Untouched Read Free Page B

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    toward the door. His handkerchief fluttered onto the floor to lie like a lost banner of surrender.
    “There’s nowhere to run,” he said mildly. Oh, she was good, but he was on to her deception. “The estate is walled. Filey
    and Monks guard the only gate. And I doubt my uncle will release you from your engagement so early in the play’s
    season.”
    She frowned as if she didn’t understand. Her beautiful eyes were glassy. Her unsteadiness developed a distinct sway. An
    alarming sway.
    “Christ!” he bit out as she began to crumple.
    He dived across the short distance and caught her before she crashed. Immediately, the heady and jarringly innocent
    scents of sunshine and soap flooded his senses.
    “Sir, would you kindly restrain your language?” she whispered against his throat. Her breath on his skin set his blood
    leaping with awareness and it took him a second to realize what she’d said.
    He gave a disbelieving snort of laughter. For God’s sake, she had more important things to worry about than his manners.
    But his hold was careful as he gathered her up and carried her through to the salon.
    “I insist you put me down,” she said with a woeful lack of force.
    “If I put you down, you’ll only fall at my feet.”
    He waited for an argument but none was forthcoming. She was near the limit of her resources, he saw.
    After this last year, he wasn’t as strong as he had been. But her slight weight posed no difficulty. Again, his attention
    caught on the signs of deprivation. The outdated dress. The thinness. Even her shoes were worn and cracked.
    He settled her more comfortably and stoically ignored the way her breasts brushed his chest. She might be insubstantial
    as a wraith. But he’d immediately observed she was without doubt afemale wraith.
    He laid her on the sofa near the empty grate, brushing the open book he’d left there to the floor. “Lie back,” he said
    softly, sliding a red velvet cushion behind her tousled dark head.
    She tried to draw away but weakness defeated her. Her perfect profile stood out in austere clarity against the rich
    material. His breath hitched in his throat at her beauty.
    “Don’t touch me.” She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her smooth cheek.
    Her terror and unhappiness called so strongly to his compassion that it was an effort to speak with disdain. “You’re safe
    enough.” Then in a harder voice, because she was his enemy, however lovely and vulnerable she seemed, “You couldn’t
    fight me off now, even if you wanted to.”
    A startled cobalt glance darted up to his face. He kept his expression implacable as he turned toward the sideboard to pour
    her a brandy.
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    He returned to the couch and extended the small crystal glass. She barely had strength to lift her head. She was shivering
    and he could hear each ragged breath she took.
    “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered and leaned forward to support her as she drank.
    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