Page 35 of Noble Scoundrel

She ignored him. It wasn’t required that he agree, just that he do his job.

“I’ll need a tour of the house and a list of the staff. Tonight.”

Hale rose to his feet as he spoke and Katherine stood as well. “Is that necessary?”

He arched a brow as he looked down at her from his towering height. “Questioning my methods already, dove?”

The man was trying to rile her up by using the too-familiar term, but she had no intention of falling into the obvious trap. “Of course not.”

“Since I can’t be in more than one place at a time, I’ll be needing a few men under my direction. If you can’t spare your current staff, more’ll need to be hired.”

“We’ll work something out,” she replied with a stiff smile.

“I’m also gonna need space for training.” He lifted his brows. “I assume a place like this has a ballroom.”

“It does. Foster will be more than happy to show you around the house and can also provide a staff list for you. We should be able to spare a footman or two for your purposes. You may discuss that issue with Foster, as well, as he is in charge of the male servants.”

It didn’t escape her how quickly he was taking the reins of control. She reminded herself that his competence was a good thing.

As though sensing her discomfort, the man flashed a cocky grin. “Too late for regrets now, dove.”

Tipping her head, she met his gaze square and steady. “I may not trust you as implicitly as Frederick, Mr. Hale, but I’d never have placed my brother’s life in your hands if I didn’t know with full certainty that you’d do the job and do it well.”

It was true. Her misgivings in regard to the man were entirely personal in nature and had nothing to do with his role as bodyguard.

When his eyes darkened at her words, triggering another of those internal flutters, she quickly looked away. “I’ll ring for Foster.”

Chapter Twelve

The next day, Mason met with all the household footmen in the ballroom. There were five in total. He didn’t know much about the ways of the wealthy, but he’d worked the door at enough bawdy houses in his younger years to figure out that the Blackwells did not keep nearly as much staff as they could.

The five men in front of him ranged in age from seventeen to late twenties. Every one of them was tall, as was customary for footmen, but their builds varied from there. For the most part, they looked back at him with mild curiosity as he stood with his back to the large fireplace at the far end of the open room.

“My name’s Mason Hale,” he began once they’d all stood in silence for a few minutes.

As he probably should’ve expected, the name inspired a flicker of recognition in the eyes of at least two of the older servants.

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