If You Deceive by Kresley Cole (1)

Contents

 Acknowledgments

 Prologue

 One

 Two

 Three

 Four

 Five

 Six

 Seven

 Eight

 Nine

 Ten

 Eleven

 Twelve

 Thirteen

 Fourteen

 Fifteen

 Sixteen

 Seventeen

 Eighteen

 Nineteen

 Twenty

 Twenty-one

 Twenty-two

 Twenty-three

 Twenty-four

 Twenty-five

 Twenty-six

 Twenty-seven

 Twenty-eight

 Twenty-nine

 Thirty

 Thirty-one

 Thirty-two

 Thirty-three

 Thirty-four

 Thirty-five

 Thirty-six

 Thirty-seven

 Thirty-eight

 Thirty-nine

 Forty

 Forty-one

 Forty-two

 Forty-three

 Forty-four

 Forty-five

 Forty-six

 Epilogue

“I’ll see you safely clear of this place…for a kiss.”

 The Highlander showed no alarm about what was happening outside. “A kiss now, or more later,” he continued.

 “Oh, very well.” Maddy reached up to twine her fingers behind his neck. She tugged him down, briefly pressing her lips to the corners of his.

 He stood fully once more. “Ah,aingeal , that was sweet, no doubt of it. But no’ quite what I had in mind.” He cupped his rough palm over her nape. “I’m demanding a deep, wet kiss. Until you’re panting.”

 “Panting?” she murmured.“Truly?” How…titillating.

 With his other hand, he cradled her face and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “It’ll be easier just tae show you….”

 Acclaim for Kresley Cole!

 “One of romance’s fastest rising stars!”

 —Romantic Times

 “With a captivating brand of passion all her own, Kresley Cole is destined to be a star of this genre!”

 —The Romance Readers Connection

 “Kresley Cole writes like a master!”

 —Romance Junkies

 And praise for her novels…

IF YOU DARE

ARomantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner

 “Classic romantic adventure…If You Darewill leave you breathless!”

 —New York Timesbestselling author Julia Quinn

 “Cole’s voice is powerful and gripping, andIf You Dare is her steamiest yet!”

 —New York Timesbestselling author Linda Lael Miller

 “A tale that sizzles, generating heat that will scorch the reader.”

 —Reader to Reader

 “A passionate, action-packed romance sure to satisfy every heart.”

 —Fresh Fiction

 NO REST FOR THE WICKED

ARomantic Times Magazine Top Pick

 “Sizzling sex and high-stakes adventure are what’s on tap in mega-talented Cole’s sensational new paranormal!”

 —Romantic Times

 “Kresley Cole writes another spine-tingling, adventurous, and passionate romance with her newest addition toThe Immortals After Dark series.”

 —Romance Reviews Today

 A HUNGER LIKE NO OTHER

AUSA Today bestseller

 “Unquestionably an awe-inspiring romance!”

 —Reader to Reader Reviews

 “With intense action, devilishly passionate sex, and fascinating characters,A Hunger Like No Other leads readers into an amazing and inventive alternate reality.”

 —Romantic Times(Top Pick)

 “A unique romance—it truly stands on its own!”

 —Sherrilyn Kenyon,New York Times bestselling author

 “Not just another romantic read…it’s a powerful experience!”

 —The Best Reviews

 THE PRICE OF PLEASURE

ARomantic Times Magazine Top Pick

 “A splendid read! The sexual tension grips you from beginning to end.”

 —New York Timesbestselling author Virginia Henley

 “Sexy and original! Sensual island heat that is not to be missed.”

 —New York Timesbestselling author Heather Graham

 “Savor this marvelous, unforgettable, highly romantic novel.”

 —Romantic Times

 THE CAPTAIN OF ALL PLEASURES

ARomantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner

 “An exciting, sensuous story that will thrill you at every turn of the page.”

 —Reader to Reader Reviews

 “Electrifying…. Kresley Cole captures the danger and passion of the high seas.”

 —New York Timesbestselling author Joan Johnston

 “Fast-paced action, heady sexual tension, steamy passion…. Exhilarating energy emanates from the pages…very smart and sassy.”

 —Romantic Times

 Books by Kresley Cole

 The Captain of All Pleasures

 The Price of Pleasure

 A Hunger Like No Other

 No Rest for the Wicked

 If You Dare

 If You Desire

 Available from Pocket Books

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 Copyright © 2007 by Kresley Cole

 All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

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 ISBN: 1-4165-5648-6

 ISBN: 978-1-4165-5648-0

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 Dedicated to the readers…

 For letting me share the MacCarricks with you.

Thank you and warmest wishes to you all.

 Acknowledgments

 Thank you to the wonderful staffs of the University of Florida research libraries. These guys knoweverything and helped me navigate all their many resources: obscure texts—filled with fascinating details to enrich fiction, Victorian diaries—with first person accounts of my era of interest, and mapping and imaging—for authentic historical settings. I greatly appreciate all your help.

 The love of a good woman?

 To save a wicked man like me?

 Never…because there’s no woman born

 who’s as good as I am bad.

 —ETHANROSSMACCARRICK,

LAIRD OFCLANMACCARRICK,

EIGHTHEARL OFKAVANAGH

 I didn’t steal it—I swear!

 Oh, as if things never fall into your pocket!

 —MADELEINEISOBELVANROWEN,

SNEAK THIEF, OPPORTUNIST

 Prologue

 Iveley Hall, Buxton, England

Spring 1846

 Ethan MacCarrick thought the bored wife he was about to tupmight be a bonny wench.

 However, this was a best guess. At present, his vision was compromised by whisky, the great equalizer of women’s charms. Even after the wind-whipped half-hour ride to her home, he was drunk; in fact, he seemed to be getting worse.

 But the womanbehaved as if she was pretty, he assured himself as he removed his jacket, tossing it toward a divan in her opulent bedroom and missing it. Even in his muddled state, he detected a superficial silliness about her that men would tolerate only if she was fair. Plus, she’d been confident when she’d propositioned him in the shadowy hall of the Buxton tavern, having had no doubt whatsoever that he would meet her tonight.

 She had a French accent and was tall, he thought, though she was now reclined, and he’d only briefly stood next to her when they’d met. They’d been together just long enough for her to pass him an expensively perfumed note with directions to her home, to ask if he could be circumspect, and to murmur what she planned to do to him.

 Ethan was a red-blooded male of twenty-three—her wicked plans for him had seemed just the thing.

 As he crossed the spacious room to the whisky service, she rose to her knees on the bed. “Did you wait to leave fifteen minutes after my maid and I left?” She feared her husband might hear of this indiscretion when he returned from his trip.

 Ethan served himself a drink. “Aye, I waited.” He wouldn’t have traveled with her, anyway. A rake’s first rule of thumb? Always ride your own horse to a meeting with a woman you’re about to bed, so you can leave when you like. Else they’ll want to cling for the night.

 Ethanloathed clinging women.

 “Did anyone see you riding here?” she asked.

 “No, no’ a soul.”

 “Because I can’t have my husband hearing about—”

 “Enough!” She was already grating on his nerves, and he hadn’t even used her yet. “You’re no’ the first married woman I’ve had,” he answered honestly. “I’ve done this many a time before.”

 “Of course, I’m sure you have,” she said hastily. When he finally made his way toward her, she murmured, “You’re such a handsome young devil, Ethan. So tall. So strapping.”

 He drank, frowning into his glass at her use of his given name. He hadn’t quite caught hers back at the tavern, when she’d been whispering in his ear, describing herself on her knees, sucking him deep. “Youngdevil? I dinna get the impression you were that much older than I am,” he said as he reached the bed.

 She laughed. “Just a bit.” Her features were clearer now. She was pleasing enough. Maybe early thirties. “I’m old enough to know what I want, and when I saw you, I knew I had to have you.” She took his drink from him and set it on the bedside table. “But I bet women throw themselves at you, don’t they?”

 “Everywhere I go,” he said, not bothering to hide his arrogance. It was true. He was a young, rich laird, and women liked his looks. And it seemed the more drunken and cruel he became, the more they wanted him.

 “So if it hadn’t been me tonight, it could easily have been another woman from the tavern?”

 “Easily,” he replied. When he’d left, the raven-haired barmaid he’d been contemplating had cast him a hurt expression. So had her sister. He’d shrugged at them as if he hadn’t cared. Because he hadn’t. “One woman or two.”

 “Then why me?” the wife asked breathlessly, angling for a compliment he wouldn’t give.

 “I like married women better, find them more convenient.” He never heard from them again. A married woman readily faded into the past, one among many in his memory—as she should. And if her husband was weak enough and stupid enough to get cuckolded, then he deserved it, and Ethan would oblige.

 “So all I am is a convenience?” She gave a mock pout as she began unbuttoning his shirt with deft fingers.

 “Aye, precisely.”

 His callous treatment seemed to be exciting her. “Say my name with your accent,” she whispered.

 “Doona know it.”

 She smiled. “It’s Sylvie—”

 “Doona need to,” he interrupted sharply, making her gasp with desire.

 He was used to women who liked a cold, domineering male in their beds, but he sensed she might want him to be worse than that. On his solitary ride over here, he’d had time to think about the situation, and his drunken mind said something wasn’t right about her.

 Her perfume cloyed, but not more than that of the woman he’d had last night. She was tall, voluptuous, and dark-haired—the type that normally attracted him. Yet as she licked his chest, brushing his shirt away from his body, he again found that something about her was off-putting.

 People had long said that Ethan had no more feelings than an animal. Well, right now pure instinct was telling him not to take her. He frowned as her mouth eased down his chest to his navel, her destination unmistakable.

 But could the message possibly be louder than the Scotch and the promise of a below job?

 Aye, it is. He plucked her fingers from his trousers and stumbled back.

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m leaving.” Bending for his shirt, he lost his balance, but he swiftly righted himself. He knew he’d been drinking too much lately. He was the oldest brother and head of a family that suffered, and the responsibility of it, and the inability to change it, weighed more heavily on him than anyone would dare suppose.

 But his drinking was helping nothing.

 “Leaving?” she cried. “You can’t be serious.”

 He gave her one curt nod.

 “Then why did you come here? What did I do?”

 “No’ a thing.” Where the hell had he dropped his jacket? “Just doona care to any longer.”

 “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.Anything, ” she added plaintively, making him shudder in disgust.

 A clinger.

 Turning from her, he said, “Doona wantanything from you. No’ anymore.”

 “You cannot do this!” She shot to her feet and stormed over to him. “Just pass me over like a woman you’ve bought.” Her anger transformed the refined French inflection of her voice to a sharper, more common accent. Ethan had heard similar before—it was a lower-class accent. “Like some stray whore!”

 “If the shoe fits…”

 “No one treats me this way, not now.No one! ” She darted in front of him. He turned from her once more, and she did it again, antagonizing him. Already his decision to leave was justified. “I’ll have you horsewhipped for this!”

 Finally he spotted his jacket. “Get the hell out of my way.”

 “I’ll whip you myself!”

 “Temper, temper, wench.” He faced her with a sardonic expression. “Now I’mreally no’ going to fuck you.”

 She screeched, flying at him, nails raking down his face before he could shove her from him. He pressed his sleeve to his cheek and saw the crimson, stark against the white linen. “You goddamned bitch! You doona ken what you’re provoking.”

 He headed for the door, but she beat on his back, screaming, “Do you know what I could have done to you?”

 When Ethan whirled around, her face was streaming with tears, her eyes alight with fury. “Touch me again, and I’ll break my rule about no’ slapping crazed bitches who canna take no for an answer.”

 “Do it, then!” Had her expression flashed with excitement?

 To scare her so she’d leave him be, he made as if to backhand her—

 The door crashed open.

 There stood a gray-haired, enraged man.Must be the aging husband , Ethan thought with a tired exhalation as he lowered his hand.Pistols at dawn and another death on my hands.

 “He tried to force himself on me!” the wife shrieked, tears still streaming.

 Ethan swung his gaze on her. “Are you mad, woman? You invited me here!”

 More men filled the doorway, hardened ones—henchmen. A blond giant flanked the old husband, looking almost more enraged.

 “Never!” she cried. “He must have followed me home from the inn tonight.”

 The husband narrowed his eyes on Ethan’s face. Ethan swiped a hand over his cheek. “Oh, bloody hell,” he said wearily. “She scratched me when I wanted to leave.” Though Ethan was still drunk, even he recognized how ridiculous that sounded.

 “Sylvie, are you injured?”The husband’s grasping for this like a lifeline.

 “You canna be serious. Can you no’ see she’s lying?” Ethan made a disgusted sound. “The witch asked me here, I vow it—”

 “No,” she wailed loud enough to crack glass. “He tried to rape me, but I fought him. Do you see his face?”

 Ethan gave her a look of pure fury, staring at her while telling the man, “Ask at the inn, ask anyone there. She invited me.” But she had been circumspect. Would any of the patrons have seen them together in that hallway for the brief moments when she’d approached him?

 The woman shook her head fiercely. “My maid was with me at the inn and when we came home. Ask Flora! Ask her!” Touching the back of her hand against her forehead, she sank to the edge of the bed. “Oh, God,” she whispered, “I was so afraid.”

 Ethan gaped in amazement.Christ, she’s good —

 With a bellow, the old man charged for Ethan. Habit took over. Ethan threw a fist, breaking his nose—blood spurted.

 “I’ll see you in Newgate for this!” the husband roared, cupping his face.

 It was important for Ethan to remember something. What was it? “Goddamn it, I did nothing to this woman…and she instigated it all.”

 “Get him!” the old man thickly commanded his men.

 At that instant, the answer Ethan sought came to him, and he lunged for his jacket.

 A blow crashed against the back of his skull. His face pounded the floor. Fists rained down again and again, kicks to the gut…. He fought the blackness for as long as he could; he had to explain, had to defend himself.

 He dimly heard the bitch crying to her husband, worrying about the scandal if this were to go to trial…their reputations, their standing…other husbands with his power would take care of this themselves.

 Ethan knew that in this isolated part of the country the lords were their own entities, laws unto themselves if they chose, always with henchmen willing to do black deeds. And they hated strangers, much less foreigners.

 The note, his deliverance, was stowed in his jacket pocket just feet from him. He tried to speak but could only grunt in pain. An attempt to reach for it earned him a booted kick to the chest.

 Forcing his eyes open, he saw that she was crying hysterically, seeming to believe her own lies. “With you and Brymer gone, I was an easy target.”

 The cuckold was soothing her, wrapping her in his coat. “I should never have left you—”

 “Th-that fiend was in the house with me, withMaddy !” she added significantly. Whoever this Maddy was, the mere mention of her in this context made the old man swing his gaze on Ethan. Seeming dumb with rage, eyes glazed over with it, he assured her they’d take care of this on their own—no one would have to know. Ethan felt true fear rippling through him.

 They’d make sure the Scottish bastard never raped another woman as long as he lived.

 Castration.Cold sweat broke out over Ethan’s body; they were going to take a knife to him.

 The old man hesitated, then gave a nod. “Brymer, take him out back. See it done.”

 This Brymer was the giant with the killing look in his eyes. “It will be a pleasure.” He hauled Ethan up, dealing a punishing blow to his jaw. Ethan tried to shake it off, but blackness consumed him….

 He woke to the bite of a rope cinched around his wrists. A bone-deep ache radiated from his shoulders up to his clenched fingers. He tried to open his eyes—only one swollen lid would crack enough for him to see—and found himself strung up to the rafter of some type of stable. A blood-soaked gag filled his mouth.

 Ethan saw a tall, burly man sitting on the edge of a stool that was about to buckle under his great weight. His meaty leg bounced with nervous energy as he cast Ethan furtive, guilty glances. The man knew. He knew Ethan was being wronged. Of course, the wife would have done things like this before. Ethan yelled behind his gag and grappled against his bonds, frenzied to tell him about the note.

 From behind him, he heard a door creak open. Brymer asked, “Is he awake yet, Tully?”

 “Only just,” Tully said, heaving his big frame to his feet. “I was thinking…m-maybe one of us should ride to the inn, and just ask a few questions.”

 “Van Rowen wants us to do a job on him,” Brymer said. “So that’s what we’re going to do.” Brymer was eager for it.

 Van Rowen. Why did the name sound familiar? When Ethan got out of this, he would kill Van Rowen, ripping him apart with his bare hands. The man had no idea what he’d just brought down on himself and his entire family—

 Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being unsheathed, and he fought to free his hands.

 “But, Brymer, what would it hurt to ride—”

 “I just returned from the inn. No one saw anything untoward.” Brymer moved into Ethan’s field of vision. “They just saw Mrs. Van Rowen eating a meal with Flora for about an hour before they left.” He picked his teeth with the knifepoint. “Coachman swears he saw no one else and drove them home alone, as does Flora.”

 “But sometimes…it seems Mrs. Van Rowen might—”

 “On the other hand,” Brymer continued, ignoring Tully’s words, “this one here’s aforeigner , swilling spirits. The barmaid said he’s a mean drunk and a Scottish brute.”

 That spiteful bitch…just because I passed her over…

 “His die is cast, Tully. But as for you, you’ll either follow your orders—or you’ll take yourself off Van Rowen lands tonight.”

 No, no.Ethan could pay him a fortunenot to do this.

 Tully’s shoulders slumped.

 No, goddamn it, no!

 “Hold his head,” Brymer ordered.

 Tully did as he was told, taking Ethan’s head in his thick arms. Ethan fought against the grip, spitting curses behind the gag.

 “Wh-what do you plan to do?”

 “First off, I’m going to finish what Mrs. Van Rowen started,” Brymer said with a nod at the marks on Ethan’s face. “I bet the ladies fancy his looks. They won’t ever again after tonight. Of course, that’ll be the least of his worries.”

 When Ethan felt the cold blade against the heated skin on his right cheek, he twisted, using all his remaining strength to break free. Nothing.

 The knife sliced cleanly; Ethan roared in pain.

 “Hold him still!” Brymer snapped.

 “I’m trying!” Tully clenched harder. “He’s a big bastard!”

 Brymer cut and cut until blood coated Ethan’s neck. Soon Ethan was numb all over, barely conscious.

 “What are you doing?” Tully asked.

 “If you take the strip from the middle, it will never heal right when he gets sewn up.”

 The desperate need to fight was there, burning in him, but his leaden body wouldn’t cooperate. When Brymer was at last done, Tully released Ethan, and his head lolled forward.

 Brymer took him by the hair, yanking him up to smile at his handiwork. “Come look, Tully.”

 The man did. His eyes went wide, and he retched repeatedly before he lunged away, vomiting in the hay.

 When Ethan saw the strip of skin lying in the dirt, blackness dotted his vision. He silently vowed,I’m going to destroy you. You’re all going to die as slowly as you’ve done this to me…. Then his eyes slid closed.

 He was roused by an anguished bellow sounding from the manor house. The bitch began screaming as well, a series of shrieks growing louder in succession.

 A door slammed…someone ran toward them…seconds later a servant burst through the doorway of the stable, gasping, “Stop! Let him free!”

 In a flash of clarity, Ethan comprehended what had happened. Another of the bitch’s screams rent the quiet of the night, then sudden silence.

 Ethan laughed behind his gag, crazed. Wetness leaked from his eyes.

 Van Rowen had found the note.

 One

 London

Summer 1856

 Ethan had long grown used to the sinking expressions people cast him when they realized it was he who darkened their doorsteps—but in the East End rookeries this tendency seemed even more pronounced.

 Many saw Ethan and ran.

 The sound of his boots booming across wet cobblestones was all Ethan heard as he chased a drunken cockney—one among many of his sources of information.

 Lunging forward, Ethan clamped the cockney’s shoulders, tossing him headfirst into the side of a tenement building. The man collapsed into a stunned heap.

 Hauling him to his feet, Ethan drew his pistol, pressing the muzzle against the man’s temple. “Where’s Davis Grey?”

 “I ’aven’t seen ’im.” He hissed in a breath between the copious gaps in his teeth. “I swear to ye, MacCarrick!”

 Ethan casually cocked his gun. The drunk knew of his reputation, knew Ethan would just as easily shoot him as not back in this dark alley. “Then why did you run?”

 “B-because ye scare the piss out o’ me.”

 Understandable.

 “I ’eard Grey was in Portugal, with an ’unger for opium. And that ’e might be returnin’. That’s all. I swear it!”

 After a hesitation, Ethan released him, deciding to believe him. The information meshed with his own, and this man likely wouldn’t court Ethan’s wrath by lying. “You know what to do if you see Grey. And you know what I’ll do if you doona notify me.”

 The cockney muttered thanks for his mercy, then scurried off into the night.

 For the last several hours, Ethan had combed the slums, using all his resources to track Davis Grey, a onetime compatriot and family friend—and now Ethan’s target.

 Though all his reports indicated that Grey wasn’t in England, Ethan had wanted to make certain. Tonight he’d chased every lead he’d been able to think of in London. Tomorrow he would leave the city to hunt for Grey elsewhere.

 As Ethan strode down the winding, narrow streets back to his mount, a surprisingly comely whore smiled and dropped her shawl, revealing her heavy breasts to him.

 And he felt nothing.

 When he passed under a flickering gaslight, he showed the woman the other side of his face. She turned away in disgust, yanking her shawl to her neck. It was because of women like her that he’d stopped seeking sex entirely.

 At twenty-three, he’d still been in bandages when he’d fully comprehended he wouldn’t be having any woman he didn’t have to pay. He’d already vowed never to drink again after that night in Buxton. And for a young man suddenly deprived of drinking and women—two of his routine follies—a profession in the Network, one of the Crown’s clandestine organizations, had held definite appeal. Along with his brother Hugh, Ethan had signed on, but only after he’d delivered a subtle, but absolute, revenge against his enemies.

 Whereas Hugh was an assassin in the Network, cleanly completing his assignments, Ethan would kill, spy, and extort to get a job done. Ethan was skilled at what he did, successful doing the jobs no one else wanted to do. His brothers called him a jack of all lethal trades.

 Once he’d returned to his horse—a fine gelding with a strong and unwavering dislike for him—Ethan mounted up and decided to ride by the London town house of Edward Weyland, Ethan and Hugh’s superior. More news might have come in. Besides, what else did he have to do?

 When he arrived, he caught Quin Weyland just climbing into his saddle. “Is your uncle in?” Ethan asked. Quin also worked in the Network and was being groomed to eventually take over his uncle’s role.

 “No, he’s out of town. But I saw Hugh just a few minutes ago.”

 “Just Hugh? No’ Court?”

 Quin absently shook his head.

 Damn it, Hugh was supposed to be with Court, their younger brother, making sure he returned to London from the Continent.

 In an irritated tone, Quin said, “I thought you told us Hugh was going to be able to handle this situation with Davis Grey.”

 “Aye, he will.”

 “You should have seen the look on his face when I apprised him of the threat.”

 “He should react that way,” Ethan said impatiently. “Grey’s a dangerous killer with an agenda.” Grey had worked in the Network as an assassin—in fact, he’d trained Hugh.

 “No, I meant when I told him it wasJane in danger.” Jane Weyland, the fair daughter of Edward Weyland.

 They’d heard word that Grey sought to kill Jane for revenge against Weyland because she was what Weyland treasured most in the world. To protect her, Weyland planned for Ethan to hunt and destroy Grey and for Hugh to act as Jane’s bodyguard, trailing her.

 Shouldn’t be a problem. Where Jane went, Hugh yearned to follow.

 Quin added, “Grey told me Hugh loved her.”

 Ethan quirked a brow. “We’re talkin’ to Grey now?”

 “Years ago, before he turned.”

 Turned madman.Grey was known to wear a jovial expression, his demeanor complimentary and amenable, even while he was slitting his targets’ throats.

 “Well, is it true?” Quin asked.

 “Hugh might have had an infatuation when they were younger,” Ethan lied. Hugh was likely still in love with Jane to an unspeakable—anembarrassing —degree. “He hasn’t even seen her in years.” And had never told her how he felt.

 “He rode off after her tonight quickly enough.”

 “Where’s she gone at this hour?” Ethan asked.

 “She sneaked out her window to meet my sisters and their young friend from out of town.”

 “To go where?”

 “Haymarket Street,” Quin finally answered. “I’m on my way there right now.”

 “Gin palaces and prostitutes.” The rookeries were squalid, but Haymarket was seamy. “What’s there to tempt them?”

 Quin admitted, “The Hive.”

 “They dinna go there,” Ethan bit out incredulously. The Hive, a warehouse converted into an unlicensed dance hall, was infamous for debauchery. “How do the women in your family evenfind these things?” Quin’s two sisters and his six female first cousins comprised the Weyland Eight, as society called them. They were progressives, loving all things modern, and had dubbed themselves “sensation seekers.”

 Ethan called them “spoiled chits with too much coin and too much freedom.”

 Quin shook his head. “I wish I bloody knew.”

 “I canna believe they’re voluntarily going into that place. You ken your sisters will no’ come out in the same shape as they went in.”

 “Go to hell, Kavanagh—”

 “Doona call me that,” Ethan snapped. He hated being reminded of his title, of that life. “Why do you no’ drag them home by their ears?”

 “And be forced to give Jane a reason why she suddenly has none of the freedom she’s accustomed to?”

 “She does no’ know she’s in danger?”

 Quin shook his head. “We are hoping you’ll take out Grey early enough that Jane never has to know about any of us.” He reined around when Ethan prodded his obstinate mount forward. “You’re going?”

 “Aye, I need to see my brother.”And make sure he’s capable of the job at hand. “What’s the fare tonight at the Hive?”

 Quin muttered, “An illegal courtesans’ ball.”

 Ethan gave a humorless laugh. He could practically feel sorry for the unsuspecting “young friend from out of town.” The lass was about to get an eye-opening lesson in depravity.

 Regrettably, Ethan had seen the love-struck look on his brother’s face before.

 Though Hugh was an assassin—one of the most skilled and prolific in the world—his mind went blank when he was near Jane Weyland. He had difficulty speaking. His brow would bead with sweat like a green lad’s.

 Just minutes ago, Ethan had found him in this state in an alleyway that crossed Haymarket Street. Hugh had been so engrossed as he watched Jane stroll up Haymarket with her entourage that he hadn’t even heard Ethan approach.

 Hugh was never taken unaware; tonight a runaway dray cart could have slipped up on him.

 The situation with Hugh and Jane was incomprehensible to a man like Ethan, who’d never felt even a casual regard for a woman. As Ethan often reminded his brothers, he himself remained immune to untidy entanglements like that.

 But for some reason, Hugh wasn’t shamed that a woman could make him so weak. And obviously, ten years of being away from her had done nothing to make his feelings ebb.

 After Ethan had joined him in the alley, the two of them had begun exchanging terse words—as was customary—only this time they argued in lowered voices.

 Hugh had always been disgusted that Ethan hadwanted —and had offered—to kill Grey, who’d once been Hugh’s friend; Ethan had always been disgusted that Hugh had fallen for Jane and opened himself up to such a glaring liability. Ethan’s liability was his protectiveness of his brothers, but he’d been born into that one, and it couldn’t be helped.

 “I wager that right about now, you wish my offer to kill Grey had been accepted,” Ethan told Hugh, his smugness conveyed even in hushed tones. “But no’ to worry, little brother, it certainly has now. Weyland will do anything to protect his daughter.” Ethan jerked his chin at Jane and her group as they passed the alley. He faced Hugh, then did a double take back to the group, only to stare.

 The fourth woman in the group—a wee lass with shining blond hair—had caught his attention utterly.

 The young friend from out of town…

 She wore a deep blue gown and cape, tied at her pale neck like a choker, and a matching mask tilted up into points at the corners above her bright eyes. By the flickering glow of the gaslights, Ethan saw her dark pink lips curl intermittently into a mysterious grin, yet not when her friends were laughing. She seemed to be in her own little world.

 Though she appeared lively and fresh, he sensed in her a world-weariness—the same that affected him so markedly.

 He frowned to find that his heart had started to race—

 Hugh had him shoved against a building wall, his forearm lodged against Ethan’s neck, before he could tense.

 What is this…?Ethan rolled his eyes. “Rest easy. I’m no’ ogling your precious Jane.”

 Hugh finally released him but appeared disbelieving. “Then what held your attention?” he demanded. “Claudia? The one in the red mask?” When Ethan gave no answer, Hugh said, “Belinda? The tall brunette?”

 Ethan shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes from the blonde.

 The unusual notice clearly stunned Hugh. “I doona know her, but she must be one of Jane’s friends,” he said in a wary tone. “And she looks no’ more than twenty. Too young for you.”

 Ethan’s age was thirty-three, and he felt every year of it, but shewas young. So how could she possibly have that weariness about her? “If I’m as bad as you and Court and all of the clan believe,” Ethan began, “then I’ll find her that much more enticing for it, will I no’?” Ethan strove for a bored tone, but he suspected his bitterness came through. Truthfully, he wasn’t as bad as they thought.

 He was worse.

 He had blood on his hands and a heart so cold that he was considered the evil brother of the three—and the other two were a gunman and a mercenary. Ethan was the sodding laird, and yet most in the clan feared him, wanting nothing to do with him—and that was before he’d been scarred.

 Reminded of his appearance, he tried to turn away from the girl. If he approached her, a beauty like that would run in terror at the sight of his face.Drop back in the shadows where you belong. Forget you ever saw her….

 But then a loud masquerade-goer neared them, sporting a domino in the latest style, with a drop of cloth in the front. Ethan’s lips slid into a smirk that tugged the tight skin of his face.Perfect.

 In the blink of an eye, Ethan’s hand shot out to snare the mask. The much smaller man opened his mouth to object, but Ethan gave him a killing look, and the man dashed away.

 “Doona toy with her, Ethan,” Hugh said.

 “Afraid I’ll ruin your chances with Jane?” Ethan asked as he donned the mask. “Hate to remind you, brother, but they were ruined before you even met her. And you’ve got a book to prove it.”

 “Your fate is just as grim as mine,” Hugh said, “yet you’re going after a woman.”

 “Ah, but I’m in no danger of falling in love with her”—Ethan turned to stride into the masquerade, tossing over his shoulder—“so it’s no’ likely my dallying will get her killed.”

 With a grated sound of frustration, Hugh followed him to the warehouse entrance, where they tendered admission to a bald man in a pig mask. Inside, the drunken crowd was thick; there had to be over a thousand people crammed in.

 Oh, aye, the girl was about to get a lesson. All around them, obscene murals hung on the walls, and half-clad whores were openly fondling men.

 Ethan couldn’t see the group immediately in the crush, so he and Hugh strode to the second-story landing for a better view. They spotted the women in front of a small raised stage, scrutinizing anexhibit —which consisted of two women and a man, unclothed and covered in clay, posing as Greek statues.

 In such an atmosphere of dissolution, the young chit looked…bored.

 When Jane viewed the naked man with an appraising eye, Hugh’s fists clenched. The blonde appraised him, too, but Ethan had no urge to hit anything. Ethan had known he was immune….

 The group moved on to a punch service tended by a half-clad courtesan, but the blonde turned back to the stage. With a sensual grin, she languidly blew the male model a kiss. Ethan frowned.I doona like that. Bloody hell.Why do I no’ like that?

 “I dinna think blondes were your type,” Hugh said, beginning to sound alarmed.

 Never looking away from the girl, Ethan said, “They’re no’.”

 “Nor slim, short lasses.”

 “Tall and buxom for me,” Ethan said absently. He watched her accept a glass of punch, delicately take a sniff of her drink, then partake heartily.

 “Then what is it?”

 “Doona know,” Ethan answered in half truth. He knew why he was attracted to her—he could tell she was an extraordinary beauty, even with her mask—but he didn’t understand thedegree of his attraction.

 He’d bedded women as lovely as she, so why did he feel an inexplicable sense of urgency to join her—toget her? Ethan knew he could find her again. She was friends with the Weylands. So why did he want herat this moment?

 “Are you actually going to approach her?” Hugh asked.

 “Bloody hell I am.”

 “I thought I was no’ to reveal myself to Jane if I could help it. She’ll recognize you.”

 “No’ with this mask,” Ethan said, then asked, “Why are you behaving as if my interest is so bloody consequential?”

 “It’s consequential because you’ve never pursued a woman in your entire life.”

 Ethan had never had to before that night in Buxton—and he hadn’t bothered to after.

 “No’ even your fiancée,” Hugh added.

 No, Ethan’s fiancée had been handed to him as though on a platter—and it had cost Sarah her life. He’d had no idea that by trying to salvage his life after what the Van Rowens had done to him he’d be destroying another’s….

 Shaking off those memories, wanting to forget, Ethan strode for the stairs to go after the blonde lass, but Hugh shoved him back.

 “What the hell is wrong with you?” Hugh demanded.

 “Doona shove me again, brother, or I will put you down.” Hugh was the only one who’d ever dared to challenge him like this. “Did you never think I just want to bed her?” Christ, he wanted to bed her, wanted her fiercely.Finally! his mind seemed to roar.

 “Bed her?” Hugh got an uncomfortable look about him. “No, I dinna think that.”

 Ethan narrowed his eyes. So Hugh suspected or knew the truth about him. Ethan should have realized that the secret of his celibacy would have gotten out among the Network. The members gossiped worse than old matrons at the village well.

 Ten years had passed since his face had been so horribly damaged. As he’d predicted, the only way he’d been able to bed women had been to pay them, and he’d done so for the first seven years. Yet there were only so many times a man could tolerate looking down at a woman he was using and seeing her thinly veiled revulsion—especially after he’d paid for her.

 One unsatisfying encounter after another had taken their toll, and now his body couldn’t seem to be bothered to desire, to ache, any longer. If he was attracted to a woman, it was tepid, like a shadow of what he used to feel. Though his manhood had been left intact that night, it might as well not have been. He hadn’t had a woman beneath him in years.

 And even more disquieting—he hadn’t especially missed it.

 Until now…

 “She’s a lady,” Hugh insisted. “No’ to be used by you.”

 “Then what is she doing here?” Ethan asked incredulously, waving his hand around the warehouse.

 “The same thing Jane is—they’re thrill seekers. Typical rich Londoners.”

 “In a place like this, even a lady is fair game.”

 “You doona know that she’s no’ an innocent.” His expression severe, Hugh added, “Ethan, you’re…you just canna be this bad.”

 Ethan raised his eyebrows.

 “Damn it, if for no other reason, then you should leave the girl alone to concentrate on hunting Grey.” Hugh ran his fingers through his hair. “If I canna count on you to take out Grey while I’m watching Jane—”

 “Have you forgotten who you’re addressing?” Ethan reached the end of his patience and snatched off his mask to stare his brother down. “I’ve wanted to put a bullet between Grey’s eyes for years—a dozen times, I’ve had him in my rifle sights and my finger on the trigger—but I dinna becauseyou thought the man could be redeemed.”

 Ethan had stalked Grey repeatedly, always keeping an eye on him. In fact, Ethan was the only one in the whole bloody Network who’d discovered Grey was killing on his own. “Now, when Jane’s involved, you see reason. So how can you possibly think I would waste my opportunity to destroy someone I’ve craved killing?” When Hugh remained unconvinced, Ethan said, “I’m going to scratch this itch, then get to work.” His tone and demeanor were bored.

 He turned back, but the girl was gone, separated from her friends. He felt a flare of alarm. This was a dangerous place, and she was alone.

 Or was she?

 She could be meeting someone. She could even be married and already involved in an affair. He found himself striding down the stairs, donning his mask once more. He ignored Hugh’s last call of warning, then plunged into the crowd.

 Ethan was bent on finding her, which baffled him. He liked voluptuous brunettes, earthy women who gave as good as they got in bed. And Hugh was right—he didn’t pursue women.

 But if it took a delicate, angelic-looking blonde to provoke his body to this kind of reaction once more, then he’d be damned if he was letting the object of his lust out of his sight.

 He promised himself he’d be inside her this very night.

 Two

 If Madeleine Van Rowen was ever going to lose her virginity outside of a collateralized, signed marriage contract, it’d be with the towering man she’d spied in the black domino. He’d just begun navigating his way through the crowds of the Hive, the gaudily extravagant dance hall in which she found herself tonight.

 From her spot on a raised dais, decorated with swans and lusty satyrs, Maddy watched him over the rim of her second glass of punch. She was growing light-headed and suspected the drink was spiked with more than rum—the spirit du jour—but she didn’t particularly care. She wouldn’t mind getting foxed after the day she’d just endured.

 Today she’d learned that she’d failed to secure the man she’d journeyed from Paris to London to marry. “Madeleine, I’m just not the marrying type,” he’d said.“I’m sorry. ”

 Preferring to drown her sorrows in private, she’d wandered off from her group of friends, the Weyland women: Maddy’s childhood friend Claudia, her sister Belinda, and their cousin Jane. The three Londoner Weylands were always craving the next forbidden thrill, and the Hive was supposed to be…thrilling.

 Jane Weyland, the de facto leader of their group, had told the younger Maddy not to wander off again. After all, gentlewomen needed tostay together at all costs when out in London at night. Maddy rolled her eyes even now.

 Please, innocent girls, Maddy had wanted to say. Though this masquerade was packed to the rafters with not only prostitutes and their lecherous patrons but also thieves and swindlers, it still paled in comparison to her everyday life.

 Hersecret life.

 Maddy told everyone she lived in the wealthy Parisian parish of St. Roch with her mother and stepfather, but she actually lived alone in a slum called La Marais—translated as the Swamp—and every night she drifted to sleep to the music of gunfire and brawls.

 She was a sneak thief, a pickpocket who would steal a diamond as easily as an apple, and she wasn’t above an occasional burgle. In fact, if Maddy hadn’t considered the Weylands her friends, they’d do well to be wary ofher .

 After adjusting her sapphire cape behind her and then her blue glacé mask, Maddy relaxed on the dais bench, settling in to enjoy her view of the tall man. He stood well above most everyone in the room—six and a half feet in height, at least—and he had broad, muscular shoulders filling out his jacket.

 The black domino he wore had a fluttering drop in the front, and though she could see his brow and lips and strong chin, the rest of his face was covered. He had thick, straight jet hair, and, she’d bet, dark, intense eyes.

 He was clearly searching for someone, striding with aggression, his head turning this way and that, fighting the crush of what looked like thousands of people. When a gaggle of bare-breasted tarts blocked his path, angling for his attention, his brows drew together—with consternation or irritation, Maddy didn’t know.

 What she wouldn’t give to bed a strapping man like that for her first time. After all, she was an aficionada of male beauty. Her friend Claudia would chuckle each time Maddy tilted her head and peered at a passing man on the street. Maddy grinned into her glass. Making men blush as she so obviously sized them up was one of the things she lived for.

 But if today was any indication of her luck, her husband and first lover was to be the Comte Le Daex, an obscenely wealthy roué who was three times her age. He was so antiquated he still wore a wig, forgodsakes. She tried to look on the bright side—he wanted to wed her—and to ignore the fact that he’d handily survived all three of his previous young wives.

 In a last bid to avoid marrying that man, Maddy had journeyed to London, calling on her childhood friendship with Claudia, specifically to snare her brother, Quinton Weyland. Unfortunately, Quin—with his curling hair, laughing green eyes, and robust finances—refused to marry.

 It was time to face her three remaining choices.

 First, she could continue on her own in La Marais as she had for years; second, she could reveal her litany of lies to the Weylands, confess her current pitiable situation, and beg them to make her their charity case; or third, Maddy could marry Le Daex.

 The mere idea of admitting to Quin and Claudia everything she’d fabricated about her life made her flush with mortification. She could imagine Quin’s laughing eyes narrowing with disgust. Maddy shook her head hard, resolving that she’d never tell them.

 But to continue in La Marais, she faced a mountain of debt and a cold, uncertain winter. Ahungry winter. Maddy loathed hunger.

 So Le Daex it would be. How dismal….

 To distract her thoughts, she focused once more on the tall one as he made the perimeter of the building. His methodical and determined hunt, even the way he moved, fascinated her. He finally stopped, raking his fingers through his hair, turning in a circle in the crowd. She felt sad that he couldn’t find the paramour he sought so urgently, and she drank to him, wishing him luck—

 He raised his head to where she sat, and his gaze locked on her. At once, he turned that aggressive stride toward the swan-and-satyr dais.

 Frowning in confusion—shewas the only one seated here—Maddy lowered her glass. He must have mistaken her for someone else. She wondered if she should take advantage of his mistake and enjoy a few kisses with him. How delicious that would be. Just to squeeze those muscular shoulders while his lips brushed hers…

 As he neared, his gaze held hers until she was captivated. Everything else dimmed. The drunken men were unseen; the high, false laughter of the courtesans below her was silenced.

 He took the steps to her two at a time. When he stood before her, she stifled a gasp. She was eye level with his groin, and there was no disguising the fact that he was…aroused. She slowly tilted her head up.

 He stared down at her, silently offering his big hand. His eyeswere dark—and she’d never seen such intensity. She inhaled a shaky breath.

 Le coup de foudre.

 Bolt out of the blue. No, no.No bolts for me! Maddy was ever practical, never fanciful. She had no idea why that thought had arisen—becausele coup de foudre had a second, more profound meaning.

 The urge to take his hand was overwhelming. She clutched her glass in one hand and her skirts in the other. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not who you seek, nor am I, er, one among these other women.”

 “I ken that.” He took her elbow—gently, but firmly—and helped her to her feet. “If you were like these other women, I would no’be seeking you at all.” He had a marked Scottish accent and a voice so deep and husky that it gave her shivers.

 “But I don’t know you,” she said, sounding breathless.

 “You will soon, lass,” he answered, making her frown. But before she could say anything, he took her glass and set it away, then caught her hand to pull her from the dais into the crowd.

 For Maddy, two flaws warred with each other for the title of What Would Prove to Be Maddy’s Downfall: an overly developed sense of curiosity and a marked pride. She imagined the traits to be in a race, like two horses in themutuels on which she occasionally gambled. Right now, curiosity took the lead, demanding that she hear what the Scot had to say—even when she realized he was taking her toward the rooms lining the back wall of the warehouse. She quirked a brow. The rooms where prostitutes more fully serviced their patrons.

 He opened the first door they came upon. Inside the dimly lit area, a woman was on her knees before a young man, taking him with her mouth while he leaned down and pinched her swollen, rouged nipples.

 “Out,” the Scot ordered with quiet menace. “Now.”

 The woman obviously sensed a threat better than her patron did, and she pushed the drunken man back to tug up her bodice and scurry to her feet.

 The Scot swung a glance at Maddy as the pair lurched out, no doubt to gauge her reaction to what they’d just witnessed. She shrugged. One of her best friends and across-the-hall neighbor was apopular girl , and scenes like this took place constantly where she lived. Turn any corner and find a different vice on display.

 At twenty-one years of age, Maddy had seen it all.

 As soon as they were alone, he closed the door and retrieved a chair to wedge against it. Where was her alarm? Where was her well-developed sense of self-preservation in a place like this? The room was dominated by a massive bed—twelve feet square at least—draped in glaring scarlet silk; no one could hear her scream back here, and they would ignore it even if they could, thinking a prostitute was giving a good show.

 Yet, for some reason, she sensed this man wouldn’t hurt her, and she possessed unfailing and proven instincts with men—a priceless gift to have in La Marais.

 In any case, if things played out badly, this wouldn’t be the first time she’d kindly introduced her knee to a man’s groin and her fist to his Adam’s apple. He would be shocked at how dirty and fiercely this dainty mademoiselle could fight.

 When he returned from securing the door, he stood before her, far too close to be polite. She had to crane her head up to face him. “As I told you before, sir, I’m not one of these women. I don’t belong back here, nor should you be…collecting me as you did.”

 “And as I told you before, had you been a courtesan, I would no’ have collected you at all. I know you’re a lady. What I doona know is why you’re at this masquerade.”

 I’m trying to forget that soon I’ll have to return to hell….

 She shook herself and answered, “I’m here with my friends. We’re out for adventure.” At least, the others were. She planned to pick pockets once the punch was flowing freely.

 “And by ‘adventure’ you meanaffair .” His tone seemed to grow irritated. “A bored young wife looking for a bedmate?”

 “Not at all. We’re merely here to be scandalized so we’ll have something to write in our little diaries.” As if she could afford either the diary or the time to write.

 “Is that why you allowed me to lead you back here? Because you thought I’d make good diary fodder?”

 “I allowed you because it would have been fruitless to resist,” she replied. “I’ve seen intent like yours before. Would anything have stopped you from taking me to one of these rooms?”

 “No’ a thing in the world,” he said, catching her eyes.

 “Precisely. So I decided that instead of being hauled over your shoulder and carried, I might as well follow you to a quiet spot so I could explain to you that I am not interested in this.”

 He stalked closer to her, forcing her back to a narrow table along the silk-papered wall. “My intent was no’ only to get you alone, lass. And it has no’ waned.”

 Three

 Her demeanor was surprisingly composed, her brilliant blue eyes calmly measuring behind her mask, as if a six-and-a-half-foot-tall Highlander accosting her in a darkened room made for sex was commonplace.

 Up close, Ethan could see that she was probably no more than twenty, but she was possessed of herself—and even more impossibly lovely than he’d believed when she’d passed him on the street outside.

 “And what is your intent?” she asked. Her breaths might have shallowed at his undisguised attention, especially when his gaze dropped to flicker over her breasts. She was slim, too much so for his customary taste, but her small breasts were expertly displayed, her cleavage plump above her tight bodice. He wanted to rip off his mask and rub his face against that creamy flesh.

 “My intent is to”—have a woman beneath me for the first time in three years—“kiss you.”

 “You’ll have to get yourkisses ”—she stressed the word as if she doubted that was all he wanted—“from one of the hundreds of courtesans out there.”

 “Doona want them.” When his gaze had met hers in the crowd and her pink lips had parted, Ethan had been stunned to find himself swiftly growing hard as stone. Now as he leaned his face in closer to her hair—a mass of white-blond curls, swept up to bare her neck—he smelled her light flowery scent and shot harder, his shaft straining hotly against his trousers. He savored the rare feeling, wanting to groan at the unexpected pleasure. “I followed you in here from the street.”

 “Why?” Her tone was straightforward, and he silently thanked her for not being coquettish.

 “I saw you outside under a streetlight. I liked the way you smiled.”

 “And you just happened to have this with you?” She reached up, skimming her fingertips along the edge of his mask, but he caught her wrist, lowering it before releasing her.

 “I liberated it from a passing patron when I saw you enter.” The drop of his mask fluttered above his upper lip, and he’d quickly determined that no one could discern the extent of his scarred visage when courtesans had sought his attention in the crowd filling the Hive. When they’d hindered his progress, he’d been tempted to lift his mask to frighten them away.

 “Truly?” Her lips slid into that mysterious half grin, and the need to see the rest of her face burned in him. “So the entire time I saw you searching the crowd, you were looking forme ?” Her accent was unusual—English upper class mixed with a tinge of French.

 “Aye, for you,” he said. “You were watching me from your vantage?”

 “Raptly,” she said, again straightforward, again surprising him.

 The idea of her noticing him gave him an odd sense of gratification. “You’re no’ from London, are you?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Why are you here?”

 “Do you want the truth or an answer fit for a masquerade?”

 “Truth.”

 “I’ve come to England to search for a rich husband,” she said.

 “No’ unusual,” he replied. “At least you have the ballocks to admit it.”

 “I have a proposal waiting in the wings at home,” she said, then frowned. “Though I had hopednot to fall back on that one.”

 “How is your hunt going?”

 “Not as well as I’d wished,” she said. “A few discountable proposals.”

 “Discountable? Why?”

 “Whenever I ask them to qualify themselves, they back off.”

 “Is that so?” he asked, and when she nodded solemnly, he felt a completely unfamiliar tug at his lips. “And how would a man qualify himself to you?”

 “By giving me a token that would actually be dear to him, like an expensive ring or a pair of matched bays, or something along those lines.”

 “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

 “I think of nothing else,” she said so softly that he scarcely heard her. Then she added, “I did almost secure one. A truly good man.” Her blond brows drew together as she clearly mused about him. “There might still be the slimmest hope with that one.”

 For the first time in his life and at the age of thirty-three, Ethan felt the unmistakable heat of jealousy.

 What the bloody hell is wrong with me?“Then should you no’ be working tonight on securing him?” he asked, his voice colder.

 She blinked up at him. “Oh. Well, the man I mentioned went out for the evening. I’m his sister’s houseguest, so I’m accompanying her tonight.”

 That generation of Weylands had only one male—Quin. Ethan ground his teeth. Quin had always been a favorite with the ladies.

 She sighed. “Ça ne fait rien. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was growing a bit slurred.

 “No, it does no’.” The hell she’d besecuring Quin. Ethan would have to see her around London continually as their paths crossed—and if tonight was any indication, he’d have to continually cuckold Quin. “Forget him. He’s no’ here and I am.”

 She gazed up at him and tilted her head. “Take off your mask.”

 “That defeats the purpose of a masquerade, does it no’?” If he removed it, she would stop looking up at him with a growing curiosity glinting in her eyes, and instead, stare in horror. “I can enjoy you just as well with our masks on.”

 “And what makes you think I’d allow you to ‘enjoy’ me?” A flirtatious note had eased into her voice, so subtly he might have missed it. Not coquettish—but amused, intrigued.

 She was playing, enjoying herself, but she had no idea what she toyed with. “I’ve a sense for these things.” He brushed the backs of his fingers below the sapphire silk of her mask, down her cheek, and she allowed it. “Tonight you’re aching for a man.”

 At that, she glanced away. “You might be right, Scot,” she said casually, then faced him once more. Her voice a purr, she asked, “But areyou the man I await…where I ache?”

 He felt on the verge of grinning. Ach, he liked this excitement. This bandying. He liked that she flirted with him, even knowing she didn’t plan to go further. Why hadn’t a man like himself been attending masquerades every bloody week?

 “I am that man.” He took her by her tiny waist and lifted her onto the table along the wall.

 “Scot, put me down!” she cried, but he could tell she was excited, well past intrigued now. “Why did you do that?”

 “I want to be face-to-face with you when I kiss you for the first time.”

 Finally, his words drew a small gasp from her lips. “Are you always so arrogant?”

 “Aye, always.” He wedged his hips between her legs.

 “You need to let me down,” she said, even as she hesitantly ran her fingertip over his arm—as if she’d struggled not to but hadn’t been able to help herself. “I’ve no time or use for handsome rakes with smooth words.”

 His lips did curl then, pulling on the tight skin of his face, forcing him to recall that he didn’t smile—and that he was no longer handsome. “How do you know what I look like? This mask covers most of my face.”

 “You have a powerful body and a seductive smile. Gorgeous eyes,” she said in a breathy voice that made his shaft throb. “You said you’ve a sense for certain things—well, I appreciate handsome men. An aficionada, if you will. There’s a reason I spied you out tonight.”

 “Is that so?” When she nodded, he said, “Tell me your name.”

 “That defeats the purpose of a masquerade, does it not?” she answered, repeating his words. She placed her gloved hand on his chest and let it rest there, as if she couldn’t decide if she should push him away or clutch his shirt and draw him to her. He caught her hand, rucking the glove up to bare her wrist, then placed a kiss on her satiny skin there.

 She shivered, tugging her hand back until he released it. “Look at you, Scot. You’re a practiced seducer, if I’ve ever seen one.”

 “Practiced?” For the last decade, his flirtations hadn’t been practiced—they’d been nonexistent. And before that, he’d never needed to seduce.

 Impulse had made him kiss her hand.

 So where did the sodding impulse come from?

 “Yes, practiced. That kiss to the wrist is a perfect communication. The brush of your lips demonstrates that you’d be gentle and sensual in bed. The firm hold on my hand as you placed it indicates that you’d be masterful at the same time.”

 Gentle? He thought back. Had he ever beengentle ? Right now, he recognized he had no desire to be so with her. He wanted to grind his hips against her, rubbing his erection at the juncture of her thighs to proudly show her how fierce his reaction was.

 “I’ve met a lot of your kind,” she said. “Know that I’m invulnerable.”

 “I take that as a challenge,aingeal . I’m going to be inside you tonight, and I’ll remind you of your words when I have your legs wrapped round my waist.”

 “Oh, Scot, that won’t happen.” She shook her head, and a few glossy curls tumbled free, bouncing over her shoulder.

 “You’re obviously no innocent.” Which puzzled him, since he knew she was upper class. She must indeed be a jaded thrill seeker like Jane Weyland and her crowd. “Why no’ spend a night with me?”

 “You don’t think I’m untouched? Why?”

 “You looked like you could have yawned at the scene we found in here. No’ many innocents would be unfazed by the sight of a prostitute giving a man a below job.”

 “Well, whether I am or not is incidental. The fact remains that I’m here to find a husband—not a lover. And I’ve no time for dalliances.”

 “Make time. If you’re in London to find a husband, seems like you might no’ be so disdainful to an unmarried man like myself.”He didn’t have time for this. Tomorrow he would leave town to hunt Grey, and for the first time, the call of a kill like that wasn’t as strong as the call of a woman.

 She laughed then, a seductively sultry laugh that made him yearn to kiss her. “You are so unreachable, you’re not even a remote candidate.”

 He tensed. “Based on what little you know of me?”

 All humor gone, she said, “I know enough to suspect that you would use me and never look back. And I’m not condemning, just stating a fact.” Her guileless blue eyes were suddenly inscrutable. “I think we have a lot in common, you and I.”

 Four

 “In common? Then you’re achin’ for us to tup, too.”

 Maddy grinned then. She simply couldn’t help it. “And just like that, you disarm me.” There was something about his rough—markedly rough—around-the-edges demeanor that appealed to her. Who was she fooling?Everything about him appealed to her, from his rumbling brogue to his muscular body to his peculiar fixationon her .

 “I want to do more than disarm you.”

 Her smile faded. The Scot wasn’t giving up, and she regretted leading him on. She was behaving foolishly, like a normal girl of twenty-one might, when she didn’t have that luxury. Ever-practical Maddy felt herself closing down, the barbs sharpening, the walls going up. “My friends have probably begun to look for me by now. I need to get back to them.”

 His brows drew together. “You’re truly…leaving?” He sounded baffled, as if he had no idea what to do with this.

 “And you’re truly not used to being turned down?”

 “I’m no’ used to being in a position to be.”

 “You never pursue women?” she said in a doubtful tone.

 “Never.”

 “So I was the lucky first?” Normally she would roll her eyes at comments like these and take them for what they were—verbal attempts to get into her skirts. But there was something about the way he said them, as if they were significant to him, as if they were not only truths but new and unwelcome ones.

 And as if he blamed her for them.

 “Aye.” He exhaled. “You are the first.”

 “It’s a shame that on your first sally you’re going to fail.”

 His dark eyes narrowed. “And you call me arrogant? What makes you think you can dismiss me?”

 “Becauseyou are the one who soughtme out.”

 “And I dinna do it in vain.” He placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, then leaned in as if to kiss her. “I’m taking you from here tonight.”

 Though she was dying to know what his lips felt like, she pushed against his chest, striving to ignore how rigid and big the muscles there were. “Not a chance of that, Scot. There’s no chance in hell I’ll leave with you…”She trailed off as he drew in closer.He’s going to kiss me right now! Her breaths shallowed, and her eyelids nearly fluttered closed in pleasure at his clean scent and the heat emanating from his body.

 She licked her bottom lip, and he noticed, giving her a wicked grin just as he was about to reach her. She couldn’t stifle a soft whimper—

 Whistles rent the air.

 She froze. “Are those police whistles?” she whispered, her lips inches from his.

 “Aye,” he murmured. “I’d wager you’d like to leave with me now.”

 The entire building quaked as the crowd began to flee. She felt the vibrations through the table under her bottom, and the fog of desire cleared in a rush.Self-preservation, Maddy!

 “Must go now!” Ducking out from under him, she hopped down, then dragged the chair from the door. Just as she was about to dash off, he grabbed her skirt and yanked. “Let me free!” she demanded over her shoulder.

 “Can you no’ hear the chaos outside? You doona stand a chance of getting past the police, but you’ll likely be trampled.”

 She turned to him. “But my friends are out there!”

 “They’ll be safe. Two acquaintances of mine came here tonight and already had their sights on the women you were with. They’ll see them home.”

 “But—”

 “Both of those men are capable—and a thousand times more honorable than I am.” He met her eyes. “Worry only for yourself, lass.”

 Nibbling her bottom lip, she said, “Earlier, I saw a back way out.” Wary by nature and out of habit, she always traced an escape route from any building she entered. When she and the others had first arrived, Maddy had surveyed a back hall where she’d seen a couple donning jackets before entering it. They hadn’t returned. “Could you help me get out?”

 “I seem to recall that you’d never leave with me.” He leaned back against the wall and drew a knee up, still holding her skirt. “‘No’a chance in hell, ’to be exact.” He smirked, then immediately stopped, as if even a cold smile was unwelcome. She’d seen people do that when they had missing teeth, but his were white and straight and perfect. Perfect like everything else about him. Except for his arrogance.

 “Then release me.”

 “I’ll see you clear of this place…for the kiss I almost stole.”

 She had an insistent need to kiss him and, of course, her well-developed sense of preservation—these were not at cross-purposes, yet now was not the time. With a long-suffering sigh, she said, “If Imust . But only after you get me to safety.”

 He showed no alarm about what was happening outside. “A kiss now, or more later. What would one kiss hurt?”

 “What would it help?” she countered, but he remained unmoved. “Oh, fine.” She crossed to him, then reached her hands up to his neck. Tugging him down, she briefly pressed her lips to the corner of his.

 When he stood fully once more, he said, “Ah,aingeal , that was sweet, no doubt of it. But it was no’ quite what I had in mind.” He cupped his palm over her nape. “I’m demanding a deep kiss. Until you’re panting.”

 “Panting?” she murmured, gazing up at him. “Truly?”How…titillating.

 With his other hand, he cradled her face and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “It’ll be easier just tae show you—”

 More whistles shrilled. Screams grew louder outside.

 “But they’ll be back here soon—there’s no time!”

 He shrugged. “Then prepare yourself for more, later.”

 “Be specific, sir! What’s more?”

 He drew his head back as if he’d never expected her to agree. “I want to take you.”

 “Impossible.”

 “Then kiss you”—he grazed the backs of his fingers over the tips of her breasts—“here.”

 With a gasp at the surprise shock of pleasure, she jerked back, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “No, emphatically no.” She wondered if he’d imagined pressing his lips against her there, and her face grew flushed. “Haven’t you heard the old adage: At leastattempt your own escape from the police before you allow a strange Scotsman to kiss your breasts?”

 He either coughed or laughed into his fist, then frowned at her as if she were an unknown breed of animal. “You’re a daft lass, do you ken that?”

 “And you ask too much from this daft lass.” When she opened the door to step out—and was almost trampled—he reeled her back in, slamming the door.

 “A wee lady like you does no’ stand a chance out there.”

 “I’m notwee .” She was five foot three!

 “Stubborn, too. But I canna let you run to your death.”

 I can always renege.“Very well, I agree to your terms. Now can you please get me to safety?”

 “Too late. The terms have changed.” When she held her tongue, he said, “You’ll let me touch you where I wish, and you’ll touch me as well.”

 “You’re ruthless to take advantage of me this way!”

 “You have no idea,” he said in a deliberate tone, his eyes dark with warning. “What do you think will happen if you go to jail this eve? I’m the lesser of two evils—take advantage of that, for it is no’ often the case.”

 If she were jailed, Quin would have to come bail her out. The humiliation! “Yes, yes! I agree,” she said, planning to run from the Scot as soon as he freed her from this place.

 “Good. Now doona let go of my hand.” His hand was warm and swallowed hers when he took it, and they both glanced down. When he caught her gaze again, he said, “As I said—wee. But I’m thinkin’ I like it.”

 She didn’t have time to point out thateverything was wee compared to him, because he opened the door. “Stay behind me,” he commanded, having to raise his voice over the din of the crowd.

 “Can you get to that hall?” She pointed out that back hall she’d seen, which was now pouring fleeing patrons.

 “Aye, but there’s no exit. That’s why they’re runningfrom that direction.”

 “Just go that way! Please, I can find a way out ofanything !”

 He faced her, narrowing his eyes, but finally started forward into the chaos. He stiff-armed anyone who got in his way, and she easily trailed along in his wake. A less powerful man wouldn’t have made any headway, much less defeated the flow to reach the hall, but he did. Then he barreled his big body through that crush as well, until he found an empty corridor.

 “Yes!” she cried. “Go down there!”

 He turned into it, and at the end, they came upon a door to the outside.

 Bearing an oversize, ominous padlock.

 He raised his brows at her, and she shrugged helplessly. She turned back, trying to determine another escape. They were trapped back here, perfectly snared—

 A crash sounded behind her. She whirled around to find the Scot kicking forward, connecting the bottom of his boot to the door just beneath the lock. Splinters arced into the air. Another kick and the door flew open, making her gasp.

 He was magnificent! And Maddy had seen her share of magnificent men. When she strode forward to exit, he grabbed her elbow. “No’ yet,aingeal . Behind me, then.”

 She nodded breathlessly, staring up at him, not bothering to hide her admiration.

 He glowered, pulling at his collar. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

 “Like what?”

 “Like I’m something I’m no’.”

 “I don’t understand—”

 Two policemen leapt in front of them, and the Scot tossed her out of the way. He elbowed one officer and punched the other, leaving the first stumbling to his backside with a busted nose and the other laid out cold.

 When the Scot grabbed her hand and pulled her after him once more, she said, “You just hit policemen!”

 He grated, “They got in my way.”

 Some of the gendarmes in her rotten neighborhood were honest, but most weren’t. There’d been many a time she’d wanted to lay one flat. “But—”

 “I told you I’d get you from here safely.” He paused and turned to gaze down at her. “Doona think I’m no’ prepared to move mountains for my reward.”

 Magnificent? No,glorious . She knew she was staring up at him like an idiot—dumbly, with her lips parted. Every girl dreamed of a rakish masked man to protect her from villains, or a highwayman to relieve her of her jewels and her virtue. Maddy was no different, and she had to wonder if she would, in fact, renege on their bargain.

 Of course she would! She was wavering only because he’d planted those ideas in her head—of his kissing her breasts and her touching him. Add to that one of the most splendid demonstrations of male power she’d ever seen, and naturally she would falter a bit.

 No one had ever fought for her before—never, no matter how badly she’d needed someone to.

 Again, he seemed uncomfortable with what he saw in her expression. “Try to keep up, then,” he said gruffly, then turned away, speeding them down back alleys, farther from the harsh whistles. Continually glancing back at her, he appeared surprised that she was keeping up, but she could run miles at a time.

 When they finally slowed, he released her hand to hail a cab, freeing her to flee. Yet she found herself unable to leave him, as if she’d been moored to his side by an invisible force.

 Why was she wavering? She needed to be escaping him, not sizing him up and wondering what his skin would feel like….

 Maddy loved to touch—cool silks made her shiver, velvets awed her fingertips, gloves plagued her—and he’dinvited her to touch his body. Daily, she saw women stroke men, but she had never been able to imagine what hard, masculine flesh would feel like flexing beneath her hands. She loved beautiful men; she loved to touch.

 He was offering her both to enjoy.

 “You doona seem verra frightened,” he commented over his shoulder.

 “It takes more than this to set me on edge.” Tonight was tame compared to her life in La Marais. She’d survived a multi-building fire there at eleven, and she’d lived throughtwo cholera epidemics, a feat few in La Marais could claim; violence erupted in the streets daily.

 Besides, she felt utterly safe with this Scot.

 “Brave as well as bonny?” he murmured in that rumbling voice.

 With that, Maddy knew her plan to renege had just gasped its last rattling breath.

 Five

 As soon as the carriage started off, the Scot yanked the curtains closed, reaching over Maddy to draw them shut on her side. Once he’d cast them into darkness, he peremptorily dragged her over the bench and onto his lap.

 “Wait! What are you…? You can’t just…”When he flicked his tongue against her earlobe, pleasure rippled through her, quelling her need to put distance between them. She sighed, “Ohhh.”

 “I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” he began, his words rough. “You’ll fulfill yours now.”

 “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

 “To my home.”

 “Yourhome ?” She shook herself. “As much as I’d like to be one of the many strange women to be entertained in your bachelor apartments—”

 “Again, you’d be the first,” he interrupted.

 “Am I supposed to believe that?”

 “Believe it or no’. It’s the truth.”

 “What is it about me that has wrought such changes?”

 He leaned back, seeming aggravated—at her or the situation? “I’d bloody like to know.”

 He wasn’t feigning these things. Maybe he felt with her the same awareness, the same sense of familiarity, that she felt with him. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and furious, so strong she felt as if she’d been plowed down by a locomotive.

 Could he possibly be experiencing the same?

 This was all madness anyway—she hadn’t even seen his face. “Scot, if it’s any consolation, I’m behaving completely out of character as well.”

 “Then what do you say we figure this out afterward?” He curled his fingers under her chin. “There’s no reason for me no’ to be kissin’ you senseless right now.”

 Senseless?Part of her wanted him to render her senseless, to make her pant, while another part of her still couldn’t believe any of this was happening. As he drew in, her eyelids eased closed….

 His lips were warm and firm as he grazed them against hers, and that mere coaxing contact made heat race through her. When she parted her lips for him, he slipped his tongue in to slowly stroke hers. Never had she experienced anything so blatantly erotic as how his tongue flicked and teased.

 Never had she felt such an awareness that kissing like this was meant to be a prelude to sex.

 She found herself lapping back—which doubled the sensations. He clutched her closer, groaning into the kiss, deepening it. She squeezed his shoulders, reveling in the power she felt in his muscles. She craved it, wanted his strength, wanted his arms around her.

 Their tongues twined again and again, sending her to heights of need she’d never imagined. He must be feeling it, too—he adjusted her on his lap, groaning when his thick erection pressed fully against her bottom. She swore she felt the heat of it even through their clothes and couldn’t help but imagine stroking it in her palm. In all her fantasies, she’d never dreamed of howhot it would be. She wriggled in his lap….

 He drew back, gazing down at her as though in shock, his lips parted, breaths ragged.

 “I-I never much liked kissing before,” she whispered, aware that she was, indeed, panting.

 Brows drawn, he rasped, “Aye, me neither.”

 She whimpered, needing more. He cursed in answer. They both set in again.

 He leaned her back against his unyielding arm so he could take her more thoroughly, slanting his lips over and over until she felt boneless and unguarded.Senseless… She moaned against his lips.

 But he broke away again, appearing wary. “That was…that…”His eyes narrowed. “You keep kissing me like that, and this night will be over before it begins.”

 He was obviously so worldly and experienced, and yet she’d still pleased him. He continued to please her. She was excited, for some reason happier than she’d been in months. “Scot,” she murmured, threading her fingers into his thick hair, “I’m glad I invited you on my escape.”

 “Already, I’m verra glad to be here.”

 It suddenly struck her as miserably unfair that her husband wouldn’t be someone like this god who held her, who set her afire with every clever flick of his tongue.

 But what if she could gethim to marry her?

 True, she still hadn’t seen his face—and she didn’t know his name. But to be fair, she could probably go out on a limb and guess that the Scot hadn’t been widowed three times. And to be fair, shehad seen the count’s face.

 Between this man’s fierce kisses, her irresistible attraction to him—and a good deal of the decidedly potent punch—this struck her as abrilliant solution to her problem. “Scot, I don’t suppose you’re rich and looking for a wife?”

 “One out of two. I’ll never marry.”

 “Never, never? Or do you mean not until after a few years more of bachelorhood?”

 “Never.” He was emphatic, seeming irritated by the mere subject.

 “Oh. Well, I really can’t be going home with you,” she said, just as the carriage rolled to a stop. He set her on the bench and opened his door—in front of an imposing red-brick mansion.

 “Where are we?” she asked in confusion.

 “In Grosvenor Square.”

 “Thisis your home?” she said, without looking away. It was grand and bigger even than Quin’s! White columns proudly stood sentinel alongside wide marble steps. Pristine gardens were generously illuminated with hidden gaslights.

 “Aye, my home.”

 She quirked an eyebrow. She could easily imagine herself as mistress of it.

 When he reached for her hand, she said, “Wait! I can’t just go in with you like this!” Though she was dying to see the inside.

 “We had a deal.”

 “But not to go home with you!” They weren’t that far from the Weylands’. What if someone saw her?

 “This idea really bothers you?” When she nodded, he leaned out and commanded, “Drive,” before shutting his door. The carriage rolled on once more. “Matters naught. I can take you in here as well as I can in a bed.”

 “Take me?” Her eyes went wide. “I thought the bargain was only to touch.”

 He pulled her into his lap again, his big hand resting on her hip with casual familiarity, as if they’d sat like this a hundred times. “Just trust me. I’ll make it good for you. You’ll have much diary fodder,” he said with a hint of a grin.

 “You can have me, Scot. Completely. By noon tomorrow. That will give me enough time to skim over your account books, and for you to get a special license. We can be wed before lunch.”

 He grasped her chin. “Understand, lass, that nothing on earth will move me to marry.Nothing .”

 When she realized he was just like Quin, her heart sank. “I understand.” Unfortunately, she did and perfectly well—this was the second time today she’d heard that same sentiment, the second time she’d been turned down flat. Some men just weren’t the marrying kind, no matter how much theyshould be.

 Which meant girls like her picked through the leftovers of gouty old counts.

 “Make sure that you do,” he said, warning clear in his tone.

 She absently nodded. At every turn tonight, she’d had her decision to marry Le Daex reinforced, but she shuddered to imagine the man heaving and grunting over her as he took her virginity. She, who adored beautiful men, wouldn’t lose her virtue to one. Yes, it was unfair, and suddenly—or, after the liquor and the Scot’s firm lips—it was intolerable.

 She’d weathered misery after misery since her father had been shot, heaped on her as though by a cosmic jest. Like an animal caught in a snare, the more she struggled, the worse it seemed to get. She expected so little in return for her constant sacrifices, but this one aspect of her life—deciding who would introduce her to lovemaking—she could control. And her instincts were screaming that she could trust this mysterious stranger.

 She nibbled her lip. Le Daex could be fooled to think she was untouched. Maddy’s landlady and best friend in Paris had been a virgin at all three of her weddings….

 The Scot had told Maddy he’d be inside her tonight.

 At that moment, she realized he was right.

 “Very well.”

 “Verra well, what?”

 “If you wanted more…” She could feel him instantly pulsing harder beneath her.

 “You’re…you want me tae take you,” he rasped, but it sounded like a question.

 “Yes. I want more than the terms of our bargain,” she murmured. “I want you.”To show me this…to give me this night to secretly treasure.

 “What has changed your mind?”

 She sighed. “My reasons are my own, Scot. Do you care anyway?”

 He smirked, flashing white teeth. “No’ in the least.”

 “So, um, in light of this, don’t you think we should take off our masks?” she asked.

 “It adds something, do you no’ think?” He skimmed the backs of his fingers against her cheek under her mask.

 She wasn’t shy by any means, but this was her first real encounter, and she had concerns about the desirability of her sparse frame. In other words, her breasts were small. The mask would help conceal heated blushes, and it suited her fine. Especially since this would be just one night—a single night of mystery and need. And then of endings. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

 But he wasn’t listening, appearing captivated as his fingers glided over the line of her jaw. “So delicate,” he said absently, seeming not to realize he’d spoken aloud. Somehow she knew this wasn’t a mere seduction. He was exploring her, his eyes dark with curiosity. “I’ve no’ had a woman like you before.”

 “Like me?”

 “So slight.” He traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “I’m almost afraid to put my hands on you.”

 “Oh, don’t say that.”

 “I saidalmost . Nothing could stop me from taking you tonight.” He trailed his fingers down, running the pads over her collarbone. As he brushed lower, her breaths grew harried, her chest rising and falling madly under his touch. When he reached the edge of her tight bodice, he worked his fingers inside. Slowly delving, pressing deeper…deeper…until the tip of his forefinger met her throbbing nipple.

 “Oh, my God,” she moaned, clutching both of her hands on the back of his neck.

 “Delicate…and sensitive.” He languidly rolled her swollen nipple, rasping, “You like that.”

 Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded.

 When he withdrew his hand she wanted to keen, but she was mollified to see that he’d begun an attempt on the laces of her bodice. The ties, however, were thin and difficult to manage even for her. After fumbling for several moments, he gave a growl of frustration and curled his big fingers inside the fabric.

 When she realized he was about to yank, she opened her mouth to sputter her outrage—she’d gone into debt to afford this dress!—but then, he released her. With a frown of concentration, he endeavored it again.

 Something in her softened toward him—even more. “Let me, Scot,” she said, removing his hands with a tender kiss to each palm.

 At different points in the evening, she’d noticed that he would hesitate, drawing back for the briefest moment as though to take time to think. He did that now. She’d begun to wonder if she was behaving incorrectly—thiswas her first affair—or if what was happening between them was just completely different from what he was used to. She suspected the latter.

 Once she’d freed the laces at last, he pulled wide the edges of her gown. As he unhurriedly tugged down the gauzy cups of her corset to bare her, she swallowed.It’s dark. He can’t really see me…. When cool air caressed her breasts, she willed herself not to turn her face away or to cover herself with her hands.

 He hissed something in a foreign language, possibly Gaelic.

 “What did you say?” she asked nervously.

 “I said I’m goin’ tae kiss these all night.” He ran the backs of his fingers over both of her nipples, his gaze flickering over her face, gauging her response. She sucked in a breath and felt the tips hardening even more, right before his eyes.

 Then he cupped her with his hot, scratchy palms. “You could no’ be softer.” He covered her small breasts completely, kneading until she grew sensuously warm and wet between her legs.

 Exactly how had she been living without this?

 When he removed his hands to shrug out of his jacket, she found herself arching forward for them. He made a grated sound that might have been a chuckle. “Greedy lass,” he said, but she thought he was pleased. He returned his hands to her. “Then undo my shirt for me.” He might have been making fun of her, but she didn’t care. Her need urged her on.

 As she struggled with his buttons, he leaned down to nuzzle her nipples, his hot breaths making them throb, but he didn’t suckle her, only teased until she was squirming on his lap, writhing over his jutting erection.

 He finally set upon her breasts with his hot mouth. “Oh, my God,” she whispered as he dragged his tongue over her stiffened nipple. When she vaguely perceived his hand under her skirts, his fingers ascending from her knee to her thigh, she said, “Scot, I…please go slow. I want you. Oh, God!” she cried as he closed his lips around her aching peak, sucking her hard. “B-but can’t we go slower?”

 He drew back. “Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

 “I just think…maybe I would be more comfortable.”

 “I’ve been long without a woman,” he said, his voice strained as he removed her from his lap to the bench. “I’ll do it slowly for the rest of tonight.” He wadded up his jacket and placed it behind her. “But for now, I need tae be inside you.” Her other nipple received the same fierce attention as the first as he pressed her back.

 “Oh, God…that feels nice.” The way he touched her was proprietary, possessive—and a bit…rough. So why was she arching in delight? “But, Scot…you see…”

 He leaned up then, meeting her eyes. “What is it?” His shirt gaped open, displaying his chiseled torso to her fascinated gaze, and she lost track of what she’d been about to say.

 She couldtouch him. This was what she’d wondered about,dreamed about. She frantically yanked off her tormenting gloves to caress him. She sighed with delight when the muscles of his chest tensed and flexed to her touch so perfectly, as if she’d trained them over years.

 She placed her palms flat and rubbed down over rigid indentations and swells, in a heaven of sensation, her fingertips tingling with delight at each new texture…his firm, smooth skin…the crisp hair in a trail just below his navel. She savored his reaction—his lids sliding shut, his jaw slackening.

 Nearly dumbstruck with pleasure, she scarcely noticed that her skirts were suddenly rucked up to her waist.

 Six

 Ethan burned for this, finally to have a woman after so long. Though it had never been his way, he wanted her throughout the night, to take her again and again. To kiss every inch of her ravishing body.

 Before sending her along.

 “Oh, my word,” she murmured, still seeming enthralled with his chest.

 Her fingertips brushed him as though with reverence. He didn’t understand this tenderness—it was foreign to him—yet he couldn’t stop her.

 “Your heart’s thundering.” She laid her hand over the center of his chest. “Are you nervous?”

 “I’m no’nervous,” he lied, his voice unaccountably gruff. It had been so long that he feared he’d shame himself with one thrust. And for the first time in his life he cared about what his partner would think. He wanted not only to pleasure her but also to impress her. He wanted to be the best she’d ever had.

 “You said you’ve been long without a woman. A very long while?” she asked.

 “Aye, a verra long while,” he answered, shocked that he’d told her the truth.

 “Well. I’m sure we can muddle through this together,” she said, sounding calm, but she’d begun trembling. He wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

 Yet once his fingers skimmed up her smooth thighs to dip into the slit of her pantalettes, she relaxed. At his first touch between her legs, he shuddered with pleasure. “You’re wet for me,” he rasped, so damned excited by her. With one hand, he petted her breasts, and with the other, he ran his forefinger up and down her sex, taking her wetness to circle her little clitoris.

 She cried out, arching her back. Soon she was undulating her hips with need, growing more wanton with each of his strokes. He wanted to taste her there, to delve his fingers inside her, but he knew he’d come immediately.

 He absently recognized that two hours ago, he’d feared he was quit of this feeling, and now, with her…

 Ethan was about to spill like an untried lad.

 He had to take her before it became too late for him. When he removed his hands to hastily tug her pantalettes from her, she wriggled her chest to put her breast back under his palm.

 My God, she’s a hot little piece.He couldn’t imagine what riding her would be like.

 With her undergarments removed and her skirts bunched at her waist, she shivered and whimpered with abandon. One coaxing press against her inner thigh and her knees slid open, without teasing. He began to wonder if her ungoverned responses—so unpracticed and therefore unfamiliar to him—wereinnocent responses. He’d never been with a virgin and didn’t intend to start tonight.

 No, she kissed like a courtesan, accepting it when he took her mouth deeply, wetly. But just to be certain, he unfastened his trousers, releasing his sensitive shaft with a choked groan. “I want you tae stroke me.” A virgin’s touch would be hesitant, tentative.

 She nodded and took him in her soft palm—his first contact in so long; he couldn’t prevent himself from bucking into her grip.

 With her brows drawn, she eased her other hand down to expertly heft and tug his sack. When she thumbed the wet slit of his penis in slow circles, his eyes rolled back in his head. All doubt dispelled, he grated, “That’s enough. You’re going to see a man spill his seed if you doona stop.”

 He nearly groaned when she nibbled her lip, clearly contemplating it. “Would that embarrass you?”

 “No’ at all. In fact, sometime tonight I’ll have your eyes on me when I do.”

 “I think you must be awfully wicked.”

 “Aye, in bed, there’s little I will no’ do tae a woman or press her tae do to me.”

 She ran the back of a smooth nail down his shaft, which jerked up as if seeking her touch. “You’re, um, very large.”

 “But you’ll like it, I promise you.” When he lowered his body into the cradle of her thighs, he buried his face against her neck. The scent of her hair and the feel of her breasts and nipples against his chest were making him crazed. Their kissing had nearly put him over the edge, and she’d worked him into a lather with her skillful fondling.

 He was at that stage where he could scarcely feel anything but the ache in his ballocks, thinking of nothing but driving into flesh until he could relieve the pressure. “Just let me get this out of the way.” He hadn’t felt this frenzied in memory. “And I’ll take you nice and slow later.”

 Her eyes were heavy-lidded but locked on his as he levered himself up above her, forcing her knees wider open with his own. He positioned his cock at her wet folds, running the tip up and down, his muscles straining as he fought not to shove into her.

 Once she was writhing beneath him, he pressed his hips forward until just the swollen head was wedged inside her. The perfect, tight heat that greeted him nearly robbed him of his seed in that instant. “It’s so good,lass ,” he choked out.

 He flexed his hips and thrust inside her fully, the wet glove of her body shocking him, scalding him—as if he’d never had a woman before her. The feel of her arching beneath him, her nipple budding even harder under his kneading palm…he’d never known such pleasure—never.

 “Oh, God!” she cried. “This…this…it’s too—”

 He groaned, “Iknow .” Another exquisite thrust made him shudder violently over her. When he withdrew, her slick flesh squeezed his cock like a fist. He was already on the verge of coming. It had been so damned long…. Once more, he drove inside, needing to bury himself to the hilt. He ground against her, wanting in deeper—

 She shoved her palms at his hips. “N-no!”

 He shook his head hard and frowned down at her. “What is it? What did I do?”

 “You have to stop!”

 “Stop?”he bit out incredulously.“Give this up?” There was no way he could pull out of the most luscious little body he’d ever had—especially not after being celibate for three years. “You’re too hot…too tight.”

 She was frantically trying to dislodge him. “P-please…you can’t imagine…how badly this hurts.” A sob broke from her.

 He stilled instantly. “Are you…are youcrying ?”

 When she didn’t answer, just turned her face away, he gritted his teeth and muttered a vile oath. His mind in turmoil, he somehow began to withdraw. Inch by agonizing inch, he strained against the staggering pleasure as her sex seemed determined not to relinquish him.

 He had to make his body understand that he wasn’t to thrust back in and take the release he wanted so badly. That he was giving up this absolute pleasure—not to get it back.

 Too late. As soon as he’d withdrawn he yelled out, uncontrollably beginning to spill against her. His hand shot down to stroke himself to complete release. His forehead rested on her chest, his mouth too close to her hard nipple to resist suckling her as he came. Over and over, he ejaculated across her thigh and against her sex, shuddering and groaning above her.

 When he’d finally finished, he lay heavy atop her, catching his breath as he tried to sort out what had just happened. When he’d first entered her, all he’d perceived had been a nearly uncomfortable tightness and burning heat surrounding him, but now he recalled a hesitation, a pressure giving way.

 She was—or she had been—a virgin.

 Why would she do this? Why give this tohim ?

 Even with the unplanned ending, taking her had still been amazing. He felt light-headed, nigh euphoric, like he’d figured being completelysatisfied would feel. By God, hewas satisfied—as if he’d done something he’d always been supposed to and had been rewarded beyond imagining. And the next time would only be better.

 He raised himself on his elbows. “Ah, lass, why did you no’ tell me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek and felt wetness. “Ach, doona cry,” he grated, brushing her hair from her forehead. “I dinna know.”

 Maddy blinked up through tears, watching as his eyes went from expressing heavy-lidded content to something like narrow-eyed suspicion.

 At last, he sat up, and she scrambled away from him. The movement made her hiss in a breath at the fresh pain, and her tears began anew. As he fastened himself back into his trousers, she swatted her skirts down. She couldn’t stop her shaking, knowing he’d kept going, ignoring her cries. She’d asked him to stop at least three times, and he’d just closed his eyes, acting as though he hadn’t heard her, as though he’d gone mindless. If she hadn’t shoved at his hips…she shuddered.

 “Again, why did you no’ tell me?”

 She could feel his anger growing. Yes, she should have told him, had been about to, but she’d been distracted by his chest, overwhelmed by her first feel of a man’s body. With trembling hands, she pulled her cape to cover her unlaced bodice, then collected her pantalettes and gloves. “I was going to—”

 “Did you think to trap me?”

 “Trap you? Wh-what are you talking a—”

 “‘My reasons are my own,’ you told me,” he interrupted. “Your reasons had something to do with seeing my home.”

 “No!”

 “You picked the wrong man,aingeal ,” he sneered. “I could no’ care less if you’re ruined now.”

 Couldn’t care less? Ruined?

 “I will no’ be manipulated and deceived, then reward you for it.Nothing could move me to marry you.”

 Openly crying now, she whispered, “Wasn’t trying…”

 “Damn it, then why did you capitulate so readily? I was having to work for you to allow akiss , and then suddenly you’re surrendering your virtue in the back of a cab? After telling me you’re hunting for a rich husband?”

 She wiped at her tears, embarrassed by them. “I decided to go through with this specifically because I recognized I am going to be forced to wedsomeone else .”

 “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 “I told you I had a proposal. After meeting yet another eligible male who refused to wed, I concluded I would have to accept the offer of marriage I did receive. And before I went and married someone I don’t desire, I wanted to discover what making love was like with someone I did want.”

 “Then it seems that I just enjoyed something that belonged to another man.” He gave a bitter laugh. “So you planned to trick your unwitting fiancé into thinking you were still untouched? Cuckolding him even before the ceremony?”

 “For the first time in memory, I made a decision to have whatI desired.”

 “Youadmit to your scheming? I canna believe I thought you were different from every other deceitful female I’ve met.”

 “How dare you! I wasn’t trying to deceive you. Is it so unbelievable that I simplywanted you?” Hurting, bewildered by what had just occurred, she whispered the truth, “Though how I ever desired you is a mystery now.”

 “But you did, and what’s done is done now. You can never get it back, no matter how ill-considered the giving—or, God help you, the recipient—was.” He untied his mask and tossed it to the floor, then sat motionless, only giving her one side of his face. In the shadow, she could see his profile was strong and bold. The beast who’d just taken her was, on the surface, a beautiful man. He didn’t say a word to her and wouldn’t face her, seeming to wrestle with a decision.

 “Avail yourself of the carriage,” he finally said in a dismissive tone, tossing cash on the bench between them.

 At his words, she froze. This couldn’t be happening. She’d guarded her virtue for years, defended it jealously, and then in a wild, reckless moment, she’d thrown it away on this animal, this oaf.

 And received nothing but searing pain and humiliation in return.

 Her vaunted instincts had served her ill.

 He pounded his fist against the roof. When the carriage stopped, he turned to her slightly. “I’ll be gone for a week or two. But afterward, I will return for you to decide what’s to be done with you.”

 Her jaw slackened. “What’s to be done with me?” How did he think to find her? She still wore her mask and hadn’t revealed her name. And she would make sure she was long gone from London by the time he returned. The idea that she never had to see him again helped her temporarily stem her tears.

 The count would’ve been a better lover than the Scot. He couldn’t have been worse. She would run back to Le Daex eagerly—gratefully.

 As if he read her mind, the Scot said, “And,aingeal , doona think of marrying anyone before then.”

 At that, he stepped out. Before he slammed the door, she could have sworn she heard him say, “Or I’ll make you a widow.”

 Seven

 As Ethan rode for home, his mind was a knot of conflicting ideas. All of them involving the girl.

 He’d realized that by the time he finished with Grey, she could be married to the fiancé she had “waiting in the wings.”

 When asking himself why in the hell he cared—he’d always preferred married women—he could posit no credible answer. At least, none better than the fact that he wanted her at his complete disposal. If she were wed, she would be Ethan’s onlyafter her husband had taken his due.

 That was intolerable.

 He reasoned that he felt possessive of her like this only because he had taken her virginity, claiming her as he had no other woman before. Tonight he had made her a woman, and on some primal level, he was proud that he had. Ethan didn’t want another man enjoying her in between the times he did.

 Yet there were only two ways he could have her exclusively—as his wife or his mistress. The former was impossible, and even that latter struck him as far too much of a commitment.

 Let her fade into the past….Now was not the time to have his mind on a woman.

 If Ethan wasn’t cold and focused in the days to follow, he’d get himself killed.

 Before Grey’s affliction had twisted him, the man had possessed untouchable instincts. Even addicted to opium, Grey had been able to escape the suicide mission Edward Weyland had dispatched him on six months earlier—and from what they knew, Grey was still strong enough to exact revenge for it.

 Ethan had assured Quin that Hugh could handle the threat at hand. Yet tonight, Hugh had seen Jane for the first time in years, and Ethan had noted with frustration that none of his brother’s feelings for her had faded whatsoever—even after so much time had passed.

 This couldn’t go on. Once more, he would be forced to act….

 Ethan knew his faults and reveled in them—he was selfish, callous, and coarse, and he killed easily; his only redeeming quality was that he would die for his brothers and wanted them to have some measure of happiness.

 But for some reason both Hugh and Court had always wanted—needed—more. They were never satisfied to continue with less than other men could rightfully expect. It maddened Ethan to know how miserable they both were.

 Just as he’d done years ago, Ethan was going to have to remind Hugh of why he couldn’t have Jane, though he didn’t relish the task—it would only drive a wedge deeper between him and his brother. Just as he’d done before, Ethan would use the book that shadowed his family.

 When he arrived back at his home, Ethan strode directly to the study to reach theLeabhar nan Sùil-radharc , the Book of Fates. Long ago, a clan seer had predicted the fortunes of ten generations of MacCarricks and inscribed them in theLeabhar . The lines within foretold events that had all come to pass.

 The tome was centuries old but well preserved, its cover producing an unearthly gleam. The only marking it had ever accepted was blood, on the last page—the one written to his father….

 To the tenth Carrick:

 Your lady fair shall bear you three dark sons.

 Joy they bring you until they read this tome.

 Words before their eyes cut your life’s line young.

 You die dread knowing cursed men they become,

 shadowed to walk with death or walk alone.

 Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate;

 Your line to die for never seed shall take.

 Death and torment to those caught in their wake…

 The last two lines were concealed, covered with indelible blood.

 Both of Ethan’s brothers believed the foretelling, abiding by the warning in it. They lived their lives by the book, and Ethan encouraged that. But Ethan’s relationship with it was more…complicated.

 He knew there was power within the tome—it was palpable and the book was indestructible. And there was much evidence to support the predictions: Neither he nor his brothers had fathered a babe, they all walked with death in their professions, and of the two times any of them had thought to marry, one fiancée had perished and another nearly had.

 Just as foretold, their beloved father, Leith, had died the very morning after his sons had read the lines.

 Coincidence could explain some. An undivulged or unknown childhood illness could explain why none of the three brothers had ever been petitioned for support of a child or marriage—though they’d actually hoped for it years ago. In fact, Court had once speculated that this was why Ethan bedded so many women. Hell, maybe Court had been right—maybe Ethan had been trying to get a bairn on any one of them.

 And to explain the death of Ethan’s fiancée the night before their wedding?

 If one believed the rumors circling him, Ethan had cornered her on the roof of Carrickliffe, his family seat, and then pushed her to her death….

 Ethan didn’t worship the book, taking it as his creed, because the three brothers were well and truly cursed on their own—so why bring theLeabhar into it? Ethan lived his life rationally, and a modicum of common sense said that, cursed or not, assassins and mercenaries andworse best not taint the innocent.

 Then why in the hell was he even considering going for the lass tomorrow?

 Did you ever think I just wanted you…?

 Ethan lay in bed for hours until dawn, scowling at the ceiling as he replayed every minute of the night. That same inexplicable sense of urgency to see her continued to claw at him.

 Part of him wanted to shove her from his mind, even as another part of him had wanted to storm Quin’s house last night and take her away. Again the need toget her, to possess her, surged within him. He didn’t understand it. He hungered for her as he never had for any woman before.

 He remembered his lack of response to the comely prostitute displaying her breasts. However, if he recalled the lass’s soft, wee ones beneath his palms he shot hard as wood. Yes, he’d just had her and the pleasure was fresh, but his reaction to her still made him uneasy.

 What if she was the only one who could provoke him to that kind of lust? Even with the abrupt ending, taking her had been…mind-boggling. Just touching her trembling body…

 What if he never experienced that fierce need again without her?

 There were other questions surrounding the mysterious chit that he wanted answered. If she was untouched, then why hadn’t she been shocked at the sights in the masquerade? And how in the hell had she known how to fondle him with such skill?

 Moreover, what could possibly have given her the impression that he’d be honorable enough to offer for her once she’d made her play?

 And he wouldn’t mind knowing why his shaft had been hard, miserably tight and throbbing, from the time he’d left her. He took it in his fist and stroked, but stopped directly, drawing his hand away with a hissed oath. Why should he spend in his hand—instead of inside her once more?

 There was nothing to be done for it.

 Ethan would make her his mistress.

 With a resigned exhalation, he rose to wash and dress, determined to enter into some kind of arrangement with her this morning. As he set up to shave, he realized there were obstacles to this plan.

 The first? If she truly hadn’t been thinking to trap him, then she would be outraged by his accusation anddisinclined to accept him.

 The second? He’d hurt her last night. Ethan recalled her responses, her exquisite body writhing beneath his, first in pleasure—but then in…agony.

 Now that the haze of the night had faded, he comprehended that the pain he’d given her would have been substantial. She had asked him to go slowly, yet he hadn’t taken the time to ready her. He’d been frenzied for release, stupid with lust. He’d taken her hard, rutting over her, when she’d been so delicate and fragile.

 Damn it, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, to make her…cry.

 Women’s tears did not affect him—this was simply a fact, a part of the coldheartedness others had seen in him since he was a teen. So why had seeing hers troubled him so much?

 There’d been a brief moment when he might’ve promised heranything to get her to stop.

 With practiced care, he grazed his razor past the jagged end of his scar. Another obstacle? Quin might actually care for the little witch. Or Ethan’s superior, Edward Weyland, might step in. The girl’s parents were probably shabby-genteel, land-rich and cash-

poor but still influential, if they were friends of the Weylands. Though none of them could force Ethan to wed her, they could bloody well irritate him on this subject.

 Yet everyone had a price—she’d been hunting a rich husband for a reason—and Ethan had already ruined her. Perhaps there were debts weighing on her family, or maybe she had sisters who needed dowries. Ethan was prepared to pay a fortune to make her his mistress, to slake himself on her for a time, and get past her. All he wanted was to put her up in a house close by, somewhere convenient to his needs, and in return, he could make her family’s problems go away.

 He drew the razor across his face again, then stared into the mirror, regarding the greatest obstacle to his plan.

 If I see the girl again, there will be no mask.For the first time in years, he studied his reflection. His scar was deep, stretching taut over the length of his right cheekbone, then twisting down the front of his cheek. Stitches had left uniform depressions at the edges. Every inch of the mark whitened starkly with any expression.

 Brymer had done his job well.

 That night, once Van Rowen had realized his mistake, he’d hurried to the stable and had grown sick at what Brymer had already done to Ethan. Dazed, Van Rowen had offered restitution or an exact reprisal to himself.

 But Ethan had had bigger plans for him and his wife—and for Brymer. When freed, Ethan had just gritted his teeth against the pain and blindly lurched to his horse. Sheer will had gotten him off Van Rowen lands before he’d blacked out in a ditch for two days.

 Just months later, before Ethan had been able to finalize his revenge, Van Rowen had provoked a drunken duel. He’d turned without drawing, dying in what was known as a “gentleman’s suicide.”

 As for Sylvie, Ethan had rendered her penniless, leaving her to rot in a slum.

 For some reason, Ethan had spared Tully. But his confrontation had left the man so shaken, Tully had promptly disappeared from the area and likely still lived in fear.

 And Brymer? Ethan had gutted him—his scarred visage the last sight the bastard had seen on this earth….

 Before he’d been cut, Ethan would have been a fitting match for the girl. Now she would probably laugh at his appearance. Hadn’t she professed herself—what had she called it?—anaficionada of male beauty?

 Ethan tried to smile, but he found it uncomfortable, the sight repulsive, even to himself. Hating the Van Rowens anew, he threw down the straight razor, sending it clattering into the basin.

 Eight

 An hour later, after having run into Hugh—and engaging in yet another brotherly row—Ethan made his way to Quin’s. This morning, Ethan was more acutely aware of how people on the street stared at him. In return, he gave them his most menacing glower.

 When he reached Quin’s home, he found himself anxious. Hell, the girl would likely spurn him for his behavior last night anyway. He supposed it didn’t matter as long as he got this settled with her, for good or ill.

 Quin scowled when Ethan strode uninvited and unannounced into his study. “Excellent, another MacCarrick to deal with. Already this morning, I’ve had to haul your brother away from a fight with another man over Jane.”

 “I saw Hugh just a short while ago—he dinna tell me there was a fight.”So much for loving her secretly from afar, Hugh.

 “In reality, I wouldn’t so much call it afight —that would imply two contenders,” Quin amended. “Needless to say, after witnessing Hugh in a rage like that, Jane’s reluctant to be near him, much less to go into hiding with him.”

 Going into hiding.And that had been the subject of the brothers’ dispute. Hugh had actually agreed to take Jane out of the city—just the two of them.Disaster awaits….

 “What are you doing here?” Quin asked. “I thought you were going after Grey.”

 “I combed his haunts last night. I doona believe he’s made London from the Continent yet.”

 “Then what do you want?”

 “To talk to the lass staying with your sisters.”

 “Madeleine? Is this about Grey? How could she know anything?”

 Madeleine. Ethan liked the name. But then he frowned as some memory tugged at his consciousness. “This is no’ about Grey. It’s…personal.”

 “What in the hell could you have to say to her? How do you even know her?”

 “I met her last night, at the masquerade.”

 “I wondered what had spooked her!” Quin rose and paced to the window. “I should have known only one man in London could terrorize the poor girl like that.”

 “Terrorize? Oh, aye, such a sweet, innocent girl. Did you know she’s been trying to trap you into marriage?”

 Quin turned back. “I might have suspected something when she told me she’d dreamed of being my wife since she was a girl and then asked me if I would ever consider marrying her. So devious—how does she sleep nights?”

 Dreamed of marrying Quin.Ethan ground his teeth, suddenly needing to pummel Quin’s unscarred face.

 “Here’s the thing, MacCarrick. I did consider it. She’s secretive, occasionally dishonest, and inordinately concerned with money, but she’s also kind and winsome and intelligent. Any man would be proud to call her his wife.”

 “Then why did you no’ keep her?”

 “Youknow why.” Quin’s role in the Network required him to seduce women, often traveling the world to do it. “Besides, she has a proposal in hand,” Quin said as he returned to his desk. “She’s going to accept him directly.”

 The hell she was. “Who?”

 “You don’t expect me to tell you that?”

 “You know I can have that information in a day.” Ethan’s job wasn’t only to deal the blows that no one else wanted to deal. He also brokered information.

 “Why are you so bloody interested in her? She’s a lady and a virgin, not your usual fare of jaded whore.”

 “Do youwant me to hit you?”

 “Just stay the hell away from her, MacCarrick. I don’t know what dire thing happened at the masquerade—she refused to talk about it even to Claudia—but when I saw her this morning, she looked as if she’d cried all night.”

 Criedall night ? Had it beenthat bad? “Aye, Quin, something dire happened. She made a play to get me to marry her. One that failed.”

 “A play to wedyou ?” Quin gave a harsh laugh. “You’ve some nerve. The girl is utterly lovely. Yes, that’s clearly what she wanted, as evidenced by the fact that she fled London this morning.”

 Ethan froze. “What did you say?”

 “She’s gone, couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

 Goddamn it!Ethan would have to kill Grey before he could go after her. “Tell me the chit’s name and how to find her.” He stalked around the desk, and Quin shot to his feet.

 “Throw her to the wolf? I don’t know why you’ve suddenly taken an interest in a well-bred girl, much less someone who’s a friend of my sister’s, but you won’t get the information from me.”

 “She does no’ get much say in the matter, no’ after I relieved her of her virtue last night.”

 Quin’s eyes widened, and he lunged at Ethan, throwing a punch. Ethan caught his fist, crushing it with his hand. “Doona fuck with me, Quin. My patience wears thin.”

 Quin gritted his teeth in pain. “Ethan, I know you’re not a man concerned with morals. But I didn’t think you’d despoil an innocent more than a decade younger than you are.” When Ethan released Quin, he sank to his chair, shaking feeling back into his hand. “My God, she’s ruined. I know you will never do the honorable thing, and her betrothed won’t want her now. I must go offer for her at once.”

 “Stay away from her,” Ethan grated. “She’smine .” When Quin still looked to argue, Ethan made things simple. “Marry her, and I’ll kill you.”

 “You don’t even know who she is!” Quin snapped. “And you won’t marry her yourself.”

 “No, I will no’.”

 “Then why are you here? What had you planned to do with her?”

 “After I’ve taken care of Grey, I’ll bloody figure it out then. I’m going off to save your cousin’s life, so you ken why there’s a time element here.” Ethan couldn’t care less about Jane, other than the fact that his brother was in love with her to an unspeakable degree and would be devastated if she died. “The sooner I get my mind on killing, the better for everyone. So tell me the girl’s name. Then we’ll talk about her betrothed.”

 Quin got an analytical air about him, studying Ethan for a long moment. Then he flashed an expression of realization. “Little Madeleine got under your skin, didn’t she? She has that way about her. I knew to be on guard, but you…you were probably blindsided.” He nodded, giving Ethan a smug grin. “I’m going to give you her information because Grey must be stopped at all costs—and unfortunately, you are the best hope we have. But I’m also assisting you because in this kind of arena, you’re no match for her. She’ll have you not knowing up from down.”

 Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “That so?”