Noble Scoundrel (Peril & Persuasion Book 1)

by Amy Sandas

  Though the texture of his lips was surprisingly soft—like warm satin—his mouth moved firmly over hers. When his tongue swept against the seam of her lips, she opened with a catch of her breath. Taking advantage of her moment of surrender, he thrust his tongue into her mouth with demanding strokes that stoked the fires of passion burning in her core.

  He was right. She lusted after him. She craved his strength and power and possession. The feel of his large, unforgiving hands on her body. But she sensed there was so much more to be explored. So much more to feel. That softness he denied was there...

  With another heavy growl, he lifted her higher, setting her on the table behind her. Still kissing her with deep, demanding strokes of his tongue, he placed his hands on her knees and slid them up her thighs, dragging her skirts up to her hips. Stepping forward, he pressed his hips between her thighs until they parted around him. Then he tugged her forward, to the very edge of the table. To him. The sudden pressure of his hardness against her soft center shot a spear of sensation from deep in her core out to her fingertips and toes.

  Arching her spine, she pulled back to claim a swift breath. When she opened her eyes, she became trapped by his heavy stare. There was a great deal to examine in the depths of that dark, mysterious green. But she didn’t have the wits to do more than stare in breathless fascination.

  She watched as he narrowed his gaze, lowering his eyelids until only a hint of that shadowing, glittering depth remained. Then he shifted his hold to grab firmly to her hips, digging his fingers into the softness. With an unforgiving expression, he held her still as he rocked his hips, grinding his hardness against her aching core.

  Katherine had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, or so desperate. The sensations he created with the crude motion made her throat tighten and her low belly clench with uncertain need. Intuitively, she knew it was meant to punish, though she didn’t understand why.

  “You want what I can give you, luv?” The gravel-roughness of his voice roused a tingling in her blood. He thrust his hips and a soft moan slid from her lips. “This is all I’ve got. I’m not a gentle man.” He thrust again. Harder. And the muscles in Katherine’s legs tensed, squeezing his hips in an attempt to draw him in closer.

  “Fuck.” The word was gruff and raw, muttered in the space between them as he tensed sharply. “I’m a heartbeat away from taking you right here.”

  The harshness in his voice managed to clear some of the sensual haze from her mind. She glanced to the side and realized the ballroom doors were still wide open. Anyone passing by would be able to see them with just a turn of their head, yet she struggled to bring herself to care.

  Releasing her hips, he leaned forward to brace one hand on the wall behind her. Bringing his other hand beneath her chin, he turned her head back toward him and pressed the flat of his thumb to the center of her lower lip.

  He stared intently down at her, his breath even and deep while hers felt erratic and far too shallow.

  Meeting her gaze with a hard, seeking stare, he murmured thickly, “A bit more fun than arguing all the time, isn’t it?” Then he gave a soft chuckle as his attention slid down her throat, past the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck, to the swift rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin cotton of her gown. “Though, truth be told, I find a great deal of pleasure in imagining the thousands of little ways I’d like to antagonize and frustrate you.”

  The rough promise in his voice had her wishing he’d go into more detail of what he’d like to do to her.

  “Hmm.” Wickedness curled his lips. “The idea excites you. I can’t say I’m surprised. D’you think you could handle a man like me, duchess?”

  The arrogant condescension in his tone seemed forced. As did the use of the nickname. Tipping her head back, she looked into his eyes—dark with desire and heavily shadowed. He spoke of lust with smug confidence while shielding his deeper thoughts and emotions from her gaze.

  Was he toying with her?

  The thought that he might not be feeling the same kind of intense draw and connection that she experienced whenever she was near to him—or worse, he was trying to deny it for some reason—triggered a cold rush of frustration.

  He might have managed to prove a point after all. Though perhaps not the one he’d intended. Because he was right. She was ready to admit she did want something from him, but it might be far more than he was prepared to give her.

  She lifted her chin as pride wrapped around her uncertainty, insulating the tender emotions he’d inspired. She cleared her throat to state in a soft but steady voice, “Why don’t we put it to the test.”

  His expression revealed his momentary surprise before softening into a sensual grin. A flicker of anticipation lit his gaze. Her breath caught sharply when he slid his hand around her nape in a possessive, masterful grip as though to position her for his mouth.

  She almost lost her nerve then as more heat swirled between them. Rich and deep and altering.

  “Teach me to fight.” The words flew from her lips in a rush, effectively bringing a stop to whatever he’d intended to do next.

  His entire body became still and tense while his smile tightened into a line. “You want me to train you?”

  She decided not to think of how much the roughness in his voice pleased her. She intended to throw him off and she’d succeeded, but desire still roared through him.

  “I know you’re teaching Frederick.”

  He looked surprised. “You do?”

  “Of course. I know everything that occurs in this house. I think it’s a wonderful idea and I’d also like to learn how to defend him—and myself—in case the need should arise.”

  His tawny brows lowered in a scowl. “The need won’t arise. I’ll protect you.”

  “It’s best to prepare for all contingencies.”

  His hand tightened around the back of her neck, sending waves of awareness through her body. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation to feel herself at his mercy even in that small way.

  Then the corner of his mouth twisted upward. “We’re back to arguing, then?”

  “Did we ever truly stop?”

  In an instant, his expression shifted back to sensual as he leaned close enough for her to feel the breath of his whispered words against her cheek. “Yes, we did.”

  Straightening, he stepped back while releasing his hand from her nape. With his gaze holding hers, he grasped her hips in his hands and lifted her from the table to set her on her feet. Something unreadable glittered in his eyes as his lips tilted in a familiar smirk. “Tomorrow morning, then. Eleven o’clock.” His gaze swept over her again from head to toe. “Wear something you can move around in.”

  Her legs shook as he turned away and strode across the room. The muscles in his back bunched and released with every step until he reached his shirt where he’d tossed it to the floor. Lifting the garment over his head, he shrugged it back on.

  Smoothing her skirts over her legs, she turned away from the sight of him and left the ballroom with trembling knees and a tense jaw. Her body still pulsed and tingled with the sensations he’d aroused in her. The aching in her core was a longing for something she was afraid to fully name. She wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing by diverting his focus from lovemaking to fighting. All she’d known was that if he continued to kiss her and touch her, she would have given herself to him completely.

  While he would have held himself back.

  Not in the act, perhaps, but in himself. And she wasn’t sure she could accept that.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mason stood with his shoulders resting against the wall next to the enormous fireplace in the ballroom. His arms were crossed over his chest and one leg was bent with his bare foot planted against the polished mahogany wainscoting. Though there was an unsettled feeling in his gut, his gaze was hard and focused on the open double doors on the far end of the room as he waited for Lady Katherine’s arrival.

  He’d finished with Frederi
ck and then the others more than an hour ago. After that, he’d gone back to his room for a bath and change of clothes. He wasn’t going to touch Lady Katherine with the sweat of other men on his skin.

  There was a good chance the woman wouldn’t even show up.

  Rolling his shoulders, he tried to dispense the tension that gathered every time he recalled last night’s conversation. And the kissing.

  Just thinking of how she’d felt in his arms, her thighs parted around his hips, her mouth tender and sweet beneath his, sent a rush of throbbing heat to his aching groin.

  He’d known from the start that the obvious physical attraction between them would eventually have to be dealt with. He’d looked forward to it.

  He’d also completely underestimated it.

  When he’d finished his training regimen last night to find her staring at him with those dark, fathomless eyes, her lips parted and glistening, her lovely breasts rising and falling with weighted breaths—he’d simply lost all restraint.

  The feel of her eyes on him all hot and intense made him desperate for her hands. Nothing could’ve stopped him from approaching her. Just as nothing could’ve kept him from taking her soft, pink mouth when she’d dared him to prove just what a brute he could be.

  But he hadn’t planned the rest. Hadn’t intended the flames to blast so hot and untamed within him. He honestly could’ve gone a bit longer to discover how perfect her thighs felt in his hands, how her hips cradled his hardness. How her eyes glittered as her body awakened to his direction.

  She’d asked for tenderness. And he’d given her what he had—heat and hardness. Nothing more.

  But rather than admit she was wrong about him, she’d thrown down yet another challenge. The woman was dauntless. And determined. And so damned unexpected.

  His body hardened further. Why the hell did that make him so bloody hot?

  “Fuck,” he muttered out loud just as the woman torturing his thoughts appeared in the doorway.

  He repeated the curse silently as he took in the stunning sight of her.

  She walked slowly, proudly, into the room wearing black boots that reached to her knees, buff-colored breeches that molded smoothly to her lean, soft-curved thighs and hips, a white lawn shirt, and brown waistcoat. Instead of being twisted and pinned into an elaborate style, her auburn hair was secured simply in a thick braid that draped over her shoulder.

  She stopped in the center of the room where he’d spread out an old carpet he’d found in the attic to cover the slick polished surface of the ballroom floor. Staring at him, she planted her hands on her hips and lifted her brows in expectation.

  Mason couldn’t speak. He sure as hell couldn’t move yet. Not with the sexual pressure pulsing through his body.

  She’d shocked him. He hadn’t thought such a thing possible, but the way she looked—almost cocky in her men’s clothes, as if she frequently dressed in such a way—fired his blood.

  She released an audible sigh. “Are you quite finished staring, Mr. Hale?”

  No. He lowered his chin and grinned.

  “You said to dress comfortably.”

  “And I’m glad I did,” he replied with an appreciative nod. “Where’d you find that getup?”

  She tugged at the hem of her waistcoat. “I learned years ago that some things were nearly impossible to accomplish in skirts and slippers.”

  As he allowed his focus to travel over every inch of her female form, he desperately wanted to ask what sorts of things she enjoyed doing in her breeches.

  She huffed another exasperated breath. “I came here expecting to learn how to properly defend myself and my brother. If you’re incapable of taking me seriously, perhaps I should seek another teacher.”

  Something hot and ferocious flared up inside him at the thought. No way in hell.

  Pushing off from the wall, Mason started toward her, stopping once his feet reached the thick Persian rug. “I’ll train you.” The words came out in a near growl.

  Her breath was long and steady as she stared at him. He half expected her to change her mind and leave. But not this woman. She’d committed to a path and wouldn’t be deterred. Sure as hell not by him.

  Giving a nod, she replied, “Fine, then. Let’s begin.”

  “Remove your boots.”

  “Is that really necess—”

  “Yes.” If she asked, he’d explain how he believed it was important for a novice especially, to feel balanced and connected to their base. No movement could be wholly effective without proper foundation.

  A frown. An exasperated sigh. Then she strode to a chair that had been pushed to the edge of the room and sat down to remove her boots and stockings.

  Mason refused to think of how attractive her bare feet and ankles were. He needed to get his head into the task at hand if he were to provide anything of value in this training session. Despite his confidence in his ability to protect her, he didn’t disagree with her desire to have some means of defending herself—same as Freddie—if, for some inconceivable reason, he failed to do so.

  Stepping forward, he met her in the middle of the rug. Though she stood still and appeared fully composed, Mason detected the tension in her jaw and the light flush pinkening her skin.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Attack me.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  Grinning, he made a beckoning gesture with both hands. “Come at me, duchess. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  She hesitated, her spine stiffening. “You want me to throw a punch at you?”

  He shrugged. “A punch, a kick, a full-on charge. Whatever feels right.”

  Her gaze swept over him, swiftly assessing his large form—lingering a bit on the thickness of his thighs, the bulging muscles of his arms, and the span of his shoulders—before returning to his face with a flash of irritation. “Nothing feels right. You’re nearly twice my size and famously undefeated in the ring. What on earth could feel right about attacking you?”

  Mason chuckled. “Smart girl.”

  The comment earned him a swift glare. “Is this an attempt at discouraging me?”

  “In any fight, you’ve gotta be aware of the strengths and weaknesses of your opponent. And yourself. A straight-on attack wouldn’t be an effective strategy for someone of your stature and lesser strength against someone larger and more skilled. Anyone you’re likely to come up against will undoubtedly outweigh you, have a greater reach, and more experience in physical contests.”

  “Exactly why I’m here, Mr. Hale. To gain experience.”

  “Right,” he noted as he walked a slow circle around her, intentionally stalking, forcing her to home in on him with her full awareness. “You’ve identified your disadvantages. What are your advantages?”

  Her gaze narrowed as she followed his movements from the corner of her eye, as though she suspected some sort of trickery in his question. When he slipped out of her line of sight for a moment while crossing behind her, she made a soft sound of exasperation before turning her head to catch sight of him again on her other side.

  He arched a brow, awaiting her answer.

  “If I’m smaller than my opponent, won’t I be quicker as well? More agile?”

  He gave a short nod. “In many cases, but not always.”

  His response seemed to frustrate her. Good.

  “I’m clever,” she said in a clipped voice.

  Mason laughed. “D’you think a person can’t possess both brawn and brains?” He passed behind her again, noting the way she fisted her hands at her sides.

  “The men we’re up against are mercenaries, hired thugs who care for nothing but coin.” Her tone was growing heated. “Whereas I have a passionate cause to protect against them.”

  “You do. Avid personal motivation will certainly get you into the fight. It can also make you reckless and impetuous. I wanna know what’ll keep you standing to the end.”

  She planted her fists on her hips as he stepped in front of her. “Again, isn’t
that what you’re here to teach me?”

  He smirked. “Why would I bother teaching a pampered young lady from Mayfair? A soft gentlewoman who’s likely never experienced anything more physically challenging than a polite little trot through the park? Someone who’s grown up in luxury with no reason to develop skills suitable to take on men honed in violence?”

  As he spoke, he watched as his words steadily infuriated her, until the moment when comprehension dawned and a smile of anticipation widened her mouth. Mason actually flinched as his chest squeezed tight at the sight of her even teeth and the flash of knowledge in her eyes.

  “I’ll be underestimated,” she answered. “My greatest advantage will be that of surprise.”

  “Smart girl,” he said again.

  And this time, she grinned back.

  AN HOUR LATER, KATHERINE ground her back teeth against a groan as she pushed off from the floor and rolled back to her feet. Her muscles ached from head to toe; bruises had formed on her knees, elbows, and backside. Sweat curled the hair at her temples and dripped down the back of her neck and between her breasts.

  “Again.”

  Hale, of course, didn’t appear the slightest bit winded. He was relentless. And though she wished she could tell him where to go, she took a deep breath, tossed her braid back over her shoulder and squared off against him once again.

  Gratefully, her injured shoulder was giving her very little trouble beyond a few twinges here and there and a frustrating weakness. It helped that Hale very carefully avoided putting her in situations where she had to use the arm in any way that required a great deal of force or swift movement. His awareness of her injury was impressive. Still, she wished he didn’t feel like he had to take it easy on her even that little bit.

  Aside from her initial suspicion that he was just playing with her, once the training had started in earnest, it became clear he took the lesson as seriously as she did. He taught her how to position her body in a way that provided a smaller target and improved her balance and grounding, how to throw a proper punch and where to aim, what part of her foot should make contact in various kicks, and then how to dodge and evade. They had recently moved on to techniques for breaking a hold.