Destitute On His Doorstep (7 page)

‘None whatsoever. Whatever the truth of it, I make no pretence about my vulnerability as a man or that I find you the most enticing, fascinating woman and as perfect as I've seen in—well, in a long time.'

Sharply elevating a brow, Jane considered the handsomely chiselled visage for a brief moment before replying. ‘And you jest with me, Colonel. There are enticing and fascinating women in every bawdy house,' she stated caustically. ‘I suggest you go and look for one there.'

‘Come now, Jane,' he said with a mock, pained expression, making use of her given name too loosely for Jane's liking. ‘Have you no sympathy or pity for what I've just suffered—what your mishap has put me through?'

‘Absolutely not,' she declared flatly. ‘I've done nothing to kindle your ardour. But since it seems to bother you overmuch, Colonel, I'll remove myself from your sight and go back to my room and leave you to ask one of the servants to clean up the mess.'

And so, finding his brazenness too much to bear, her cheeks aflame and her chin raised in an attitude of haughty displeasure, after scooping an unrepentant Scamp up into her arms she turned about and stalked away with as much haste as cat whose tail was on fire.

The colonel's lips stretched leisurely into a rakish grin as his gaze ranged the length of her retreating back, lingering admiringly on her delectably round derrière well defined beneath the fabric of her nightgown, and not until she had disappeared from sight did he turn and with a soft chuckle walk away.

B
ehind the closed door of her room Jane paced the floor, tossing her head with each change of direction so that her long dark hair swung about her face and shimmered with reflected light. Had the situation been less dire, she would have fled the house. Indeed, after what had just happened she had to fight the urge to do so now. It nettled her sorely that Colonel Russell had seen more of her than she cared to contemplate, but with her future at stake there was a limit to her patience, determination or guile.

But on reflection, when she thought of Scamp bounding about all over the place and setting off a train of events that had been unavoidable to escape, causing Colonel Russell considerable discomfort when she had bumped into him had finally battered down her wall of cold indifference. Playing out the scene in her mind and how comical it would have looked to an onlooker as they floundered around, seeing the funny side she laughed out loud. She suddenly felt very foolish and
bad tempered. True, Colonel Russell had behaved outrageously just now, but considering the things she had said to him and her hostile attitude since arriving at Bilborough, she hadn't behaved any better.

Perhaps, she thought, a mischievous and cunning and what she hoped would be a profitable plan beginning to take root in her mind, if she tempered her attitude towards him and used her female powers of persuasion to batter down his defences, it might go some way to helping her get her home back.

 

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.

‘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.

‘Could I have some water, please?' she whispered.

‘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.

‘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?'

‘No,' she whispered. Acutely conscious of the brush
of 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.

‘Was the nightmare about something that has happened to you—something unpleasant?'

‘Yes.'

He smiled gently. ‘Would you like me to stay with you? It might come back.'

‘I know.' He was looking down at her with an expression so intensely caring that she felt a softening in her heart towards him. She managed a tremulous smile. ‘If it does, I shall have to deal with it. There's no need for you to stay. Thank you for coming to wake me. How did you know?'

‘I heard you cry out. I was worried and came to see what the matter was.'

‘I'm sorry if I woke you. I'll be all right now—truly. Go and get some sleep.'

When he'd gone Jane lay back on the pillows, reluctant to close her eyes lest she succumbed once more to the dream. How many times must she endure these nightmares? Would she never be free of what Jacob Atkins had done to her?

 

The following day she left the house dressed in the grey gown Mary had insisted on putting her in that morning. Apart from her red one she had no other. She slipped out of her room and down the back stairs. If she didn't get away from the sickroom, from the house even for a little while, she would go out of her mind. At the prospect of some freedom, an excited Scamp bounded along ahead of her as she went in the direction of the stables.

Finding Jane's room empty, and glancing out of the window, Mary saw the object of her concern heading across the park on horseback at full gallop in the direction of Aspen Wood. Without more ado she went in search of Colonel Russell.

‘Mary, is something wrong?' he asked the irate woman, who was quite beside herself.

‘Indeed there is, sir. Mistress Jane has left her sickroom with that dog of hers and gone galloping off on her horse—and it will soon be dark.'

‘Is she well enough to go off by herself?' he asked, frowning with genuine concern, especially when he remembered how distressed she had been during the night.

‘Certainly not—at least, not in my opinion. She is
still not herself and she should not be gallivanting off like that.'

‘You saw her ride off?'

‘Most certainly, sir—and without her cloak. She should be wrapped up.'

‘In which direction was she heading?'

‘Towards Aspen Wood.'

‘Then I'll find her and bring her back safely.'

 

Francis rode off in the direction indicated. Jane was sitting on a low stone wall when he found her, the mare tethered to a post and her dog sniffing about in the undergrowth. She was gazing out across the panoramic view. There was a purple hue in the sky, in which a skylark was singing its heart out without a care in the world.

Dismounting some yards away from her, she did not seem to hear his approach, even though her dog turned and bristled, its paws splayed, for Francis had his own dogs with him. He took a moment to watch her, hoping there had been no recurrence of her nightmare when he'd left her. He understood exactly how it would have affected her, for he had nightmares of his own, nightmares of being chained and beaten that left him shivering with terror.

He was quite taken aback by his feelings as he had been taken aback by the sight of her when he had first set eyes on her. He was also bewildered by the emotion he felt in his heart. He couldn't really describe what he felt for her because he didn't have any words. All he knew was that he felt strange, different from anything he had ever expected to feel. It was something that had happened suddenly, not there one moment and there
the next, as if it had always been there or as if he had spent his whole life waiting for her to be there, and now that she had appeared he suddenly felt the urge to live again.

There were no women in his life, no mother, no sisters, and the only females he had anything to do with were his brother's wife and the wives and female relatives of his friends. There were the women who sold their favours to any man with the money to pay for them, but the relationship with any of them was anything but romantic, giving release to his body while touching his emotions not at all. But Jane Lucas was different. Never having seen her before, he did not know her, but this strange thing that was working inside him was something new.

The light was just fading as Jane sat in the warm shadows and watched the river in the far-off distance beyond the wood. She had enjoyed riding through the long grass, with poppies, clover and the air heavy with the cloying scent of meadow sweet. The gauze bushes on the edge of Aspen Wood were a vivid yellow against the darkness of the trees. She thought there was no one about, then she heard a soft footfall behind her and the whicker of a horse greeting her mare. She knew without turning that it was her tormentor of yesterday and her saviour of the night. Instead of being annoyed that he should disturb her solitude, she smiled secretively and a peach tint suffused her cheekbones as she half-glanced around, experiencing a tingling rush of excitement that affirmed his presence.

‘Jane.' He spoke to her profile, his voice gentle, for this young woman, he knew, was grieving sorely—although
he sensed she would rather die than admit it to him. She turned her head when he sat beside her. When his hounds would have given chase to a wary-looking Scamp, Francis clicked his fingers and they slunk away and lay beneath a tree, their eyes never leaving their master. The dark liquid of the young woman's eyes deepened as she became caught up in the disturbance of his presence.

Even as she struggled to subdue her feelings the blush that had stained her cheeks on his arrival—stirred by the memories of when she had slipped on the water and stumbled into him, damaging both her dignity and her modesty, of his low, exacting perusal and his bold solicitation—deepened. She lifted her gaze to meet the translucent blue eyes now gleaming back at her, a slow, mischievous smile curling her lips.

‘Why, Colonel Russell! Have you come to torment me some more?'

He stared at her in amazement, wondering at this change in her. She was smiling as if she was genuinely pleased to see him. Why? he asked himself, suddenly wary. ‘Nothing could be further from my mind. When you arrived here you argued so eloquently about losing your home, and not content with that, yesterday you gave me a dressing down the like of which I haven't had since I was a lad. Have you no mercy?'

‘None whatsoever.'

‘I ask your pardon if I offended you yesterday. Tell me I am forgiven.'

She laughed softly, her eyes shining with humour. ‘I forgave you last night when you came and woke me from my nightmare. What happened when I slipped
on the water meant nothing. I suppose you behaved much the same as any man would when confronted by a woman clad only in her nightgown. I apologise for my dog breaking your vase. I can only hope it wasn't valuable.'

‘Think nothing of it. I trust you are feeling better today and your nightmare did not recur?'

‘There are no after-effects if that is what you mean. Thank you for what you did.'

His eyes narrowed as he gave her a suspicious look. ‘Pardon me for asking, but I am asking myself if this is the same angry young lady who arrived at Bilborough and accused me of being a black-hearted, conniving scoundrel.'

Jane raised her eyes to his, and Francis basked in the unconcealed warmth and laughter lighting her face. ‘I meant every word—although since my illness you will be pleased to know that I've mellowed somewhat—although don't go thinking I'll take back what I said. I'm sure you are all the things I accused you of being and more.'

Francis threw back his head and laughed out loud at the contrast between her tone and her words. ‘You are probably right, although I have to say that your change of attitude warms my heart.'

‘You have no heart,' Jane quipped, smiling dazzlingly at him. ‘If you did, you would give me my home back.'

His gaze, soft and inviting, settled on hers. ‘Never—but you could try persuading me. It could be highly entertaining and I always enjoy a challenge.'

‘What would be the point if, in the end, you deny
me my triumph by refusing to give it back?' she said good-naturedly.

‘Which is my prerogative.'

‘I suppose then I would have to surrender my claim.'

Her words seemed to hang portentously in the silence that followed. ‘I was hoping you would say that,' he said quietly, ‘but I do not believe the word surrender—at least not in the sense you mean—is in your vocabulary.'

‘I see you're getting the measure of me, Colonel Russell.'

‘I think so. As for yesterday, I apologise if my conduct offended you when we met on the landing. It's not every day a scantily clad female falls into my arms.'

‘Don't be. It couldn't be helped,' she said, knowing he was watching her intently and surprising him, for her tone held no trace of rancour. A rueful smile lit her eyes to a glowing warmth as she held his gaze. ‘I have been rude to you and I'm sorry. I'm not usually so bad tempered or outspoken.'