The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(120)

As he finished dressing, Dell recalled everything he knew about Hale. Mason Hale had become a celebrated pugilist from his very first fight at the age of seventeen. His career had been lucrative, but Hale had taken his last purse a few years ago. He now handled the stakes for many of the blokes who used to bet on him in the ring. And seemed to be doing quite well with the business.

He also did not suffer fools lightly and never let a loan go past expiration, so the Chadwick woman’s story fit.

To a point.

Dell had never known Mason Hale to resort to kidnapping. It was not his style. After leaving the ring, Hale had preferred to use his brain more than his brawn to make his way. Dell was curious what the man would have to say about the Chadwick girl’s abduction—he fully intended to pay him a visit.

Once he got the pest out of his house.

“Did you hear me?” she asked behind him. “I am going with you to see Hale.”

Dell took a steadying breath. It was not to cool his temper. Dell did not have a temper. One had to experience some degree of passion to be pushed into a loss of control. Dell Turner preferred to keep things strictly business. His life was work, and work was lucrative.

Still, he needed a moment before turning back to face Miss Chadwick.

When he had stepped into the doorway of his parlor and nearly collided with the young woman bristling with energy, something disconcerting had caught and held in his awareness. He had an ingrained skill for reading people within a split second of meeting them. Vital for survival when he had been a lad running the streets, it was an invaluable tool in his current profession. But never had he felt the kind of sharp tug he’d experienced then—and again now as he turned to see her standing stubbornly in front of the doorway, essentially blocking his exit.

He eyed her critically.

She was beautiful. A mass of very dark hair was piled atop her head in a slightly mussed arrangement that allowed for glossy curls to fall against her stunning cheekbones, pert jaw, and slim neck. Her eyebrows winged elegantly over her gaze, and her large gray eyes were frighteningly direct. For a man who relied on going mostly unobserved, her penchant for staring irked his composure.

Yes, she was beautiful. Striking, actually. And annoying to be sure, but he could manage annoying people easily enough by ignoring them.

Unfortunately, neither of those things explained the internal discomfort he experienced in the woman’s presence. He forced aside his internal disquiet before answering. “You and the old lady are going home.”

She narrowed her gaze, and Dell felt that irritating tug again. He stalked toward the door.

Which unfortunately brought him closer to her.

She tipped her chin back as he approached, and he realized anew how small she was. Petite and slim, she barely reached as high as his shoulder, yet she stood her ground.

“I want to know what Hale has to say, and I intend to be there for my sister.”

“Your sister would be better served if you allowed me to do what you hired me for. Your presence will jeopardize the process.”

Those winged sable eyebrows dipped low.

“You do not understand. Lily is very sensitive. She will be frightened.”

“If you come with me, she could end up dead.”

Horror flashed in her gaze, but her teeth clenched tight in resistance.

Dell did not explain his methods for getting things done, and he did not argue with clients. He did what he did because it was what needed to be done. It was the reason people came to him. He did not bother with unnecessary niceties.

“Look at yourself, Miss Chadwick,” he began, irritation thick in his voice. “Hale will take one look at you in that pure-white dress and velvet-lined cloak and clam up. You do not belong where I am going. Your kind is not trusted. Rouse the woman snoring in my parlor and go home. I will send a message when I have news.”

It looked as though she would argue some more. She wanted to. Proof of it was evident in the tension radiating from her compact feminine form, the bullish tilt of her chin, and the piercing nature of her stare. And yet she said nothing.

After a minute, she shifted her weight, and Dell assumed she was going to step aside to let him pass. Instead, she stepped toward him. Toe to toe, she tipped her head back and lifted her hand to tap his chest with an elegant finger.

Another fierce tug of discomfort.

“You will bring my sister back to me, Mr. Turner. Alive.”

Dell looked down into her beautiful face, meeting her stark, gray gaze. “That is what you are paying me to do,” he replied.

“Excellent. I will wait with my great-aunt in your parlor.”

He struggled to hold back the sharp word that pushed against the back of his teeth as the maddening woman turned to leave the room. He stood for a moment, listening to her light tread make its way down the hall then the stairs.

He aimed a mental kick at himself for getting so off track. Time was of vital importance in a kidnapping. He needed to move.

Shoving thoughts of the woman from his mind, he descended the stairs two at a time. Out on the street, Morley, the closest thing Dell had to an assistant, had already brought the carriage around and was perched in the driver’s seat.

At least someone knew how to follow instructions.

As soon as Dell climbed into the carriage, they were off.

Gratefully, Hale was not far away, and within another fifteen minutes, the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the two-story building nestled along a dark lane.