Free Untouched by Anna Campbell

“No, we didn’t…We never…We
    couldn’t…” She sucked in a breath as old sorrow rose to choke her. “No.”
    She waited for the inquisition. Country folk had no qualms about discussing reproduction, animal or human. She was
    used to people prying into her barrenness. Not that familiarity made the questions easier.
    Lord Sheene merely nodded and rose to disentangle the glass from her deathly grip before she tipped claret over her
    awful gown. “Mrs. Filey’s dinner grows cold.”
    Again he served her. Chicken in brandy cream sauce. Fresh vegetables. A beef and mushroom pie that smelled like
    heaven when the marquess placed it before her. How unlikely that slimy Filey had a wife capable of creating this feast.
    No more unlikely, she supposed, than that prim Grace Paget should be mistaken for a whore.
    The reminder erased the brief well-being provided by fine wine and good food. “My lord, I’m the victim of a
    misunderstanding. Surely your uncle will release me once he realizes I’m a respectable woman.”
    Not so respectable, a sly voice whispered inside her. Your husband lies dead just five weeks, yet here you slaver over the
    marquess.
    Lord Sheene frowned and laid his knife and fork on his plate. Yet again, she noticed he lacked appetite for the sumptuous
    fare. “Mrs. Paget, I’m afraid it’s you who misunderstands. After this afternoon, you must realize your circumstances are
    hopeless.”
    Grace set down her own cutlery with much less finesse than the marquess. “Sir, for nine years, people have informed me
    my circumstances are hopeless. I didn’t believe them and I certainly don’t believe you.”
    A humorless smile curled his lips. How would he look if he smiled properly, without restraint, with genuine joy? Her
    heart gave a strange stutter at the thought.
    “That’s very commendable, madam, but I’m afraid reality has finally caught up with you. Hopelessness is the essence of
    life here.”
    “I don’t accept that.”
    “You will.”
    He sounded so sure. The food she’d eaten congealed into a cold lump in her stomach. With shaking hands she reached for
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    her glass. “There has to be a way out,” she said unsteadily, lifting her wine, then replacing it before she spilled it.
    “If there is, I’ve never found it.” Fierce pity lit his eyes.
    “Perhaps if I speak to your uncle…”
    The grim smile still hovered. “You belong to this secret kingdom now. Once that happens, there’s no escape.”
    “But you believe my story, don’t you?” For some reason, his faith in her was vitally important.
    He studied the cooling food before him as if seeking the best way to offer a denial. But when he looked up again, his gaze
    didn’t waver. “Yes, I believe you.”
    Grace relaxed slightly. “Thank you.”
    “Virtuous woman or not, you cannot leave.” He paused then spoke in a low voice laden with emphasis. “Let me assure
    you, Mrs. Paget, I swore to my uncle I wouldn’t lay a finger on any woman he found. That’s as true for the grieving
    widow as it is for the harlot.”
    She should be grateful to hear that. But the tangled skein of emotion within her permitted no such uncomplicated
    reaction.
    He frowned at her silence. “You have my word. I know you don’t trust me. There’s no reason you should.”
    Actually, she did trust him. Which probably meant she was as mad as he. So far, he’d done nothing but help and protect
    her. Even when convinced she conspired against him, he hadn’t hurt her.
    And he’d saved her from Monks and Filey by lying, even though the lie played right into his uncle’s hands. She already
    guessed that if the marquess used her body, he somehow ceded victory to the unknown Lord John. There were
    longstanding tensions and currents here she couldn’t hope to understand. It was clear Lord Sheene and his uncle engaged
    in a war.