Untouched (10 page)

nowt, you won’t keep him waiting.”

In spite of the warning, she stared open-mouthed at him. Salvation arrived just when she gave up hope.

Surely when she told Lord John who she was, he’d let her go. She’d be free, free of this luxurious prison, free of danger,

free of temptation.

“Well, take me to him.” She was unable to suppress the lilt of relief in her voice.

Monks glanced at her doubtfully but gestured for her to precede him inside. The unknown Lord John’s influence

extended even to lending his unpleasant henchmen manners, it seemed. Grace hurried through to the salon where rescue

awaited at last.

“Here be the wench, your lordship,” Monks said with a bow, then left them.

Grace blinked as her eyes adjusted to the gloom after the bright sunshine. The room with its closed curtains was stuffy.

For the first time, a fire burned in the grate, although it was a warm day.

A man sat almost unnaturally straight at the table where she and Lord Sheene took their meals. He wore a heavy brown

wool coat. How could he bear the oppressive temperature?

She stepped forward and sank into the sweeping court curtsy she’d been taught as a girl. “My lord.”

He didn’t stand. As she rose, she met eyes of gelid gray in a long face. He bore a strong resemblance to his nephew

although his features, while handsome, lacked Lord Sheene’s striking beauty.

From the marquess’s description, she’d expected a villain from a fairy story but this could be any well-to-do gentleman of

her acquaintance. He was in his middle years with graying dark hair. Surely such a man couldn’t countenance kidnap,

rape, and murder. He seemed to embody respectability. His manner expressed disdain, certainly. She was both a woman

and his social inferior so that hardly counted as a mark of irredeemable evil.

She cursed the yellow dress that proclaimed her a whore. If only she’d worn the black bombazine. At least its shabby

black supported her story.

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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“You are the doxy Monks and Filey found in Bristol?” His voice was deep and unexpectedly pleasant.

“My lord, I protest the description.” Instinct told her poised control would gain more headway than pathetic groveling.

“My name is Grace Paget and I’m a virtuous widow. There’s been a grievous mistake. I throw myself upon your mercy.”

His eyebrows arched with surprise, she supposed at her cultivated accent. “Madam, this lie is absurd. My men said you

were drumming up custom on the docks.”

He spoke as if Grace were lower than dung in the gutter. Her fleeting hope contracted into a hard knot of despair. Did she

think he’d remedy the error the moment she identified herself? What made her imagine he’d even believe her? What an

idiot she was. She’d find no easy salvation here. Lord John had ordered her abduction. Monks and Filey had told her so.

Lord Sheene had told her so.

She struggled to keep her voice steady, although with every second, this quietly spoken man frightened her more than his

minions ever had.

“I got lost seeking my cousin who had arranged to meet me off the mail coach.” With repetition, the tale became more

threadbare than her widow’s weeds. “I beg you to restore me to my family.”

“This concoction could be an attempt to avoid an uncongenial client. Monks informs me you’ve yet to crawl into my

nephew’s bed.”

Color rose in her cheeks at Lord John’s casual, contemptuous reference. “Surely if I were the sort of woman who…” She

swallowed and tried again. “Surely, a woman off the streets wouldn’t hesitate to do your bidding.”

“Perhaps.” Frowning, he stared into the distance and tapped his fingers on the polished wood of the table.

The pause extended. And extended.

Eventually he focused on her with a disgruntled expression. “If what you say is correct, your presence is problematic.

Monks was right to alert me to the difficulties.” He didn’t sound shocked, he sounded annoyed. He pointed to a chair

opposite. “Please sit. Mrs. Paget, is it?”

She remained standing. Ignoring the fear prickling the back of her neck, she spoke with all the firmness she could muster.

“I shall go and change into the clothes I arrived in. I’ve been missing nearly a week. My family will be concerned about

my whereabouts.”

Lord John’s lips stretched in a humorless smile that reminded her sharply of the marquess at his most difficult. “They

must continue to be concerned, my dear lady.”

Surely he knew he had no right to hold her as his nephew’s unwilling plaything. For all her poverty, she was a lady,

deserving of his respect, his care. It was heinous enough that he’d planned to abduct a woman of easy virtue. To subject a

female born to his own class to this treatment was unthinkable.

“I can’t stay here.” Dread and the airless room made her lightheaded. She curled her fingers over the back of the nearest

chair for support. “Please let me go.”

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He tilted his head to study her. His reptilian eyes slid over her and she fought the urge to shield her breasts.

“Out of the question, Mrs. Paget. You could bring charges of abduction against me.”

Her fingers clenched hard against the chair. “What if I give my word never to mention this house or what you’ve done?”

“Tempting, I’m sure.” She saw he didn’t mean it. “I find myself reluctant to rely on so fragile a prop as a female’s

promise.”

Her voice broke. “I’ll beg on my knees if I have to.”

Aristocratic displeasure crossed his face. “Histrionics will only extend this embarrassing scene.”

Inside her tight chest, her heart thudded the inexorable message that he’d never let her go, no matter how she cried and

pleaded. “There must be something I can do. I don’t belong here.”

The disdain on his face hardened into ruthlessness. “Your life outside these gates matters not one whit, madam. Your fate

was decided when my servants found you. The only way you’ll leave this estate is in a shroud.”

The gray stare was pitiless and unwavering. How could he threaten her with death and ruin and remain as emotionless as

a monolith? In spite of the close atmosphere, she shivered as fear chilled her soul.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. Her heart drummed a frantic rhythm and breathing became a struggle.

“Don’t you?” His voice was calm. When she didn’t say anything, he went on with a hint of impatience. “Monks should

have explained. If he failed to clarify your situation, my nephew should have exerted himself to outline your duties.”

Rage swept in and bolstered her faltering courage. “I am aware why I am here, my lord. But you must see I’m no whore.”

The man opposite made a slight moue of distaste. “You must learn to act one then, Mrs. Paget. I brought you here to

entertain Lord Sheene. If you fail to gain his approval—as from all reports you have, I hear he goes out of his way to shun

you—you are of no use.”

“Then let me go.”

His impatience became more marked. “Do you not listen, you tiresome young woman? Once your usefulness is over, so

is your life. If my nephew finds you diverting, you live as his mistress until he wearies of you. If you cannot stomach a

madman’s touch, your end comes without delay. I don’t store tools with no function.”

“He’s not mad,” she said in a thin voice, then wondered why, given all the threats she faced, defending the marquess

should be her first response.

Lord John laughed softly as if she’d made a witty remark at a society event. “He’s gulled you into thinking he’s sane, has

he? I must say he can be quite convincing. Until he starts to shake and drool and lose control of his bowels. I doubt you’d

be so quick to defend him then.”

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The picture was so graphic, nausea rose in her throat. She wanted to call Lord John a liar. But what did she know? She’d

been here five days. His uncle had known the marquess all his life. Still, she spoke through stiff lips. “I don’t believe

you.”

“It is of no importance what you believe.” His tone hardened. “You have one week to lure my nephew into your bed.”

She stepped back from the chair and straightened her shoulders. Even in the overheated room, the sweat on her skin was

cold, although not as cold as the bleak knowledge seeping into her mind.There was no escape. There would never be any

escape.

“And if I don’t?”

Lord John’s expression became, if anything, more condescending. “You die and I instruct Monks and Filey to locate a

replacement. Hopefully, one with a greater sense of self-preservation.”

“This is monstrous.” She sought but failed to find guilt or regret in his impassive face.

“Yes, perhaps it is.” He sounded unconcerned.

She pressed one shaking hand to her roiling stomach to calm it. “So it’s death or dishonor?” she said with false bravado.

“Death in any case,” he said negligently. Then he paused and a calculating light entered the flat gray eyes. “Although if

you prove your trustworthiness and bring my nephew up to snuff, we needn’t be so final about your eventual fate.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, even though she knew he played with her to gain obedience and had no intention of

negotiating concessions. She’d been a naïve fool when she rushed into this room, but she was a naïve fool no longer.

He shrugged. “Just that I reward those who serve me well. This past year, Sheene hasn’t been himself. If I see you’ve

taken my wishes to heart and my nephew returns to his former health and vigor, you may rely on my gratitude.”

She was past guarding her words. “So if I prostitute myself, the payment is freedom?”

He didn’t even blink at her biting question. “I offer the suggestion merely as incentive.” He stood. He was tall, but not as

tall as the marquess. “You have a week. One guarantee I will make is if you fail, next Saturday is your last day on earth.

After Monks and Filey have taken their turn at you, of course. They blundered in this scheme, but they’re faithful. As I

said, I reward loyalty.”

“You’re a devil.” The words seemed to come from a long way away. She sucked in a gulp of heavy air but her vision

remained cloudy. While a suffocating sense of unreality rose to crush her, one memory remained cruelly clear. Filey’s

hands mauling her breasts and his foul breath in her face as he promised degradation.

Death she could bear if she must. The prospect of Lord John’s foul henchmen raping her made her want to scream until

she had no voice left.

The monster came around the table and gripped her arm in merciless fingers. “Think upon what I’ve said, Mrs. Paget.

You’re comely enough to snare my nephew if you try.”

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He trailed one white hand down her cheek. She tried to flinch away but subsided into shuddering stillness when he

pressed his thumb hard into the base of her throat. She gagged on a strangled whimper.

He continued in the same reflective tone even while his thumb pushed and pushed at her windpipe, choking her. “Don’t

imagine lack of cooperation will meet with lenience. Replacing you presents only minor inconvenience.”

He released his bruising hold. She stumbled free. Through an aching throat, she struggled to breathe.

“Don’t touch me,” she managed to rasp, blindly fumbling for the wall to keep herself upright. A little while ago, she’d

offered to kneel. Now she couldn’t countenance the idea of collapsing in front of him.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval as though at a naughty child. “You must rise above such fastidiousness, madam. You

have a week.”

“I won’t do this,” she said in a low shaking voice.

“Then face the consequences.” He nodded in her direction. “Good day, Mrs. Paget.”

She couldn’t bear to turn and watch him leave. She listened to the even tap of his cane as he crossed the floor, then the

gentle click of the closing door. Lord John had done everything carefully and softly. His voice hadn’t risen above a

murmur when he promised her destruction.

Grace raised a quivering hand to her lips and stared sightlessly down at the table. Danger crowded upon her from all sides

of this darkened, stifling room.

Suddenly, she craved air and light. She lunged across to rattle back the curtains and fling open the windows. Great

lungfuls of clear spring air brought her rioting stomach under control. But nothing shifted the leaden weight of

hopelessness and fear. She suspected that burden would remain until the day she died.

The day she died might only be a week away.

“Congratulations,” the marquess said from behind her, his tone edged with lacerating contempt. “My uncle must be so

pleased with you. He looked even smugger than usual when he left.”

Through her panic, she hadn’t heard him come in. She didn’t shift from the window.

“Did you speak to him?” The words scraped over her sore throat. She didn’t need to look at Lord Sheene to know the

bristling animosity was back.

“No. He finds my company uncongenial.” Again that acerbic drawl. “But I’m sure he enjoyed his coze with you, Mrs.

Paget. Particularly when you told him how easily you gulled me.”

She barely believed what she heard. Surely he must guess Lord John’scoze had involved only threats and terror.