Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,80
over the delay on his return, even though the idea of worrying over a man such as Mason Hale was near laughable.
People feared him, they didn’t worry over him.
She was being ridiculous.
Forcing herself to get ready for bed, she changed into her nightgown and removed the pins from her coiffure. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she’d just begun pulling a brush through her hair to release the tangles when she heard a quiet knock accompanied by rough whispered words, “It’s me. You awake?”
A rush of relief had her rising swiftly to her feet. Hale had returned.
And he was at her bedroom door.
“I’m awake,” she called out, her voice a little breathless.
After a pause, he said, “D’you intend to open the door, or shall I tell you what I learned from out here?”
There was obvious amusement in his tone, and it brought to mind the image of how his lips tilted and curled when he smiled. And that brought to mind how his mouth had felt against hers...
Her belly swirled and she pressed a palm to her abdomen. He’d come to her bedroom to provide a report, nothing more. There was no reason for her body to ignite in delicate flames of desire or for her blood to rush with heat and her skin to flush with sensitivity.
Now was not the time for such distractions. She needed to be focused and dedicated to resolving the threat against Frederick. Hale was Frederick’s bodyguard. His role in that capacity was far more important than her personal desires.
“Just a moment.”
Taking a deep breath, she returned her brush to the vanity and crossed purposefully to the door. After another fortifying breath, she opened it a few inches—just enough to allow the width of her face.
He stood closer than she’d expected. Immense and tall. Dressed in buff-colored breeches and black boots with a dark navy coat over his grey waistcoat and white shirt. He wore no cravat and the neck of his shirt was open to reveal the shadow of his collarbone. His hair was in his usual queue, but several strands had come free to brush rakishly against his hard-hewn cheeks and jaw.
He looked dangerous. Dangerous and wicked and everything her body craved and her reckless heart yearned for.
“What is it?” The tension caused by her inner turmoil made the words harsh.
His brows dipped for a second before lifting again as he offered a casual grin. “Just thought I’d provide an update on our progress.”
“You realize it’s the middle of the night.”
“Does it matter?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Not if you have something valuable to impart.”
Leaning one great shoulder against the doorframe, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, this conversation’d be a lot more comfortable if we weren’t having it in a doorway.”
Despite her tingling response to the teasing glint in his gaze, she arched her brow imperiously.
He huffed in disappointment. “The men we’ve had following Warfield reported that although the man’s been busy around town, he hasn’t come near the house and hasn’t done anything to suggest he was involved with the kidnappings. We’ve now also got men assigned to watching Emsworth’s residence. He won’t be going anywhere without our knowing about it.”
A breath of relief softened her spine. “Thank you.”
He nodded. As she waited to see if he had anything more to add, his attention slid down what was visible of her body through the narrow opening of the door.
Underneath the loose fall of her white cotton nightgown, her skin burned and tingled.
“Is there anything else?” Her question sounded strained. Would he know it was due to the desire rioting inside her?
Green eyes lifted to hers. His grin was unabashedly sensual. “Not unless you’ve any frustrations you’ve a need to take out on me?”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the door as though to brace it against his entrance, but the greater risk was of her flinging it wide to allow him freely and shamelessly into her bedroom.
She’d already acknowledged to herself that some deeper emotions had somehow gotten tangled up with her desires when it came to this man. And standing here now, looking into his tempting eyes, she couldn’t ignore the more tender feelings swirling through the heady lust.
But he wasn’t a man for tenderness, was he?
She angled her chin upward. “Do you think me the type of woman to be seduced by nothing more than a roguish smile and the beckoning curl of your finger?”
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to succumb to the curl of