![]() ![]() ![]() If he been a proper sort of father, Claire would have been with him when Molly abandoned her and left London for parts unknown. If he’d been more present, he might have noticed Molly’s growing addiction to opium. He regretted that assumption more than anyone could know. But he’d never believed her to be in danger. Molly tended to move about a lot and there were times Mason had no idea where his daughter was. Believing the babe was best off in her mother’s care, he didn’t see his small daughter as often as he’d have liked, but he supported them as best he could. His only example of fatherhood had been his own drunken, violent sire, and he was confident he wouldn’t manage to do much better. Peeking at the tiny pink face of his daughter for the very first time, Mason had experienced a kind of fear he’d never known before. It wasn’t until several months later that Molly had come knocking on his door, demanding money for the care and keeping of the girl-child swaddled in her arms. Her mother had worked at a dance hall near the docks, and though she and Mason had been lovers for a short time, they’d parted ways after only a brief affair. He hadn’t learned of Claire’s existence until she was already a few months old. It wasn’t so many weeks ago that his two-year-old daughter had been lost in the great and terrible city. The words triggered an instant tension in Mason’s body and a sickening twist in his guts. “He’s been asking about a boy, twelve years old, dark hair and eyes, with fine speech, recently arrived in London.currently suspected to be alone in the city.” “There’ve been murmurs-nothing specific and nothing concrete-of a former Runner by the name of George Boothe poking around for information that lines up with our own inquiries.” With a lift of his brows, Mason waited for Turner to continue. His harsh words had been more a product of his impatience than an attempt at intimidation. He wasn’t above using his brutish appearance to his advantage when necessary, but such tactics weren’t likely to work on Turner. Mason’s size and rough manner had a tendency to threaten people even when it wasn’t his intention. Turner responded to the sharp command with a subtle tilt of his head. When Turner finally glanced up, his expression was as flat as his tone. He’d only recently discovered his friend was also the man known with equal awe in both the rookery and the ton as Nightshade, a man of various talents and unmentionable skills who accomplished tasks (usually covert and often dangerous) no one else could. Mason took position near the fireplace rather than trust the ridiculously delicate-looking furniture.įor years, Mason had known Turner as an occasional sparring partner who frequented similar haunts around London’s East End. ![]() Turner had a specifically developed talent for looking at home and at ease no matter where he happened to be. Mason waited impatiently with his arms crossed as Dell Turner took a seat in one of the pink and yellow chintz-covered chairs complete with scrolled arms and claw-foot legs. A woman of undeniable strength, bravery, and heart. TENDER BLACKGUARD | Now available for pre-order! Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.Ĭoming Soon from Amy Sandas | TENDER BLACKGUARD | Peril & Persuasion - Book Two ![]()
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