sent one last glance toward Dell to see that he watched her every move with a wonderfully proprietary light in his eyes.
With a soft smile, she strode swiftly out to the street and the hack waiting to take her back to Mayfair.