Page 62 of Noble Scoundrel

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.”

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