Untouched

Was it likely she’d remain free to wander the park? Her captors would flush her from the greenery like beaters flushed pheasants for the hunters’ guns.

She smothered a bitter laugh. Josiah Paget’s penniless widow had thought she’d measured disaster. She hadn’t known what trouble was then.

“Pleasing to see you haven’t abandoned your sense of humor,” a deep, subtly mocking voice said.

She raised her head and met the lost, compelling eyes of the man who had held her while she vomited. He stood before her with rangy ease. A wolfhound sidled close to him. One elegant hand lowered and negligently stroked the dog’s shaggy head.

“No!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. Logic told her she lacked the strength to evade him. Her galloping heart insisted she try.

“Wolfram,” he said quietly. The huge hound bounded forward to bring her to bay against the oak behind her. “There’s no point running. You must know that by now.”

Over the animal’s rough back, she glowered at the picturesque monster who tormented her. “If it delays your assault on me, that’s point enough,” she said in a voice that shook no matter how she fought to steady it.

The accusation was meant to sting. But the honey mosaic gaze didn’t waver. “If the client isn’t to your taste, I can only apologize. Although I wouldn’t have thought a whore could be too fussy about who she opens her legs to.” Acid contempt laced his words.

She drew herself up to full height. This time, her voice was firm and edged with outrage. “I am no whore. Those swine you employ brought me here against my will. Any man with a shred of honor would do his utmost to restore me to my family.”

“But I am not a man of honor.” His mobile mouth curled in the already familiar sardonic smile. “I am just a poor helpless lunatic.”

He stepped forward with a loose-limbed ease that Grace couldn’t help noticing and rested his hand on the dog’s neck. The movement brought him dauntingly close. She edged away until the dog’s soft growl forced her to freeze.

Her brief defiance evaporated. “Please let me go,” she said brokenly.

His brows drew together in irritation. “I pray you, madam, cease this charade,” he snapped, his long fingers tightening in the dog’s brindle coat. “My uncle, Lord John Lansdowne, paid you to come here and ply your trade. It was clever to invent this fanciful tale of abduction. But the widow’s weeds, the panic, the pleading, even the induced sickness, none gull me into believing your story. I am wise to your trickery.”

“You’re mad,” she breathed, as the nightmare closed around her in a blinding fog.

He shrugged. “Surely my uncle cannot have neglected to inform you of that. What other reason could he offer for my confinement?”

She shook her head in bewilderment. The impossible thing was he looked as sane as any man she’d ever known, even while his words made no sense. She focused on the part that was easiest to deny.

“I’ve never met your uncle.”

An expression of haughty displeasure crossed his features. “You cling to your lies. No matter. You’ll tire of the masquerade.” He turned away. “Come, Wolfram.” Obediently, the hound trotted after him as he strode off.

Disbelievingly she watched the retreat of that straight back in its loose white shirt.

“You’re leaving me here?” She cursed the words for emerging as protest rather than demand.

“Follow me back to the house or stay out here for Monks and Filey to find when they check the grounds,” he said without looking at her. His tone was indifferent and his manner was dismissive as he walked off.

Her trembling fingers dug into the rough bark behind her. “But you mean to rape me,” she said shakily.

He paused to send her an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “Perhaps not immediately.”

She looked into those odd eyes and wondered why she was convinced that at least for now, he posed no physical threat.

Which was absurd as he admitted he was mad, he’d made no promises, and he clearly harbored misconceptions about what sort of woman she was. All she had to weigh against these facts was that he’d been kind when she was ill. And he was yet to hurt her.

“Who are you?” She straightened and lifted her chin.

Again, that grim smile. “Why, I am the master of this pathetic kingdom, my lady.”

She swallowed sick nervousness. “Does this master have a name?”

He faced her fully so the sun gilded his high cheekbones. “Didn’t my uncle tell you?”

“Indulge me,” she said unsteadily.