Page 73 of Noble Scoundrel

She calmly met his gaze despite the glimmer of turmoil still evident in her eyes. “I expect you to continue training me.”

Mason lifted a brow. “You do?”

“What just happened”—she paused as she appeared to fight the urge to look away—“changes nothing.”

Something hot burned through his chest at her words. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was something just as dangerous. Giving up his façade of careless amusement, he grasped her hips in his hands and brought her over the top of him until his hard length pressed to her belly. She gasped then quickly shoved against his shoulders to try to leverage away from him. But all that succeeded in doing was getting her into a position that straddled his hips, her waistcoat still clutched in one fist.

In a subtle, purposeful demonstration, he moved her over him so she could feel every bit of him against her core.

Her eyelashes fluttered and her jaw tightened, yet she held his gaze with a haughty scowl of disapproval. Desire mixed in with her stubborn annoyance.

“This changes everything,” he growled. “I will train you because it’s a good idea.” He slid his hands lower to press his fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks. “But you and I are going to finish what we started on this floor. If nothing else, trust in that, duchess,” he added ominously.

She held still for another moment as she stared intently into his face, seeking and assessing. In that moment, when he most wanted to see her thoughts, she finally managed to shield them from him. He waited for a quick retort or a simple flat denial. But she said nothing at all.

When she shifted her weight and began to stand, he did not prevent her from doing so.

Mason lifted himself up on his elbows to watch her cross the room. The fierce pride in her movements as she slipped on the waistcoat held him enthralled. What the hell was it about this woman that fascinated him so damned much?

Grasping the handle of the unlocked door, she paused before opening it. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she looked back at him. The way her attention swept over his sprawled form to finally rest on his still-aching erection had his breath stalling in his chest.

But then, without a word, she turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mason dropped back to lie flat on the floor and stare at the mural of robed saints and frolicking cherubs painted on the ceiling above him. It was a long time before he managed to haul himself to his feet and make his way up to his room.

Chapter Twenty-three

Once back in her bedroom, Katherine called for a bath before quickly removing her clothes and dressing in a robe. She had barely forty minutes before lunch with Frederick, and the scent of Hale’s sweat on her skin still mingled with hers. It was a heady, potent combination that made her belly twist and her knees weaken.

With a firm shake of her head, she began to unravel her braid just as the servants arrived to set up the bath.

Perhaps she shouldn’t think about what had just happened in the ballroom. Just as she’d tried not to think of the kiss that had occurred the night before. Of course, she’d failed miserably at the latter since she’d lain awake nearly all night reliving every sensation—every decadent taste and sound—of those moments.

Despite her sleepless night, she’d gone to the ballroom thinking she’d be able to keep thoughts of the kiss from intruding. She told herself it had been a one-time, reckless occurrence that was unlikely to be repeated.

How wrong she’d been. And she wasn’t the slightest bit mad about it.

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