Free Destitute On His Doorstep by Helen Dickson

the cologne he wore, mingled with an underlying smell of leather and horses. The scent was pleasant and provocative and floated tantalisingly through her senses. A painful grimace was evidence of Colonel Russell’s continued discomfort, tightening his chiselled features as he endured the torment.
    In complete innocence, Jane enquired, ‘Is anything wrong? Did I hurt you when I fell?’
    To her shock he smiled at her enquiry, a slow, seductive, secretive smile that made his eyes gleam beneath their heavy lids. Jane was far too naïve to recognise the nuances of it, or she would have seen peril lurking behind that come-hither smile of his. It was the dangerously beguiling smile of a ruthless predator—a predator who wanted her to sense his power, his defiance of any who stood in his path, and to be seduced by what he represented.
    â€˜Just a bit,’ he replied, diligently adjusting his trousers at the waist.
    Realising too late what had happened, Jane let a breathless gasp escape her throat and she suffered an endless moment of excruciating embarrassment. The maidenly blush that mantled her cheeks deepened. Purposefully she focused her gaze on the upper part of his chest. It seemed the only way she could marshal her thoughts. Her response to his closeness was as unwanted as it was lightning quick. She felt a hot pull of attraction deep inside that could not lead to any good.
    In the midst of his chiselled features and dark blue eyes, now thankfully devoid of pain, at least enough to convey some evidence of humour, strong white teeth as perfect as any Jane had ever seen appeared in a wayward grin. Feeling as if she were being drawn into a snare, for a moment she found herself susceptible to his appeal.
    â€˜Worry not,’ he murmured, leisurely observing her beauty to his heart’s content, making no effort to curb his amused, all-too-confident grin. ‘To see you thus and hold you close—to share such a moment—was well worth it.’
    The warmly mellow tones of his voice were imbued with a rich quality that seemed to vibrate through Jane’s whole being. But his casual statement ignited her temper. ‘Share? We did not share anything,’ she railed at him. Accustomed as she was to the admiring glances of gentlemen, there was nothing gentlemanly about this man’s insolent, lazy perusal of her body. ‘Are you quite finished?’ she asked tersely, very nearly slipping again as she took a step back. Laughing deep and shaking his head in chiding reproof, reaching out he took her elbow, but she jerked it free. ‘Don’t you dare touch me again, you—you buffoon,’ she shrieked.
    His unhurried gaze lifted to her eyes and a wry smile quirked his lips when he heard the outrage in her voice. ‘That’s quite a temper you have,’ he said, meeting her furious glare with glowing, wicked eyes. ‘I am surprised to find you wandering about my house in your night attire. I would like to think you might be looking for me.’
    â€˜Why, you—you conceited jackanapes! I most certainly was not. I merely came to see what scrape my dog had got itself into.’
    His amusement dwindled to a slanted smile, but a teasing light still danced in his eyes. ‘Is that all? Then I am disappointed.’ He shrugged casually, openly savouring the delectable details of her womanly curves, admiring her intriguingly round, delicately hued breasts, and remembering how sleek her limbs were—far more admirable than any he had ever seen—fully aware of his responding body. ‘Little did I imagine when I first saw you that I’d be so completely vexed by my desire for you. You can’t blame me for hoping you were looking for me—now can you, Jane?—and in a state of undress. I have to say you flaunt yourself with such grace and style the mere sight of you stirs my blood.’
    â€˜Flaunt?’ she cried in outrage, thoroughly incensed by