Untouched

Her head drooped on her slender neck and her body formed a despairing curve. Untidy tendrils of hair clung to her damp face. One long tress escaped her plait and snaked down to disappear under his shirt. How his hand itched to follow that shining black line. He clenched hard on the desk behind him to block turning the wish into reality.

The only sounds in the room were her rasping sobs and the patter of rain against the windows. She knelt on the sofa, struggling for breath so his shirt heaved over her breasts. Breasts he now knew were round and white and tipped with small, perfect nipples. Another bolt of desire slammed him and left him shaking.

“Why did you kiss me, Grace?” he snarled.

Tears streaked her wan face as she looked up at him. “I want you to take me,” she said flatly.

“No, you don’t,” he said with an absolute certainty he wished to hell he didn’t feel.

“If you want me, why don’t you take me?” Her bewilderment cut to his heart.

Because you don’t want me the way I want you, damn it.

“You know why. It’s dishonor for you. And for me.”

“I don’t care about dishonor.” The same toneless voice. New tears flowed down her cheeks. Her throat moved as she swallowed nervously.

She was frightened.

His heart contracted in anguished denial. “Grace, I’d never hurt you. There’s no need to fear me.”

Horror dawned in her eyes and she shook her head vehemently. “I’m not afraid of you.” A blush tinted her cheeks as she looked away. “Or perhaps only a little.”

Of course he scared her. His desire had been immediate and flagrant. And was still rampant, as a married woman would know, although so far she’d studiously fixed her attention above his waist.

“Then what is it?” He gripped the desk like a shipwrecked sailor gripped a broken spar in a stormy ocean.

Her hands twined in her lap with restless distress. “This was wrong. I shouldn’t have come to you. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t help himself. Her misery called more strongly than his sense of self-preservation. He shoved himself away from the desk and took the three strides that brought him to the sofa. “Grace, just tell me.”

Striving for control, he sat next to her and lifted one of her twisting hands. He wanted her to feel safe, to know he’d mastered his ravening hunger. But his fingers trembled as he touched her.

“Tell me,” he repeated, beating back the lust that writhed and screamed inside him.

Her hand curled around his in a gesture of trust he didn’t deserve and she sucked in a deep breath. The faint color receded from her face, leaving her even paler. “Your uncle said unless I…coax you into my bed before Saturday, he’ll kill me.”

Jesus, why hadn’t he guessed?

Through the humiliation and fear writhing in her belly, Grace struggled for words. “And before…” She swallowed again, then spoke in a frantic rush. “And before he kills me, he’ll give me to Monks and Filey.”

“God blast him to hell,” Lord Sheene said viciously, his hand tightening around hers.

“I’ve betrayed you in the worst possible way.” The shame that had shadowed her all night rose to choke her. How could he be so kind when she’d set out to suborn him? She lurched to her feet, desperate to escape to the lonely privacy of the bedroom.

Roughly, he pulled her back down beside him. “What are you going to do about Saturday?”

She searched his eyes for the disgust he must feel. She only found concern and the banked fires of anger at his uncle’s machinations.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, although she shuddered because she did know.

At that moment, she reached a difficult decision. She’d never allow Monks and Filey to touch her. She’d kill herself first. Her death had been inevitable from the moment those foul thugs had abducted her. Better that death came before the final degradation. After tonight’s fiasco, she’d never again muster the nerve to try to seduce Lord Sheene.

Her course was set for irrevocable ruin. She wouldn’t take him down to destruction with her.

“You should have told me this,” he said gently.

“What could you have done? Apart from say there’s no hope.”