Page 81 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Red had hardly been prepared for the woman flying at him anymore than he’d expected to do battle with a sizeable rat. The bloody thing had taken quite the exception to Red invading his lodgings and had run at him with such force, he’d been forced to jump aside and nearly fallen through a hole in the floor.

He grabbed Miss St. John and held her back from him.

“Are you well?” she asked, her breaths rapid.

He nodded. As well as he could be anyway. She could have little idea the sight of her nipples pressing against the cotton of her shift was now burned into his brain. Or that the generous swells of her breasts and hips had been singed on the inside of his eyelids. This now meant, unfortunately, that he was seeing Miss St. John in an entirely different light.

Well, perhaps he had been mildly aware of her attractiveness, and he had certainly found himself a little too fascinated by the annoying bluestocking. But she had not aroused him until now.

She stared up at him. There was enough light seeping through from the broken windows above and the hole in the roof for him to see her features clearly enough. Her eyes glinted and her lips pursed. Her rapid breathing drew his attention inevitably down to her chest.

“I thought...” She sucked in a breath, forcing her breasts to rise against her gown.

He groaned inwardly.

“I thought you were hurt.”

He shook his head again.

“That crash...”

He shook his head once more. Miss St. John finally fell silent. Perhaps the weight of his attraction to her had finally fallen upon her and shut her up. He could not decide whether to be grateful or not. At least when she was talking incessantly, he was less likely to think of kissing her. Or was he? A kiss would silence her to be certain.

She swayed into him a little. Whatever the heck this was, she was struggling too. He was not unaware women found him handsome, though his wealth would have made him attractive no matter how much he looked like the rear end of a farm animal. However, he could hardly have expected a woman like Miss St. John to be attracted to him. Hell, the woman thoroughly disapproved of him, and he had little inclination to change that.

But those lips that were usually pressed into a firm line were slightly parted and far too full. Far too tempting.

Damn and blast, this was not what he had intended at all.

“Red?”

The word tripped over his spine, jumping over each notch and making him shudder. Never had his nickname sounded so sensual.

“Hannah.”

For God’s sakes, why did he say that?

He closed the gap, drawing her close to his damp chest. And why the hell did he do that? There would be no benefit to kissing this uptight woman. The sooner he had her off his hands, the better. If he kissed her, she might expect more from him. Heck, she was likely so inexperienced, she’d expect a marriage proposal or something awful like that.

Spreading his palms over her back, he relished the feel of her body against his. She stared up at him as though entranced. The groans he’d been keeping in escaped. The rise and fall of her breasts against him sent his mind hazy.

He leaned in, felt her breaths against his lips.

Miss St. John screamed. She tore from him and barreled into the other room. When he finally gathered his senses and slowed his racing heart, he followed her in to find her curled up on the chair near the fire, her legs hugged tightly to her.

“Well, I know I should not have done that, but there was no need to scream.”

“It was not...it was no that. Something...something ran across my foot.”

Red pinched his brow. That blasted rat. Though he supposed he ought to be grateful to it from saving him from making a big mistake.

“There’s nothing in here. You can put your feet down.”

She twisted in the chair and carefully inspected every corner. Lowering her feet, she narrowed her eyes at him. “If anything touches me again, I am sleeping outside.”

“And here I thought you were a practical woman.”

“I am. Being...wary of unknown creatures is extremely practical. One does not know what they might do to one.”

“It was just a rodent.”

“A disease carrying rodent! I would rather freeze to death than catch a disease from a rat.”

He heaved a sigh and dragged over another chair. Hopefully it had enough strength in it to hold him up.

They watched the flames in silence for some time. Red stood to give the fire a poke with the wooden leg he’d kept as a poker. He glanced at Miss St. John and a smile tugged from him. Mouth open, she was still bundled up, safe from rats, but fast asleep.

He eyed the thin muslin of her gown and noted the tremor gently rumbling through her body. Her hair had dried, leaving it in wild, bouncy curls around her face. The temptation to pull one and wrap it around his finger was strong—too strong. Why should he care what her hair felt like? He already knew what her body felt like, after all—soft, warm, supple. Mere hair should not interest him.

He rose and snatched up his greatcoat. It had dried well and the wool was thick enough to keep out most of the rain. With careful steps, he edged over to the sleeping woman and laid the garment over her, tucking it up around her chin. She made a sleepy sound but did not open her eyes. He tilted his head to eye the innocent vision she made.

Innocent. Wholly and utterly innocent. And a royal pain in the arse. Nothing appealing here at all and yet...and yet he could not help admire the relaxed shape of her lips or the way her dark lashes skimmed her cheeks. Those little freckles too—they were interesting. He wanted to sweep his finger over her nose and trace them then perhaps see if she had more on her body.

Fool.

He would not be seeing any freckles or any more of Miss St. John’s body. He would find them transport at the next town and be on their way, and he would not touch her again nor would he think of anything other than getting rid of that blasted stone and returning home to continue the smuggling operation. There was much to be done, and he didn’t much like being left out of the excitement.

Just before he backed off, a tingle started in his nose. He tried to catch it but too late. A sneeze wracked him, and Miss St. John startled away, bolting up from the chair and bringing her forehead into direct contact with his chin. His teeth rattled in his jaw, and a bolt of pain seared through him. She cried out and slumped back into the chair.

Red staggered back a few steps, clutching his jaw. “God, you have a hard head,” he muttered.

The tang of blood told him he’d suffered some damage. He prodded his mouth with a finger and discovered he’s managed to cut his bottom lip on his teeth. He grimaced as he withdrew the bloodied finger.

“You’re hurt?” she declared, rising.

He held up a hand. “Don’t bloody move.” He was not quite sure he trusted her to be near him. “Are you harmed?”

She shook her head. “I do have a hard head,” she admitted.

A reluctant smile escaped him.

“What were you doing?”

He rescued his coat from the floor. “Attempting to keep you warm.” He offered it to her.

“Do you not need it? You sneezed.”

“One sneeze. It hardly means anything.”

“I pray it does not. I would not wish you blaming me for your illness.” She snuggled under his coat.

“I will not get ill,” he said confidently. And if he did, he would be blaming it on that blasted stone.