Noble Scoundrel (Peril & Persuasion Book 1)

by Amy Sandas

  “One of the kidnappers?”

  “No. Just a gentleman I’d noticed watching us earlier that day. I could have sworn I just spied him again.” She glanced to the oak. “Over there. But then he simply...disappeared.”

  “Tall, around thirty years of age, dressed in black, wearing a topper?”

  Katherine’s eyes widened. “You saw him?”

  “You don’t know who he is?”

  “No. He does seem very slightly familiar, but I cannot figure out why. I’m certain I’ve never met him before. Do you think he’s involved?”

  Hale didn’t answer that with anything more than a short grunt. Then he turned in his seat and made a sharp hand gesture. A second later, a stocky man with mussed black hair, a thick neck, and a heavy jaw rose from where he’d been crouched along the lakeshore. He took off at an easy lope down a footpath.

  “What?” Katherine swung her gaze back to Hale. “What just happened?”

  “I sent one of my men to follow him.”

  “Follow him? But how? He’d completely vanished. Just how many men do you have watching us?”

  The smile that widened Hale’s mouth then was full of self-conceit. But it only made the dratted man more attractive. “Instead of all the questions, duchess, you might consider trusting me.”

  She was starting to notice he only called her duchess when he was irritated by her or when he wanted to irritate her in turn. Otherwise, he more often used dove.

  And then there were those rare times he’d called her luv... She shook the thought from her head.

  Shortly after, Hale instructed Newton to direct them home. She spent the rest of the drive thinking about the familiar-looking stranger, wondering how he might be connected.

  The man in black had been watching her. She knew it for a fact. But how had he known she’d be at the park that day? Was he watching her house as well? Or had he been informed of their plans, somehow?

  That possibility was frightening.

  It didn’t help that deep down she felt certain she somehow knew who he was, though she could not connect him to anyone from memory. Her sense of recognition made absolutely no sense.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Katherine sat in the breakfast room, distrustfully eyeing the small, but still surprising, stack of invitations she’d received that morning.

  Invitations to an upcoming musicale, a luncheon, the theater, and a few small parties. All appropriate for a young lady only recently out of mourning.

  “What on earth am I supposed to do with these?” she muttered under her breath.

  “I believe you’re supposed to accept or send your regrets.”

  Katherine rolled her eyes at her brother’s statement of the obvious. “Easy for you to say when you don’t have to attend any of these events.”

  Frederick looked up from his plate of breakfast. “You don’t have to go to any of them if you don’t want to. I know that type of thing doesn’t interest you.”

  Though she appreciated her brother’s acknowledgement of her apathy toward the idea of entering London’s social whirl—even on a small scale—she was also aware of the fact that they needed to think beyond their current concerns to their greater future. Once they managed to eliminate the threat against him, her brother would have a whole long life ahead of him. He’d already admitted that he found London fascinating. And she suspected there would be a great deal in town that would fulfill his constant quest for intellectual challenges. Eventually, Frederick might wish to enter society, join the House of Lords, choose a wife.

  Their father may have scorned London society, but that did not mean Frederick had to resign himself to such a life. Though he wasn’t nearly old enough for such things at present, Katherine had an opportunity and an obligation to start paving the way.

  It also did not escape her consideration that their enemy could be amongst those who’d issued an invitation. Rather than deterring her, that possibility inspired her. The invitations might have provided the perfect means to get to know some of her father’s prior acquaintances.

  “Do you even know who half of these people are?” Frederick asked.

  “I recognize a few of the names, yes. But I’m not sure how to determine which invitations to accept and which to reject. As I have no chaperone, my options might be limited.”

  Frederick grimaced. “You’re hardly a schoolgirl. Is a chaperone really necessary?”

  “In most circumstances, yes.” She smirked. “Unless, you’d like your sister to cultivate a reputation for scandalous behavior.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  Leave it to Hale to walk in just as she said something a bit outrageous. He strode boldly into the room, looking fresh and handsome, as though he’d just come from his bath.

  “Morning, Freddie,” he said jovially before settling his sharp gaze on Katherine. “Morning, dove.” Then he winked.

  “It would seem my sister made an impression during your drive through the park yesterday,” Frederick offered with a gesture toward the invitations. “London has taken notice.”

  “An understatement,” Hale replied as he tossed a copy of the Times onto the table in front of Katherine. It had been folded open to the gossip pages.

  Though wary of what it might read, she picked it up anyway and scanned through the short passage Hale had circled with charcoal.

  A curious vision passed through the park yesterday, causing several gentlemen to stir with avid interest. All of London wonders...shall we be graced with another appearance of the lovely Lady K, daughter of a recluse and sister to a young duke?

  Katherine tossed the paper back onto the table only to have Frederick eagerly swipe it up. “Dramatic nonsense,” she muttered.

  Hale took a seat across from her, leaning back with his legs spread beneath the table and his hands folded over his trim belly. The look he gave her was arrogant and confident.

  She gave him a narrow-eyed glare in response, which had him chuckling softly as heat flooded her core.

  “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Frederick asked with a slight frown.

  “I’d say it sends a message to your enemy that the rules have changed,” Hale answered smugly.

  “You speak as if this is a game, Mr. Hale.”

  Frederick turned to her with a tilt of his head. “But it’s a bit like chess, isn’t it, Kit? Thinking several moves ahead. Employing manipulation and strategy to back your opponent into a corner.”

  If thinking of it in such a way kept her brother from being fearful, perhaps she shouldn’t discourage it. She offered a smile. “I see your point. Unfortunately, I believe the next move is his.”

  “We’re ready,” Hale assured.

  Though she was starting to believe him, it didn’t prevent the cold sense of unease from settling into her bones.

  “Well, I’ve got a project I’m anxious to return to,” Frederick said as he rose from the table.

  “Are you still working on a new maze?”

  “I’ve finished that actually and started on something new.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  Her brother’s expression turned a bit sly. “I’d rather not say quite yet, but I’ll show you once I’m a bit further along.”

  Katherine smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  When Hale didn’t immediately rise and follow her brother from the room, she hoped it was because he had some news about the man from the park. Waiting until she was assured Frederick was out of hearing distance, she quietly met Hale’s unabashed stare. Green eyes sharp and glinting, mouth softly curved though not quite smiling.

  “I assume you have something to share with me?” she finally asked after a few moments.

  “That I do.”

  She huffed a breath of annoyance. “And? Did you discover the identity of the man from the park?”

  “I did, but you should prepare for a bit of a shock.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me.”

  “He’s the Marqu
ess of Warfield.”

  “No, he’s not.” She frowned. “Warfield is in his seventies. He couldn’t possibly be the same man we saw in the park.”

  Hale smiled. “He wasn’t.”

  Was he intentionally trying to irritate her? “You are making no sense.”

  “After my man followed him to his residence, we discovered the address is that of the Marquess of Warfield. I checked in with my investigator, who advised that he’d uncovered some rather interesting news about your great-uncle.”

  Her irritation slid away to be replaced by a wary curiosity. “Go on, Mr. Hale.”

  “Mason.”

  “What?”

  He tipped his head toward her. “No need to be so formal. Not when it’s just the two of us.”

  Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I’ll start calling you Mason when you stop calling me duchess.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Now, will you tell me what you learned or not?”

  “The marquess—or at least the man you think of as such—died in a Venetian bawdy house a few months ago. The titled passed to his estranged son.”

  “A son?” A strange sense of dread passed through Katherine as she uttered the words. After rising to her feet, she strode to the window. “I had no idea he even had a son.”

  “Not many people do. Apparently, he was the result of a scandalous relationship between the prior marquess and a woman of the servant class. Though the old marquess married her to make the child legitimate since he was already aging and had no prior heirs, mother and child were hidden away to be essentially forgotten by society.”

  Mason stepped up beside her. “Apparently, the new marquess has claimed his inheritance and has been in London for several weeks.”

  “About the same time as the first kidnapping,” she suggested thoughtfully.

  Hale nodded. “He has proper motive and the timing is rather convenient.”

  It was a significant discovery and put the new Warfield right at the top of her list of possible culprits.

  Chapter Twenty

  A few nights later, long after the house had gone quiet, Katherine sat in her study, having just finished reading through her father’s journals a second time. She’d hoped there might be something she’d overlooked on her initial read through, but she’d learned nothing new and the process had been exhausting.

  After extinguishing the remaining candles, she left the study to make her way upstairs in the dark. Passing near the ballroom, she paused. The double doors were open and there was a faint light within. As her quiet steps brought her closer, she detected sounds of physical exertion. Short grunts and quick steps across the polished wooden floor.

  Only one person would choose to train at such a late hour. In an instant, her exhaustion was replaced by a rush of anticipation. She had no intention of interrupting, but surely there was no harm in a quick look.

  He was alone in the center of the room. He was barefoot and dressed only in breeches, his upper body totally bare. Katherine silently commanded herself to leave before he noticed her—to step back through the door and fly up the stairs to her bedroom. Instead, she was drawn forward, her feet moving of their own accord while her attention remained glued to Mason Hale’s massive, muscled form.

  My God, he was splendid.

  She was fascinated by the way the muscles of his back moved as he bent forward to swipe up his shirt from the floor—the way his legs and buttocks grew taut in the fitted breeches. Using the garment, he wiped the sweat of his exertion from his face and the back of his neck. Though she was certain she hadn’t made a sound, something seemed to alert him to her presence as he suddenly turned to see her standing just inside the room.

  Her gaze flew wildly over smooth, sweat-glistening skin and rippling muscle. He was strength personified. Intensely hard. Formed to perfection. Every inch of him was a study in masculine beauty and power. When he fisted his hands and she noted how the veins in his arms bulged, a sound suspiciously like a whimper caught in her dry throat. It felt like she was melting from the inside out.

  Hoping he hadn’t heard the evidence of her reaction, she forced her gaze to his face.

  His lips were curled in an expression of pure wickedness. “Like what you see?”

  She coughed at his half-mocking tone as heat flooded her cheeks. She felt at a loss and needed to regain ground somehow. Ignoring his comment, she asked, “What are you doing in the ballroom so late? Training hours are scheduled early in the day.”

  As a distraction technique, the attempt was lame at best.

  His expression shifted in the soft golden light. Amusement flickered before he lifted a brow in question.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Just be sure not to frighten any of the servants while stalking my halls in the dark.”

  He tilted his head and lowered his voice for the next words. “Have I frightened you, luv?”

  “Of course not.”

  She answered a little too quickly. Even to her own ears, the declaration sounded false.

  But she wasn’t frightened. At least, not in the way he’d meant. Unfortunately, her swift denial seemed to incite a challenge in the man.

  He started toward her. Though she would have chosen to stand her ground, she reacted without thinking and took a step back. There was something different about him tonight. A direct contrast to the vulnerability he’d displayed that night in the kitchen. Maybe it was because he was fresh from physical exertion or maybe it was something else, but there was a distinctly heightened intensity about him. In his subtly stalking movements and in the predatory gleam of his eyes.

  “Am I frightening you now?”

  His voice—so thick and rich and rough—stirred the heat inside her.

  “You don’t intimidate me,” she managed to reply, though her chest had gone tight and her mouth dry. She was excited. Invigorated. Aroused. But not intimidated.

  His eyes were dark as he swept his gaze down the length of her body. “Thank God for that,” he murmured softly as his focus landed on her mouth. He paused for a long moment, then his rough whisper slid sensually through the room. “Are you ready to admit it, then?”

  She lifted her chin. “Admit what?”

  His laugh made her low belly clench. “Come on, duchess. I know lust when I see it. Your eyes are practically devouring me. It’d be my pleasure to provide what you’re needing, but you better be damn sure you want it.”

  Deny it. “I do not lust after you.”

  “No?” he prodded. She took a half step back, then another as he continued his slow, hunting stride toward her. “Are you going to tell me you’re not wondering if I’m as hard to the touch as I look?” His eyes darkened. “You’re not curious to discover if you can make me even harder?”

  The low texture of his voice triggered a rush of heat through her core.

  Harder? Was that possible?

  Her focus fell to the muscled contours of his chest and abdomen. There wasn’t an inch of softness on him anywhere. His arms and shoulders bulged. His chest was broad and solid and his narrow abdomen was ridged with more muscle before flattening below his navel. His breeches rested low on his hips, revealing two intriguing lines that angled down toward his groin.

  His low laughter pulled her gaze upward. His expression was hard to read, his tone even harder as he murmured thickly, “Is that what you want? You know I’d be happy to oblige your curiosity, dove.”

  She didn’t realize he’d been subtly backing her away from the door until her hips came up against a decorative table placed against the wall beneath the portrait of the first Duke of Northmoor.

  He was close enough now that she could feel the heat coming off his skin. She could smell the sweat of his previous exertion.

  Taking her wrist in his hand, he lifted her palm to his chest. “Do it. Feel me. Touch me.”

  His words and what they suggested swirled heavy and hot in her core. His skin was hot and damp beneath her palm. And so hard.


  She knew what he was doing. Using his physical size and strength—his brutish attributes—as a means of keeping her from looking beyond his rough, impenetrable exterior to what lay beneath.

  “Your strength is evident,” she finally replied as she pressed her fingertips into the bulge of muscle covering his heart. The breathlessness of her voice revealed how intensely he was affecting her, but there was nothing she could do about that. There was no point in trying anyway. He already knew she desired him despite her denial. But desire wasn’t all she felt. Lifting her chin, she stared intently into his eyes. “But what of your gentleness? Your tenderness?” she asked in a low murmur.

  His laugh was gravelly and hollow, yet somehow the sound of it reached deep inside her. Churning up new emotions.

  “I have none,” he replied bluntly.

  “That’s not true,” she argued. She’d seen him with his daughter and with Frederick and had felt his care when he’d tended her injuries and massaged her sore muscles.

  His jaw clenched. “You don’t want me to prove it.”

  Something inside her flared to life in response to his challenge. It possessed her then. And urged her to be bold. To test his limits as he did hers. Bracing herself, she met his glare full on. “Maybe I do.”

  There was no mistaking the sound that rumbled from his chest for anything other than a growl. It was low and raw and frightening. Katherine sucked in a swift breath as he stepped into her, encircled one thick-muscled arm around her waist, and cupped his other hand to the back of her head. In one smooth, easy movement, he lifted her up against him and dropped his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was an obvious attempt at convincing her he was everything he claimed to be and nothing more. Hard, brutish, an ignoble scoundrel. Katherine could feel his ferocity and intention in the way his hands gripped her body and his mouth crushed her lips.

  But with the very first touch of his lips, she acknowledged how badly she’d been wanting exactly this. Sliding her hands up his chest, she looped her arms around his neck. As soon as she did, his kiss changed. A ragged hum rolled through his throat, making her body tingle and sigh. His fingers dug hard into her hip and fisted in her hair as he tilted his head.