Untouched (6 page)

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“Good morning,” he said stiffly. The hand holding the grafting knife dropped away from the rose bush.

“Good morning, my lord,” she responded with those damnably perfect manners.

Her gaze fixed on the knife but she didn’t retreat. Even after one day, he was used to her daring. She took a wary step

from the shadow of the ivy and entered the heart of his private kingdom.

Then he noticed what she wore and he almost groaned aloud. The teal dress hung loosely on her slight frame and slashed

perilously low across her magnificent bosom. He could see the rounded tops of her breasts and the intriguing valley

between them. The neckline drooped so all he could think about was how easily he could bare that creamy bounty.

Manfully, he dragged his gaze from her cleavage to meet her accusing glare.

Well, what could she expect when she flaunted herself in whore’s regalia?

Last night, he’d sworn never to touch her. But it was only human to look, wasn’t it? Looking couldn’t hurt. But looking

led inevitably to touching.

If he touched her, he was lost.

She wrapped her arms around herself to hide her eye-catching décolletage. An attractive flush lay high on her

cheekbones. He had to give his uncle credit for unearthing the only whore in Christendom who remembered how to blush.

He returned his attention to what he was doing. It took him a hellishly long time. For once, his thoughts were far from his

botanical experiments.

Any conversation had faltered after the greeting. What did he know of entertaining the fair sex? Nothing. And right now,

he told himself with no great conviction, he was glad.

He waited for her to accept the dismissal. She merely hovered near the archway as if she were as ill at ease as he.

Nice touch, he thought grimly. And snagged his thumb on a thorn for his trouble.

He wiped the spot of blood on his linen shirt and glared at her. Against his will, he made a detailed inventory of the figure

the dress displayed. The narrow waist. The way the shiny material skimmed the outward curve of her hips. She wasn’t

wearing petticoats—indication enough of her lack of virtue—and the light behind her offered glimpses of her legs through

the skirt.

Every drop of moisture in his mouth evaporated as his gaze traced their slender length. He clenched his hands at his sides

to stop himself from reaching for her.

After a tense silence, she moved. Unfortunately not away, but closer. Closer so the faint breeze carried drifts of her scent

to torment him.

She still smelled like sunshine. But today her soap hinted at the heavier perfume of jasmine. He wished he didn’t like it.

He closed his eyes as he enumerated his reasons to despise and mistrust this woman.

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“My lord,” she began. She sounded nervous, an impression fortified when he opened his eyes to see her fingers laced

together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide their trembling.

The gesture was disarming. He steadfastly refused to be disarmed.

“Mmm?” He wished she’d disappear. He wished she’d take one short step and press all that flower-scented loveliness

against him.

“My lord,” she said more firmly, staying exactly where she was, confound her. She hitched at the dress’s neckline but it

slipped down immediately. “We need to talk.”

Matthew’s mature experience of women was sketchy to the point of nonexistence. But he was acute enough to know

those words from a female promised trouble.

“I’m busy.” He studied his new rose as if it held the secrets of the ages on its barren stalk.

She sighed with impatience. “This won’t take long.”

Startled, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes for the first time. “You’re not frightened anymore.”

A steady blue gaze met his. “Of course I’m still frightened,” she snapped. “But cowering away at the mere sight of you

won’t do any good. And I’ve worked out that if you meant to hurt me, you’d have done so already.”

She raised her chin in a brave gesture that stirred his heart. My God, where had his uncle found her? She was a miracle.

“I might be lulling you into a false sense of security,” he said dryly. He had to remember her candor and courage were

weapons she used against him.

“Believe me, secure is a long way from how I’m feeling.” Her eyes didn’t waver. “I want your help to escape.”

He threw his head back and laughed. She was so earnest, yet she must know her request was ridiculous.

Her fine dark brows had lowered with annoyance when he finally regained his breath. She’d even forgotten to fiddle with

her dress. “I am overjoyed I provide your lordship with such amusement,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

He sobered immediately. “That is your purpose, is it not?” he responded in a silky tone.

He turned his back to go to the greenhouse for more binding to finish the graft. Perhaps his deliberate rudeness would

chase her off. But of course, it didn’t. Instead, she came after him, close enough for damned jasmine to mingle with the

other scents that surrounded him, of spring flowers and freshly turned soil.

“Lord Sheene, I suspect our…intimacy is as unwelcome to you as to me.”

That made him pull up so suddenly that she crashed into his back, every luscious inch of her.

He turned on her, fighting the urge to sweep her up in his arms, and barked, “What makes you say that?”

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She stepped away, thank God, before he could grab her and consign his war with his uncle to Hades. Her color was even

higher and she breathed in gusty little mouthfuls. A perfect portrayal of an innocent woman who found a man’s proximity

disturbing. He’d have applauded her performance if he hadn’t been so disturbed himself.

She went on in an unsteady voice. “Your manner, for one thing. You clearly resent my presence. Also last night, you

didn’t…”

“Force my disagreeable person upon you?” he finished for her and saw her flinch.

“If you were in a fever of lust, you’d have already had me. I told you I’m a widow and not unacquainted with men and

their…needs.”

He nearly laughed again. She sounded prim as any spinster schoolmistress. All the time, she stood there arrayed like an

expensive tart and driving him out of his mind with her nearness.

As if he weren’t out of his mind already.

He folded his arms and surveyed her down the length of his nose. “Madam, if I could get you out of here, I would. But

your only hope of leaving is my uncle. And having brought you here, he’ll be less than eager to let you go.”

She made a curiously defeated gesture. “I know what you think. But I truly am a victim in this. I lost my way in Bristol

and wandered into a rough quarter of town. Monks and Filey caught me and drugged me. Surely you cannot doubt I was

dosed with laudanum to ensure I didn’t struggle.”

He gave her credit for sticking to her story. “Both the constraint and the drug could be tricks to convince me of your

innocence.”

“You still don’t believe me,” she whispered. Then more strongly, “Look at me, Lord Sheene. Do I look like a…a whore?”

“You look more the part today than you did yesterday,” he said frankly.

She went back to plucking unhappily at her dress but it continued to cling like a loose green skin. “I know, but this was

the least revealing thing I could find.”

His curiosity roused. The rest of her wardrobe must be provocative indeed. He stifled the ribald images flooding his

brain.

Still she fidgeted with her clothing. She certainly gave a realistic show of someone uncomfortable in what she wore. She

ended up folding her arms across her bosom again, to his unwilling regret.

“There was a woman. Mrs. Filey, I suppose. She drew me a bath and took my black dress. I assumed she meant to brush

it down but she didn’t bring it back. She wouldn’t answer me when I asked her what happened to it. And she wouldn’t

return my petticoats.”

“She’s deaf, has been for years,” he said flatly. “I believe Filey clouted her too hard about the head after one of his

drinking bouts. I see no reason why she can’t speak but I’ve never heard her do so.”

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The girl whitened until he could almost see the veins beneath her skin. “That’s awful.”

“I don’t need to tell you the man is a brute.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you why I need help,” she said with a hint of asperity. She reminded him briefly of the shabby

duchess he’d met yesterday with her threadbare gown and her imperious manner. “Will you ask your uncle to let me go?”

This time his laugh held a grim tinge. “Mrs. Paget, my uncle pays no heed to my wishes. I expressed abhorrence of this

latest scheme before your arrival.”

“Well, perhaps I could ask him.”

He shrugged and turned away, heading toward his greenhouse. “If you can get a message to him, you’re welcome to try.

He’s a man who follows his own notions. His current notion is that I need a woman to share my delightful idyll. You’re

unquestionably a woman so I doubt he’ll stir himself to find a replacement.”

“I cannot accept we’re stuck in this impossible situation.”

Yet again, she pursued him. Couldn’t the blasted chit take a hint?

He didn’t pause nor did he look at her. “You will.”

This time he managed to escape by going into the greenhouse and shutting the door firmly after him.

He should have known she wouldn’t leave the matter there.

That afternoon Matthew wandered through the woods with Wolfram. He remained blind to the beauty of dappled sunlight

breaking through new leaves. Instead, his mind fixed on his problem.

The woman.

Mrs. Paget.

Grace.

He’d been little more than a boy when he was confined. Even so, his recollection of the world beyond these walls didn’t

include whores who spoke in cultured accents and deliberately played down their attractions. She was a beautiful woman

but she didn’t use paint and she insisted on that unbecoming hairstyle.

He had a sudden intense urge to see her hair down. It would be long and shining as it tumbled about her naked shoulders.

Even the severe braids around her head couldn’t conceal her hair’s luxuriance.

He drew a tight rein on his imagination. She was dangerous enough to his control fully dressed. Or as close to fully

dressed as that green gown allowed.

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If she wasn’t a common prostitute, what was she? Why would a woman like her agree to this scheme?

Was she indeed a temporarily unengaged actress? It was possible. With destitution as the alternative, the prospect of

tupping a madman might be attractive. His uncle mightn’t even have given her so much information.

When Matthew had told her he was insane, her shock had almost convinced him.

If she didn’t know he was mad, why did she think he was held prisoner? She must have known, which meant all her show

of dismay and fear was just that—a show.

Perhaps she had another reason for falling in with his uncle’s machinations. Perhaps she wasn’t here for money, but for

love.

He swore under his breath and kicked discontentedly at the leaf litter on the path. If the woman were his uncle’s cast-off

mistress, a great deal made sense.

Like her air of innocence. His uncle wasn’t above corrupting a respectable woman. His uncle, for all his public probity,

wasn’t above much. Eleven years of captivity had taught Matthew that.

This could explain why she set out to diminish her beauty. In her heart, she remained loyal to her original protector.

Maybe she was unable to face bedding another man.

His uncle was unprincipled enough to ruin an innocent and turn her to his purpose. Any enjoyment Lord John got from

the woman would be a bonus. What became of the jade afterward wouldn’t worry him.

The snag with this perfectly logical explanation was that Matthew found it even more unpalatable than the unpalatable

alternatives. Hellish images hurtled through his mind. His uncle thrusting between the woman’s pale thighs. His uncle’s

hands stroking her bare skin. His uncle’s mouth tasting that smooth white flesh.

“Christ!” He crashed his clenched fist into the smooth gray bark of a beech.

Pain wrenched him back to reality. He hadn’t suffered one of his fits for years. He couldn’t go on like this. He’d make

himself ill. And he’d kill himself before he descended into that shuffling, mindless, quaking wretch again.

Wolfram’s cold nose pressed into his dangling left hand. Matthew absently stroked the dog’s head, finding comfort in the

animal’s steadfast affection.

The woman was here until his uncle chose to remove her. All Matthew could do was avoid her. Difficult when they

shared a house. Still, it counted as a strategy of sorts.

Feeling more in control, he headed back to the cottage, only to watch his pathetic plan crumble before his eyes.

Monks and Filey were in the yard behind the house. That in itself was nothing unusual. But when Matthew paused in the

shade of the trees, he caught a glimpse of bright green satin against the bricks. His brawny jailers were ranged between

the girl and Matthew so he could see no more of her.

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