Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding. Helen Dickson

him, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

      ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t wish to disturb you.’

      His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, holding out the cheroot.

      Several things hit Jane at once—his piercing grey eyes and his voice, which was richly textured and deep, and the fact that he was tall, several inches taller than she was. He was clean-shaven, his skin dark, slashed with eyebrows more accustomed to frowning than smiling, which he was doing now. His mouth was hard, the chin beneath it doing its best to curb its tense, arrogant thrust. It was a face which said its owner cared nothing for fools, and in his darkly lashed grey eyes, silver flecks stirred dangerously like small warning lights. Hidden deep in them was a cynicism, watchful, mocking, as though he found the world a dubious place to be.

      ‘Mind?’ she repeated stupidly.

      ‘The cigar.’

      ‘Oh—no—no, of course I don’t mind,’ she hastily assured him, stepping away.

      He looked away at the same moment that the little girl got up to cross to him. A sudden gust of cold wind swept across the deck, causing passengers to reach out and cling to the rail. The little girl stumbled, falling to her knees, and when she reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, she let go of her dog. Jane’s heart dipped frantically in her chest as the child missed her mother’s hand, bringing those about her to a horrified standstill.

      The deck was wet and slippery, a threat to those who did not walk with care. The child got to her feet. Her sudden anxiety had become dismayed terror as her adored pet scampered to the far end of the deck. With no other thought than reaching her pet, the child went after her.

      Alarmed, the woman got to her feet. ‘Octavia, do come back this instant!’

      Jane’s mouth opened on an appalled shout to warn the child to be careful of the wet deck, but it was too late. Losing her footing, the child stumbled and fell and rolled across the deck. Jane thought she heard the woman cry out, but there was nothing in her mind but the frantic necessity of grabbing the little girl before she slipped through a gap in the lower rails and into the sea.

      The other passengers not as close to the girl as Jane stood frozen to the deck, watching in horror, women with their hands to their mouths, men ready to dash forward to save the child who was sliding ever closer to the abyss, but on seeing Jane scamper after her they did not move.

      Without thought for her own safety, Jane threw herself forward, grabbing the child and landing half on top of her just in time, her larger frame preventing them from slipping through the rails.

      Women had begun to scream and the man who stood smoking a cheroot, white faced with shock, seeing what was happening threw his cheroot into the sea and strode quickly towards the young girl. By the time he reached her she was lying on the deck with her rescuer. Picking up the weeping child, after making sure she was unharmed and handing her over to the older woman to be comforted, he went down on one knee and raised Jane up, lifting her in his arms.

      She leaned against him in a dizzy, helpless silence, aware of nothing but the power of his arm and the muscular chest beneath his cloak as he balanced her against him, the fine aroma of cigars and brandy on his breath which fanned her cheek. Even in her dazed state she was shaken to the core by the bewildering sensations she felt. A hot wave of pure visceral attraction rushed through her. Fighting to maintain her wits, shaken and pale, she moved away from him a little unsteadily, standing a moment to compose herself. She brushed down her skirts before looking up at the gentleman, her eyes enormous with passionate gratitude on seeing his concern.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t hurt yourself when you fell?’

      He spoke in the well-modulated voice of the perfect English gentleman, with that faint arrogance and authority of his class. There was a nonchalance about him that Jane liked immediately.

      ‘No—no, thank you, I am quite unhurt,’ she answered, speaking in a soft, well-bred voice that displayed no discernible personal feeling. Her mouth was tinder-dry with shock, her heart pounding in her throat, but she made efforts to compose herself. She still felt a bit wobbly, but was determined not to show it.

      Staring at him, she was utterly taken aback by the raw masculinity that radiated from him. The most curious thing happened, for suddenly everything around her faded into the background and there was only this man. His face was strong and exceptionally attractive, the expression cool and compelling. His magnetism was unmistakable. The long, tapering trousers he wore seemed to emphasise the muscular length of his legs. As her thoughts raced, once again she looked into the startling intensity of his eyes. Her heart seemed to suddenly leap into her throat in a ridiculous, choking way and she chided herself for being so foolish. This gentleman was, after all, a stranger to her. She dropped her gaze in shock as he took a step closer.

      ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you did. Your quick thinking saved my sister’s life. I am indeed grateful, Miss...?’

      ‘Mortimer,’ Jane provided. ‘In all truth, when I saw her slip and begin to roll towards the rails, I didn’t think. I just knew I had to stop her.’

      ‘I am grateful, Miss Mortimer. She could easily have fallen through the gap, small though it is, into the water.’

      The amazing eyes still focused on her as she drew a deep breath. ‘She is a child and children do impulsive things all the time.’ There was a deep blush on her cheekbones, as much to her gathering annoyance she found herself actually enjoying his presence.

      ‘Unfortunately my sister seems to make a habit of it.’

      ‘I am relieved she is unharmed—and see,’ Jane said, indicating a man who approached the child and placed a fluffy white bundle in her outstretched hands, ‘her dog is being returned to her.’

      ‘Thank goodness. Octavia would be devastated if anything happened to that dog. It is so precious to her.’ His gaze returned to her face. He gave her a long slow look, a twist of humour around his beautifully moulded lips. The smile building about his mouth creased the clear hardness of his jaw and made him appear at that moment the most handsome man in the world.

      Then, suddenly, his direct, masculine assurance disconcerted her. She was vividly conscious of his proximity to her. She felt the mad, unfamiliar rush of blood singing through her veins, which she had never experienced before. He had made too much of an impact on her and she was afraid that if he looked at her much longer he would read her thoughts with those brilliant eyes of his. She was relieved when the child’s mother got up and came to her. Tears of gratitude swam in her eyes.

      ‘Thank you, my dear, for your brave intervention. You have my heartfelt thanks and gratitude.’

      ‘I’m glad I was able to help.’

      ‘Is there anything we can do to repay you...?’

      The colour rushed to Jane’s face once more, embarrassed that she should be offered payment for helping a child. ‘No—of course not. I only did what anyone else would have done.’ She stepped back. ‘Excuse me. We are approaching Dover. I must go and locate my baggage.’

      ‘Of course,’ the woman said. ‘Are you going far?’

      ‘To London.’

      ‘So you will be taking the train.’

      ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Please excuse me.’

      Turning from them, Jane went to retrieve her bags as more passengers began to appear on deck.

      * * *

      Christopher Chalfont went to check on Octavia. Thankfully she seemed no worse for her ordeal. He glanced over his shoulder to take another look at the young woman who had rushed to help his sister with a complete lack of concern for her own safety, but she was nowhere to be seen, having been swallowed up in the passengers as they gathered to disembark.

      Something stirred within him that he was at a loss to identify—neither pity