A hinge creaked, but it was no louder than the rustle of silk against silk.
He had caught the rustle of silks, the indignant breathing of a woman.
He could hear the rustle of her clothes as she leaned forward.
It was the rustle of the trees about him, stirred by a gentle rising breeze.
It was more like the rustle of dry leaves, but there were no dry leaves to rustle.