Untouched Read Online Free PDF

own age? Josiah had been old and the blood had run sluggishly in his veins. She
    recognized the virile strength in the marquess’s lean, youthful body. And if he spoke true, he was a great lord, used to
    getting what he wanted at the snap of his fingers. As if to prove her right, he clicked his fingers to summon the dog who
    nosed at a pile of last year’s leaves.
    This man offered a buffer against Monks and Filey. Her only buffer.
    What he’d want in return she didn’t dare contemplate. If his sole purpose was bed sport, he could have had her when she
    was bound to the table.
    She didn’t trust him. But what alternative did she have?
    Wondering if she cast her lot with the Devil, she straightened away from the tree and followed him.
    Grace trudged behind the marquess until they reached the clearing around the house. During the long walk from the
    boundaries, her panic faded into a haze of weariness.
    The man—Lord Sheene, she supposed—paused at the edge of the trees and waited for her to catch up. The sun sank in
    the west and gold rays etched his tall figure with brilliance. She blinked. Something about his stance struck her as
    ineffably sad.
    He looked magnificent standing there. And lonelier than anyone she’d ever seen.
    The unwelcome perception vanished as Wolfram turned back to sniff at her skirts. A soft exhalation of surprise escaped
    her.
    “He won’t bite.” Lord Sheene’s eyes were intent on her. Clearly, he’d forgotten in his isolation that it was rude to stare.
    Her lips flattened in self-derision. Rude to stare? This man could claim use of her body. His eyes were the last things she
    needed to worry about.
    Banishing the disturbing thought, she looked down into the dog’s intelligent yellow gaze. “I like dogs.”
    She’d had dogs on the farm. At times, they had seemed the only beings in creation capable of unconditional love. She
    reached out to let the impressive beast sniff her fingers before she scratched behind his ears. Wolfram’s eyes closed in
    rapture. It was the first normal reaction she’d received from anything or anyone in this strange prison. She smiled down at
    the hound.
    Whenever she was with the marquess, unsettling currents of awareness swirled around them. Now the soft air shivered
    with a sharp turbulence that made the fine hairs stand up on her skin.
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    She whipped her head up in confusion. Lord Sheene glared at her, his gaze fixed on her mouth as if poison dripped from
    her lips. Her smile faltered and disappeared. She whipped her hand away from Wolfram. What had she done to arouse this
    savage displeasure?
    “You’ve made a conquest, I see,” the marquess said harshly. “Don’t expect everyone here to come to heel at your merest
    simper.”
    Open-mouthed with shock, she watched him stalk off as if he could no longer bear the sight of her. Wolfram immediately
    pulled away to trail after his master.
    Grace stayed behind, dizzy with fear and confusion. The marquess’s mercurial shifts of temperament frightened her, left
    her floundering and disoriented. Perhaps he truly was mad. He was certainly angry. Was he an ally? Was he a threat?
    Right now she couldn’t have said.
    Gradually, her heartbeat slowed. She watched Lord Sheene stride toward the house, then turned to observe her
    surroundings. An unlikely setting for one of the nation’s greatest noblemen. The large cottage wasn’t imposing. It basked
    before her, the old red brick glowing in the mellow light. The house looked warm and welcoming. The house looked like
    home.
    And danger thickened with every second.
    She’d already realized that in this place, appearance and reality engaged in eternal battle. She must keep her wits about
    her that she didn’t mistake one for the other and come to destruction.
    She shivered. Without Lord Sheene, the trees behind her held an ominous air,