The Bride Wore Scandal. Helen Dickson

it is done. The owner, whoever he is, will be grateful to us for having freed it. It would never have freed itself. No doubt it was after rabbits.’

      Three things hit Christina at once: his eyes were deep and piercing—a strange colour of silver grey—while his voice was richly textured, cultured and deep, and the hands that had released Toby from the briars had the strength in them of a man who was not afraid to dirty them in his chosen profession, yet giving the impression of a creative man of some refinement. The combination sent a peculiar warmth up her spine, and nothing had prepared her for the thrill of quivering excitement that gripped her now, beginning in her chest where her heart lay, and radiating to every part of her body. He looked steadily at her. Then he moved his head closer to hers.

      Hypnotised by those passionate silver eyes, which were coming nearer and nearer to her own, Christina found she couldn’t move—she had neither the desire nor the strength to do so. Her heart thumped so wildly in her breast that she could hardly breathe. Cupping her chin in his hand, he placed his mouth on hers. Without ever being aware of it, she yielded her lips to his. His kiss was both gentle and compelling. The world around her seemed to vanish away, leaving only this stranger and herself locked together in a charmed circle against which dull reality crumbled away.

      She was aware that this was a moment of great importance, that she stood on the threshold of a great revelation, but could not yet understand the substance of it. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. It was as if she were being sucked down into a pool of deep, dark, swirling water, a turbulence of longing—a longing for something she had never known before, but which this man could provide.

      Releasing her chin he pulled away. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured. ‘I can see I shall have to come this way more often.’

      ‘I should not have let you kiss me.’

      He smiled. ‘No, you shouldn’t—any more than I should have attempted to. Do you mind?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, no, I don’t.’

      ‘Then there’s no harm done.’

      They continued to look at each other. Christina saw that his thick, dark brown hair was curiously wet and drawn back, accentuating high cheekbones, a heavy lock falling carelessly over his wide brow. A firm, cleanshaven chin, well-formed nose and strongly sensual mouth added to the enigmatic character of his bronzed face. His eyebrows were inclined to dip in a frown of perplexity over eyes that were ever watchful. He was very handsome, but there was an aggressive virility in his bold gaze that made her uneasy. They looked at each other with startled eyes, a look that lasted no more than a moment and yet seemed to last an eternity before she lowered her eyes.

      When he straightened and she stood before him, the dog content to sit at her feet, she was conscious of the hard lines of his body beneath his clothes, of how tall he was, how lean and superbly fit, how proudly he carried himself. His eyes observed her with frank interest. She felt she should be nervous, in the woods all alone with a perfect stranger, but she wasn’t and she couldn’t have said why. He appeared to offer no threat to her, tall and arrogant-looking as he was, a complex man who would be as elusive as smoke, a man who would break the heart of the woman who loved him.

      ‘I—I’m sure you’re right about Toby,’ she murmured, giving him a wobbly smile. ‘He’s badly scratched, poor thing, but had he become caught in a poacher’s snare, he would not have fared so well. Thank you for what you did. I’m sorry I spoke sharply. I—I thought you were Toby’s owner.’

      ‘You will have a few choice words to say to him when next you meet, I am sure. You are well acquainted with him—the dog’s owner?’

      ‘I—I—no,’ she stammered, cursing herself for being flustered. ‘Not very.’

      ‘Then if you tell me where he lives, I would be happy to return the dog.’ He saw something flare in her eyes, something akin to fear. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His curiosity was roused. ‘I promise you it would be no trouble.’

      ‘No,’ she said—too quickly, the stranger thought, noticing how her glance flitted hesitantly away from him. ‘I’ll take care of it myself.’

      ‘As you wish.’ He looked down at her face upturned to his, tempted to caress the delicate, unblemished cheeks blooming with colour. Her features seemed perfect. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted, tantalising and gracefully curving. Her brows were gently arched above eyes that were clear and blue, brilliant against the thick fringe of jet black lashes. They stared back at him open, yet as unfathomable as any sea he had gazed into.

      As he looked at her he felt burned—scorched—by her beauty. He was quite bewildered by the emotion he felt in the part of his body where he supposed his heart lay. He couldn’t describe what he felt because he didn’t have any words. It was then that he saw the colour that stained her cheeks darken, sensed her breath catch in her throat and felt momentary wonder. Could she, too, be feeling the lure of deep attraction awoken by the kiss?

      ‘Are you far from home?’ he asked, amazed at his concern, for what did he care about a woman riding in the woods alone? Perhaps it was because of her vulnerable femininity, or was it her total lack of concern over her own safety? Whatever it was, it annoyed him slightly, since he didn’t really have the time or patience to be fretting himself over a woman he did not know, but something about this young woman intrigued him, made him want to get to know her better.

      ‘Oh, no, I live quite close,’ she replied, regarding him steadily, not the slightest bit alarmed at his large, male presence.

      ‘And where’s home?’

      He was smiling, and his smile was luminous, joyous, heart-stopping. ‘As I said, not far.’

      Unexpectedly, he reached out and took her blood-smeared hands, bending his head and frowning at the scratches. ‘I see you have not fared so well yourself. You’d best get along home and have them tended—although I suppose you could clean them in the brook.’

      Something in his tone alarmed Christina. Her eyes snapped to his and she gasped, slowly pulling her hands from his gentle grasp. ‘It’s nothing. They’ll soon heal—but … Oh! You were watching me, weren’t you—when I …?’ His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks.

      ‘I saw you dunking your feet in the brook, if that’s what you mean.’ His white teeth gleamed and his bold eyes laughed at her as his leisurely perusal swept her face, delighting in her confusion. ‘And what pretty feet you have, as perfect as any I have ever seen.’

      At this questionable familiarity, mortified, Christina suffered through a scorching blush. His having taken the time to watch her—no, spy on her would be a more appropriate word—as she removed her stockings, told her his manners were somewhat lacking. ‘And how long were you standing there ogling me?’

      Having leisurely observed the beauty to his heart’s content while she indulged herself in the brook, he made no effort to curb an amused, all-too-confident grin. ‘Long enough to know I won’t forget what I saw in a hurry. It would be impossible. You have pretty legs, too, by the way.’

      ‘Oh!’ She jumped as if she’d been stung and her mouth flew open to speak her outrage. ‘You should not have looked—or you should have made your presence known so I could have covered myself.’

      ‘I did not want to intrude on what was, to me, a very gratifying moment—although on second thought,’ he murmured, smiling lazily and his eyes narrowing to gleaming slits, ‘had I thought you would welcome my presence and allow me to share your … paddle, then I might very well have shown myself.’

      ‘And got yourself dunked in the water for your cheek,’ Christina retorted, meeting his predatory stare, feeling much like a hen before a wily fox and expecting to be devoured at any moment. She was unable to believe the man’s audacity. The moment of enchantment—the kiss and the care and kindness he had shown Toby a moment before—was forgotten.

      ‘I’d have been more