Page 5 of Noble Scoundrel

“You are Mason Hale?”

“I am.”

She hesitated. It was a just a brief pause, but Mason noticed it. He might have suspected it was caused by uncertainty if not for the fact that her voice was strong and steady when she spoke again. “Where is the boy?”

Mason made a play of looking around the room, even glancing behind him before he tilted his head back toward the cloaked woman. “What boy?”

She made a short sound of impatience.

“I was informed he’d be here. We’ve already searched the place and I know he’s not, but I suspect you know where he is.” She lifted the pistol suggestively. “And you’re going to tell me.”

Mason tilted his head thoughtfully. “Am I now?”

Her tone sharpened. “Where is he?”

“As you said, he’s not here.” Mason took a step forward. The pistol never wavered.

“You will turn him over to me. Immediately.”

Impressed with the woman’s boldness though not yet assured of her intentions, Mason asked, “What d’you think the likelihood is of me being the type of man who’d do something just because you demand it?”

“I will pay ransom. Any amount. Double—triple—what you were paid to take him.” Tension rose in her voice. A thread of desperation gleaming within the stern command.

Mason continued across the room, his slow, even steps sounding ominous on the bare wood floor.

The woman adjusted the pistol’s aim to follow his advance. “Not another step.”

He ignored her. “You won’t shoot me.”

“Do not underestimate me,” she replied coldly.

“If you shoot me, you won’t find the boy.”

A soft, swift inhale. “You do have him.”

Mason strode forward until the expanse of his heavy oak desk was the only thing between them. That, the pistol, and the gathering darkness. “What d’you want with him?”

“Not your concern.” Irritation colored her tone and shortened her words. “Release him to me.”

Mason lifted a brow. “You keep making demands, dove, but you’re not the one in charge here.”

She made a subtle gesture with the gun. “I beg to differ.”

Without warning, Mason placed his hand flat on the surface of the desk and vaulted over it. The woman took an instinctive step back, which allowed him to land right in front of her. At the same time, he grasped her slim wrist and raised her hand with the pistol above her head to pin it to the wall. Another step brought his body to within a fraction of an inch of hers. The velvet material of her cloak brushed against his woolen trousers while the pulse at her wrist fluttered against his palm.

To his surprise, she didn’t panic and flail in his hold. The only sound she made was the initial gasp of surprise as he’d pressed her to the wall. She briefly tested his hold, but only once and subtly. There was no point in resisting his strength, and apparently, she was clever enough not to waste time on futility.

She stilled. But tension radiated from every inch of her form.

Mason’s body responded readily to the proximity of her warmth and her stubborn, subtle resistance. The stirring of lust in his blood was unexpected.

“Release me,” she demanded.

“No.”

“You dare—”

“I dare,” he interrupted in a heavy murmur. “That and more.”

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