Untouched

She flashed him a disapproving look under her lowered dark brows but refrained from censuring him. She took a sip and started to choke.

He swore again and pulled her up against him so she could catch her breath. How his uncle would preen if he were here. Matthew had sworn he’d never lay a finger on any woman Lord John found. Yet he coddled and cosseted this conniving baggage as if she were an ailing princess. It had taken the wench only minutes to wheedle her way into his arms.

He had to admire her cleverness, if nothing else.

Oh, be honest, he derided himself. So far, you admire everything about her apart from the fact that she’s on Lord John’s side and not yours.

“Drink, damn you,” he growled, snatching the glass which she was about to drop and pressing it to her bloodless lips.

“After an invitation like that, how can I refuse?” she replied breathlessly, then took a few small sips. “Could I have some water, do you think?”

He almost smiled as he added sheer bravado to the growing list of things he admired about her. “Whatever madam desires. I exist but to serve.”

Her drawn features didn’t lighten. He had a sudden burning need to see her smile. Savagely, he stifled the urge.

What did he care if a whore chose to smile? He had enough trouble when she was on the brink of collapse. He returned the brandy glass to the sideboard and filled another glass from the pitcher of water.

“Thank you,” she said with that odd politeness.

He stood and surveyed her as she drank. One of her protectors must have had pretensions to gentility. Or perhaps she was the wayward daughter of a good family. She spoke with the smooth cadences of the wealthy classes and he couldn’t fault her courtesy.

She leaned back against the sofa. The temptation was raw to take her in his arms again. To comfort and support only, he told himself desperately. Although as he’d held her, he hadn’t missed the supple indent of her waist or the winsome arch of her hip or the firm roundness of her bosom. And her damned evocative scent lingered, luring him closer and closer.

He gazed down at her with a mixture of helpless wonder and furious denial. He wanted to curse and insult her. He wanted to rage and rant and tear the room up like the madman he was supposed to be.

Instead, he found himself asking, “Are you hungry?”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as if the air itself offered sustenance. The rise and fall of her chest only made him more aware of the beautiful shape of her breasts. They weren’t large but on a woman of her extreme slenderness, they seemed miraculously voluptuous. His fingers curled at his sides as if he already tested the weight and shape of her.

“Madam, when did you last eat?” he asked more insistently.

She roused from her uneasy doze. “I had some bread and cheese at breakfast yesterday,” she said dully.

“I’ll get you something,” he said, more relieved than he wanted to admit at having a valid excuse to escape her presence. That shaming relief was graphic demonstration of how dangerous she was.

He was a man of unfailing will. Will was all that kept him alive. But half an hour in her company threatened to turn him into her creature. And she hadn’t even started to work her seductive wiles. She’d been too sick.

God help him when she regained her health. She’d have him on his knees in five minutes flat.

No, damn her, she wouldn’t win.

He’d fought his uncle all these years and not given up. No mere scrap of a girl would vanquish him.

Still, only when he went through to the kitchen did he manage an unconstrained breath. His first unconstrained breath since he’d discovered her.

“It’s more bread and cheese. There wasn’t much else in the larder.” He angled the laden tray through the door.

The girl didn’t answer. He supposed she was asleep. She’d looked weary to the point of exhaustion. Quietly, he came round the end of the sofa.

He wasted his consideration. The sofa was empty.

He set the tray on the dresser with a thud. So the strumpet had run off. The estate was impossible to escape. He could vouch for that after years of trying to break free.

Clearly, she’d decided no amount of money compensated for sharing her bed with a lunatic.

He couldn’t blame her. The assignment had probably sounded promising when his uncle outlined it. He knew how persuasive his guardian could be when he concentrated that magnetic personality on someone he wanted to charm or manipulate. Charm and manipulate, Matthew thought with a bleak laugh. The two were the same to John Lansdowne.

Well, let her try to run. She’d tire soon enough and come back. Even if she didn’t, it was nothing to him. He’d intended to rid himself of her intrusive presence. He should be glad he’d achieved his goal so easily.