Free Destitute On His Doorstep by Helen Dickson Page B

to batter down his defences, it might go some way to helping her get her home back.
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    When the house was quiet and the last flickering flame was snuffed, Jane fell into a troubled sleep. Her unconscious mind had a will of its own and she was thrust into that nightmare world where dreams become reality and she relived those awful years that she had spent at the mercy of Jacob Atkins. Trepidation seized her and she retreated into her own mind to seek some secure haven where she could find relief for her distress. Her mind was filled with chaotic visions, and rising to the fore of these was a one-eyed face bent on hurting her. She cried out and began to shake uncontrollably and writhed on the bed, keeping her eyes tightly shut to bar the alien from her sight.
    Through the haze she heard someone speak her name and the tone was somewhere between a plea and a command. But the voice did not belong to the villain of her dreams and it only confused her more. She mewled and cringed away, wanting to escape the nightmare that pressed down upon her. It was then that she felt herself drawn into strong arms that embraced her and held her tight. Someone’s cool hand smoothed her hair from her brow.
    As Jane half-woke her eyes fluttered open. A single candle burning on a table cast a glowing light and she could see Colonel Russell’s face bent close above hers. Sensing she had nothing to fear, she did not pull away, but nestled closer still, looking at him with fear-glazed eyes.
    â€˜Hush. No one is going to hurt you. It was just a dream. It is not real.’
    Weak and exhausted, she clung to him, unmindful of the fact that she had swept the quilt off the bed. Her skin was moist with perspiration, and she welcomed the cool air that seeped through her cotton nightgown. It clung to her clammy skin, boldly revealing the womanly curves of her body.
    â€˜Could I have some water, please?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Indeed,’ he replied and reached for a glass.
    She took it into her shaky grasp and sipped from it slowly and then gave the glass back to him. She did not resist when he drew her back into his arms and held her and stroked her hair. His shirt hung open to the waist and she felt his hard, furred chest pressed against her cheek. She felt his nearness with every fibre in her being. Her eyes flickered downwards as the warmth of his breath touched her ear.
    â€˜Was the dream very bad?’ he asked softly. What had she found in her dreams that was so distressful to her? He was completely undone by her obvious terror and he could find no plausible explanation for it. Gently he placed his lips on the top of her head, the fragrance of her hair filling his head. She nodded, but did not speak. ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’
    â€˜No,’ she whispered. Acutely conscious of the brushof his hardened thighs against her own and the manly feel of his body branding her through her nightgown, realising her weakened condition made her extremely vulnerable to his whims, spurred into action at the idea of being caught in such disarray, she pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. ‘I was very frightened, but it has gone now. I’m sure I shall be all right.’
    Francis stood up and considered the pale features, noting the dark shadows around her eyes. Her head was tilted back and the loosely curling tresses spilled free down her back. She really was very lovely. Her beauty filled his hungering gaze and lighted a fire in his blood. The need to gather her to him once more was overwhelming but now, when she was in such a distressed state, was not the time to think of seduction. How could he even entertain the idea? Picking up the quilt from the floor, he tucked it around her and contemplated her from beneath his brows.
    â€˜Was the nightmare about something that has happened to you—something unpleasant?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    He smiled gently. ‘Would you like me to stay with you? It