Curiosity lit her eyes. She leaned against the side of the tub, resting her chin on her hands.“Shot?” She flashed him an expression of realization. “Nowonder you were afraid of the sounds of gunfire.”
“I was no’ bloody afraid—”
“So, who would shoot you?”
He shrugged. “A bad man.”
“I can see you’ve had other serious injuries. So what do you do that’s so dangerous? Are you some kind of renegade? Or insurgent? I know—you’re a soldier of fortune!”
Ethan had never been secretive about what he did, only for whom he did it. “Maybe I’m a bit of each.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but when he stepped out of his trousers, she turned away. He used the opportunity to join her in the water. She gasped, darting for the side to flee, but he caught her by the shoulders. Relaxing against the back of the tub, he dragged her to him, groaning when her breasts slid over his torso.
Gentle,he reminded himself as his hand rubbed down her back to cup her arse. He could still very well frighten her away, and after seeing her completely naked in the light, he didnot want to frighten her away.
When she pushed against him, he curled his hand around her nape, tugging her back.
“MacCarrick, no.” She grabbed the sides of the tub to hold herself apart from him. “I’m not…I don’t want this.”
“Why no’?” he asked, skimming his forefinger between her breasts.
She shivered, but answered, “B-because I’m exhausted and overwhelmed. I just need tothink about all this.”
Her arms were shaking with effort as she resisted, making her breasts quiver lusciously. Her nipples were hard and taunting him. He wanted to suck them for hours. He wanted her to touch him—
The image of her pounding her fist on the floor of that tavern flashed in his mind. Reminded of the weary resolve he’d seen, he studied her face. He could see faint smudges beneath her eyes. The day she’d had would throw anyone.
Her hands were slipping along….
“Though you tempt me sorely, I’ll let you go so you can rest tonight,” he said, disbelieving what he was hearing himself say. “For a kiss.”
She flashed him an expression of disappointment and in a deadened tone said, “Fine. Get it over with.”
He moved his hands to cradle her face, making her frown. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs as he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, then her mouth with a mere brushing of his lips against hers.
When he released her, it took her a moment to blink open her eyes.
“The first rule of a successful cull,” she murmured, “give a little, then take it all.”
“Am I to get away with nothing, Madeleine?” he asked, amused for some reason. As he stifled a smile, her gaze dipped to his lips. She looked like she might kisshim . But then she abruptly twisted from his hold to rise from the water.
When she stepped out and turned for a towel, he was surprised to see his hand reach out to swat her adorable arse. She swiftly covered herself, casting him a startled glance over her shoulder. But whatever she saw in his expression made her give him a baffled half grin.
Then she sauntered out of the room, collecting her ring, actually seeming more relaxed.
As he finished washing, he wondered how he could be so bloody jovial when his shaft throbbed miserably. He told himself it was only because she’d accepted the plan. He’d won the first battle.
It is no’ because she’s accepted me, agreed to marry me….
After drying off, he returned to the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He found her dressed in one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled up. It hung off her shoulders and down to her knees. Around her neck, she wore the ring on that long, red ribbon.
She’d also borrowed a pair of his thick gray socks. They swallowed her feet, bunching down around her ankles. She nibbled her lip, rubbing one wee foot over the other, and again his chest felt tight. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, no’ at all.”Can she possibly be more fetching…?
“How are we to, um, sleep?” she asked.
He stiffened, his mood souring. “Doona care.”Just as long as it’s not with me.
She padded to the linen closet for a blanket and pillow as though she’d read his mind. “Oh, well, you see, I don’t really sleep well with anyone in the bed with me.”
Ethan drew his head back. “Soyou doona want to share a bed withme ?” After all those women in his past who’d yearned to sleep with him, this chit looked as if the prospect was appalling.
“That’s part of the reason that I wanted my own room,” she said. “But I’ll happily settle on the divan—”
Swooping her up, he ignored her sputtering protests and dumped her in the bed. He’d make her sleep with him—just to punish her for being contrary. If she hadn’t weighed less than a feather, his wound would’ve been singing, but he didn’t care. “You’ll be in this bed with me tonight.” After throwing off his towel, he joined her.
“I don’t want to sleep with you!” She rose to her knees, haphazardly marching on them to the edge. “This, MacCarrick, is my fifth condition.”
He caught her makeshift nightgown in his fist, reeling her back. At her mutinous look, he took her in his arms once more to shove her under the covers.
When she shimmied to the side of the bed, tugging against his hold, he said, “Stay, and I’ll buy you new clothes tomorrow.” He needed to anyway. There was no way they’d go about in public with her dressed shabbily compared to him. Already people were going to wonder what a woman like her was doing with him. Money would be the natural conclusion, but he’d be damned if he handed others that answer.
She froze, shoulders tensed. “But not…notevery night, MacCarrick?”
She sounded so horrified at the proposition of sharing a bed that he said, “Every…single…sodding one.”
“I want this sacrifice remembered,” she muttered, hitting her pillow before lying down on the far edge of the bed.
Sacrifice?Good, she wouldn’t prove to be a clinger. He was pleased. Of course.
But an hour later, once she’d fallen asleep, he remained awake, watching her. He found two things interesting about how she slept: silently, and curled up with her knees pulled tight to her chest—the position people took when receiving blows they couldn’t defend against.
Ethan understood that her harsh life had made her guarded, but now he wondered specifically what had happened to her once she’d left England. He hadn’t known she’d been in a fire, and by the look of the scar, she’d been young when she’d received the injury. She was obviously resilient, even as she appeared so delicate and vulnerable to him.
Surrendering to the urge, he lightly grasped a handful of the blonde glossy curls drying over her pillow. As he rubbed his thumb over the silky texture, he began to ponder what the mysterious appeal was of holding another in sleep.
Some men genuinely seemed to like it. He remembered Hugh coming home from a day spent with Jane when they’d been younger. He’d had that moonstruck look about him, even more pronounced than usual after meetings with Jane. Ethan had thought he’d finally tupped her, but Hugh had been disgusted with Ethan at the idea. “No, Iheld her. While she slept,” Hugh had said, then he’d exhaled with pleasure. “For over anhour .”
Now, Ethan eased out his hand to feel the enticing warmth of Madeleine’s body. Willing her not to wake, he edged closer to her, stretching out behind her, only wanting to test this out for a minute. But she woke and tensed. Well, if the dam was breached…He ran his hand under her side and tucked her against him.
He waited for her to relax. Minutes passed, and still she was stiff. He could be contrary, too, and he forced her to remain in this position. He even dragged her tighter to him, which put her pert bottom in his lap and his face against her neck, sending him awash in the scent of her hair. Not surprisingly, he shot hard against her. He looped his other arm under hers and around her chest so that he completely enfolded her.
He ached to be inside her, so why was he feeling that perplexing sense of satisfaction again? As if he was where he was supposed to be?
He’d been exhausted for days, and soon her warmth lulled him. The last thought he had was that if the little witch would relax a bloody bit, sharing a bed might not be the burden he’d thought it.
Twenty-two
Men just aren’t built like this anymore, Maddy thought with a sigh. Like gladiators, like warriors.
Tilting her head this way and that, she studied him sleeping in the muted morning sun. He lay on his back with an arm raised over his head, the cover precariously positioned low at his waist, displaying his broad chest and muscular torso. She flushed when she saw that his morning erection elevated the heavy cover.
Maddy had awakened without hunger in a warm, soft bed after a full night’s rest uninterrupted by nightmares. And apparently, now that the critical needs of food, safety, and shelter had been met, her body had an entirely different need to contend with.
She was aroused, and his clean, masculine scent and the warmth emanating from his body were making it worse. She had to struggle not to run her fingers over his skin as she recalled the scenes from the night before—how her breasts had rubbed against his unyielding chest in the tub, or later when his hard body had wrapped around hers. Though she didn’t want to sleep that way each night, she’d felt surprisingly safe with him. His erection had pressed against her bottom, but he’d kept his promise, never making an advance.
She’d never thought she would enjoy intercourse again, but now she was beginning to believe she could tolerate sex with him—and if he could do it as splendidly as he kissed her, she might even enjoy it once she grew accustomed to his size.
Of course, this didn’t mean she planned to let him take her before their wedding. She had to hold firm on that—she knew too many women who’d been promised marriage only to return to La Marais big with child and utterly destitute.
Yet after they’d wed…what would a second attempt be like? She might not be looking forward to it, but she was definitely curious.
In fact, everything about him made her curious. For instance, why was he so skilled with a pistol? And who’d shot him so recently? She’d noted at least one other scar that looked like a bullet wound and would bet there were more on his back. What did he do that was so fraught with danger?
Who’d cut his face so terribly, leaving that bone-deep scar?
Already she had a good idea of how intensely it troubled him. But the truth was that even an aficionada like herself could see past it. Indeed, MacCarrick’s face was still captivating to her, his features pleasing and even. He had a strong, straight nose, firm lips, and a square jaw shadowed with the night’s growth of beard.
The good was so exceedingly good with this man, that it far outweighed the bad.
Maybe in the gentrified Grosvenor world he knew, people were flawless, but that was no longer Maddy’s world. She was so used to seeing Crimean soldiers returned from war with parts of their regimental uniforms empty and pinned up that MacCarrick’s scar was mild in comparison.
In the hierarchy of characteristics she needed in a potential mate, unmarred skin was not a contender compared to virility, strength, and wealth—all of which this Scot had in spades.
She mentally catalogued his good points: He was rich and seemed generous with his money. He was a sinfully skilled kisser and possessor of the most gorgeous, sculpted body she’d ever beheld. He was fierce—this Scot was no gentle giant—which suited Maddy fine.
The bad points: He was selfish, stubborn, rough, aggressive, and untrustworthy.
Would Ethan MacCarrick be difficult to manage? Absolutely. She had no doubt that she was going to have to draw on every man-managing skill she’d ever learned—and then call on every ounce of patience she could muster.
But she could do it to say good-bye to debts and her hardscrabble existence, andbonjour to a new life with a mysterious Scot who’d made her blood burn with both passion and fury.
Finally surrendering to the urge, she trailed the pads of her fingers down the underside of his raised arm, watching, enthralled, as the muscles lining the side of his torso briefly flexed. She gently brushed the skin around his wound, feeling unaccountably saddened that someone had sought to hurt him—or kill him. Why did the idea of him in pain bother her so much? At heart he was still a stranger.
She shook her head, deciding then that she wasn’t going to lie to herself anymore. Something about him had attracted her from the very first—attracted her as no man had before. She’d been overwhelmingly drawn to him before she’d seen his face and scar—she still was after.And last night, his unpracticed, awkward smile as he’d cuffed her bottom had shown her a different side to this Scot, softening her anger toward him….
After making an unhurried exploration of his chest, her finger meandered down the rigid length of his stomach. Reaching the trail of crisp hair below his navel, she lazily stroked it with her nails.
When he slid his knee up, and his shaft pulsed beneath the cover, she gasped and glanced up, finding his eyes on her. She’d never seen any so compelling—so fierce, the irises jet black with flecks of amber.
Though he was studying her face, she didn’t bother trying to disguise the desire she was feeling. His brows drew together, as if he didn’t know how to respond.
She grazed the backs of her fingers over his scar, and his expression changed, his demeanor growing surly. “Why do you sleep curled in a ball?” he asked, his voice even more rumbling in the morning. At her blank look, he said, “Sometime in the night, I got you to fall asleep against me, but then when I woke, you were curled up on the other side of the bed.” His tone was strangely accusatory.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s warmer in that position. Paris can get so cold in the winter.”
“It could no’be warmer than when you were against me.”
“I…you’re right. I just feel crowded with another in the bed.” She barely stifled a shudder. She all too clearly remembered those horrible nights in the infirmary after the fire, sharing a bed with other indigent girls, who unremittingly bumped into her ruined arm all through the night. That pain was as fresh in her memory as it had been when she was eleven. “You don’t feel claustrophobic?”
He gave her that look that she’d begun to think he reserved solely for her—a mix of irritation, scowl, and a threatening glower. “It’s no’ like you take up much room, then, is it?”
Patience, Maddy.Changing the subject, she asked, “So, are we leaving for Scotland today?”
“We’re scheduled to leave tomorrow night, but we can push that back if we canna get a week’s worth of clothing for you.”
“You’re really taking me shopping?”
“I said I would, did I no’?”
“Well, if you do everything you say you will, then that means I’m going to be married, and not hungry, and living with you in Scotland.” Today she would start a new life with this mysterious man beside her—and for once, she was delighted with her luck. “How are we going to get there?”
“A train from here to Le Havre, then by sea.”
“Ah,la porte océane. How long will it take?”
“By steamer, it’s no more than four days to the southwest coast of Scotland.”
“A steamer! I’ve never been on one, except for the Channel tubs.”
“TheBlue Riband will be lavish, Miss Van Rowen. You’ll have much silver to steal.” His tone might have been cutting, but she was too excited by their plans and couldn’t hold back a grin. He frowned at her lips, then continued, “I’ve a lesser estate on the coast across the sea from Ireland. We’ll spend a night or two there before continuing north by rail to my family’s seat of Carrickliffe.”
“What’s Carrickliffe like? Do you think I’ll like it there? Is your clan nice? Will they like me? When I’m not tired and hungry, I’m usually very likable.”
“It’s a fine estate in the Highlands, with a castle, and, aye, any bride would like it. My clan is verra serious, verra solemn. I doona think they would know what to do with you.”
“In other words, they won’t like me.”
“Does no’ matter, since I’m rarely there. And besides, they doona like me either.”
She nodded without argument.
“What? You can easily see this?”
“Well, yes,” she answered. “You’re not very serious or solemn, so I expect that they don’t know what to do with you either.”
He looked at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. “Iam serious and solemn.”
“No, you’re not. At the masquerade, you made me laugh. You had a devilish sense of humor that I enjoyed.”
“I think I would know myself,” he said more gruffly.
“I won’t argue with you, Scot. Though now I do have to wonder exactly why they don’t like you.”
“Let’s have this discussion when you’ve been around me for a few days. It might become more apparent.”
She quirked a brow, deciding not to pursue that subject—yet. “What about your family?” she asked instead. “Do you have a big family? I’ve always wanted a big one. I wish I had siblings. I know you have one brother…” She trailed off. “You said he married Jane—that will make her my sister-in-law, too!”
“Aye, it would. And I have another brother who’s also recently married. My mother is still living, but I have no contact with her.”
“Oh. Are you close to your brothers?”
“I’d do anything for them, but I doona believe we’re close,” he said, revealing the tiniest hint of regret in his voice. For a man who seemed to cloak his emotions at every opportunity, his tone was telling. “Enough questions. We’ve much to do to prepare for the trip.”
She nodded. “Before we leave, I need to pack up some things—”
“You doona need to pack anything. I told you I’d buy you new. Besides, the spoils would no’be worth the effort.”
Her lips thinned. If he was going to continue ridiculing her poverty, then she was glad she hadn’t told him she could overlook his scar. She’d give up knowledge of that chink in his armor as soon as she deemed it unnecessary to possess.
“In any case, MacCarrick, I’d like to give some things to my friends and say good-bye to them.”
“We’ll see, if there’s time.”
It nettled her how dogmatic and domineering he was with her, but Maddy would pick her battles. If she was patient, with time she could manage him—she just needed to bite her tongue until she uncovered his weaknesses. Besides, she wouldn’t fight him on this—not until she’d determined he absolutely wouldn’t permit her to see her friends. “You know, since it appears that we’re actually going through with this, I think you should tell me how you got your scar.” When she touched it again, he looked as if he’d just stopped himself from flinching.
He hesitated before he said, “I was in a knife fight.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you kill someone? Was it broken up? Did you win?”
“I dinna win at first”—he cast her a disquieting smile—“but I did in the end.”
“Get my wife anything she could possibly need,” Ethan told the modiste at one of the most exclusive dressmaker’s in Paris. “Her trunks were lost, so we’ll be starting anew. And we’ll need garments to take with us today—a week’s worth of dresses.”
When he and Madeleine had first entered the shop, a few of the girls working inside had turned their noses up at Madeleine’s scuffed boots and worn clothes. She’d donned an indifferent expression, but he could tell she was embarrassed, and for some reason, the idea of that made his hackles rise.How dare they?
Ethan stressed to the modiste, “I want you and your employees to understand thatnothing is too good, or too costly, for her. Her wardrobe—and their attitude—should reflect that.”
The woman nodded enthusiastically, and a sharp clap of her hands sent shopgirls rushing to set up garments and fabrics in a back dressing room.
Madeleine grabbed his arm and tried to steer him aside. “No, MacCarrick,” she urgently whispered, “An entire wardrobe? Not in a place like this—that will cost a fortune! There are bargain shops on Rue de la Paix.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said we have a lot in common. In your situation, I would take me for all I’m worth.”
“I’m not in this for the short cull. Your continued healthy finances are very important to me.”
“So that you will no’ harp on this, I’ll tell you what I make a year—just on rents.”
When he told her, she actually swayed as her jaw slackened. “You’re not lying? Not jesting?” He shook his head. “Oh. In that case, I’ll spend with impunity.”
“Fine. Now, doona be uncomfortable with the girls for staring at your shabby clothes,” he told her in a patronizing tone. “These women matter no’ at all.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “And you shouldn’t be uncomfortable either. Even if they likely think your scar is”—she paused, then enunciated—“big.”
When he made comments about her poverty, she ridiculed his scar. He was coming to see it as a game they played. “Have your fun, then. But now you’ll have one less dress to call your own.”
“Then that’s one less dress you can almost rip off me.”
He frowned down at her. “Do you have an answer for everything?”
“Yes. But I specialize in questions,” she said, wandering off to survey scarves.
Ach, she baffled him. He was beginning to think she was a littletoo clever. If he wasn’t careful, this game could come back to bite him on the arse.
When he’d awakened this morning, he’d sensed her leaning over him and had feigned sleep, until she’d begun to touch him so sensually and tenderly. He’d opened his eyes to find her staring down at him.
Damn if she hadn’t been aroused, her pupils dilated, breaths shallow. He’d savored it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d known for a fact that a woman truly desired him.
In the past, the few women who’d seemed to be aroused by his scar had invariably liked more pain in their bed play than pleasure. Ethan was all for a hard, teeth-clattering tup—preferred it, in fact—but he had no interest in flaying a woman’s skin.
Madeleine was beautiful, and ifshe’d deemed him attractive, then perhaps he wasn’t as bad off as he’d thought. Perhaps he’d been overly critical of his face, his demeanor affecting his appeal with women.
He knew that soon he’d wear Madeleine down, and once she’d succumbed to him fully and he’d tired of her, he’d explore this with other women, voluptuous women with bouncing breasts who liked hard sex….
Even as he thought it, his eyes were drawn to Madeleine. He could admit she had surprised him—in fact, she continued to with her unusual behavior. He watched her caressing the silks and began to grow hard yet again. For a man who’d feared himself quit of this feeling, he was astonished at how easily she aroused him.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. Madeleine had seemed to be obsessed with touching, and now he discovered it was a clever ruse to cover her thefts. She was skilled, extraordinarily so, and if he hadn’t been trained to descry minute details, he never would have noticed what she was doing.
He strode over to her. “Put it back,” he commanded under his breath.
She gave him an innocent look, with guileless blue eyes. “What are you talking a—”
He squeezed her elbow, silencing her, and she finally unthreaded the silk scarf from her blouse sleeve.
“Madeleine, the little thieveries must end.”
She cocked a brow. “So sure they’relittle ?”
“Christ, I wonder if you’re no’ worse than I am.” He didn’t mind people suffering if they wronged him first. Actually, he relished it. But he had no feud with this store owner, and she might not be able to easily suffer these losses.
“You steal, gamble, and speak the cant of the streets. If I’m to be our moral guide, we’re both hellbound, lass.”
She gazed up at him, lips curling. “But at least we’d be together.”
He knew she was teasing, but she still disarmed him, and his anger began evaporating….
When the modiste invited Madeleine to sit down with her and peruse fashion books, Ethan was provided coffee and a newspaper in English. He tried to read, but he grew distracted by Madeleine’s voice, though she spoke softly, in a lilting French. Her questions and comments surprised him—as did her confidence when speaking with the older modiste.
“But what if you did this fabric and the ruche like this? With some bombazine?” she asked. “And why must that one be symmetrical? If this is hunter green sateen and atilt, it will look vanguard but elegant at the same time.”
The woman stammered some answer.
“No, no, madam, this should be a stiff collar, upturned high on the neck and open here. And if the petticoat is visible, then we must make sure it’s fabulous—I know, a white tulle over rich glacé silk!”
When they finished and Madeleine went off to choose reticules and gloves, the modiste approached Ethan. Her expression was overwhelmed, probably resembling the one he’d been sporting quite a bit of late.
“Your wife’s taste is…” She trailed off, and Ethan thought she would sayunusual orinteresting .
“…amazing. She has untouchable instincts with fabrics and color.”
“Aye, naturally,” he said, as if he were well aware of this. “Just make sure you leave room to let out her gowns….” He trailed off when Madeleine stared past him to the store’s front window, her eyes going wide.
He swung his head around, expecting to see the henchmen outside. Instead, he caught sight of a well-dressed man with a more garishly clad woman strolling by and slowing, no doubt intending to enter the shop.
Madeleine was staring at the man only. Ethan sensed something cold about him, something dangerous—which might explain why the blood had rushed from Madeleine’s face.
Twenty-three
Maddy darted behind a bolt of cloth, unrolling it to hide behind, struggling to calm her breaths. She’d felt MacCarrick’s eyes on her and knew he must be puzzled, but Toumard was just outside! And looked as if he might enter at any time.
As was customary, Maddy had noted a back door when they’d first arrived and was easing toward it when MacCarrick told the modiste, “We’ll have the shop to ourselves this morning.”
“But,monsieur —”
“Close up. I’ll spend more in a couple of hours than you’ll make this week.If we have leisure and privacy in buying it.”
Maddy peeked from behind her cloth, trying to see him as these women did. His bearing screamed wealth—that was obvious. His clothes were unadorned but finely made and unmistakably expensive. Yes, he appeared rich, but he also appeared powerful—and, with the scar, menacing.
Maddy wasn’t all that surprised when the shop owner crossed to the door and bolted it, turning her sign toFermé.
“The shades,” MacCarrick said. “Otherwise patrons will knock.”
With her lips thinned, she said, “Yes,monsieur ,” and motioned for an assistant to draw the curtains.
Nearly clutching her chest in relief, Maddy gave him a shaky, grateful smile. He was expressionless for a moment, his eyes flickering over her lips and eyes; then he cast her a scowl as he strode over.
“Why are we avoiding that man outside?”
He seemed to be analyzing her, and she found herself having difficulty lying to him—a handicap she hadn’t encountered for years. “Just someone I’d rather not see.”
“Have you stolen from him?”
“No, never! I’ve never done anything to him. It’s just…I owe him a bit of money.”
“He’s the one who sent the thugs after you?” When she nodded, he said, “What would you borrow from him for?”
“Dresses. I needed dresses to go to London.”
“How much do you owe?” He looked to be patting his pockets for his money—to pay off Toumard? When she hesitated, he said, “You will no’ indulge me with an answer, Madeleine?”
“I don’t even know,” she admitted. “He changed the interest to an escalating rate. I can’t keep up with it.”
“You were late to pay him, then?”
“No, not before he changed the terms of the deal.”
MacCarrick narrowed his eyes. “Is that so? You dinna find that strange?”
“I did. But it’s not as if I could go complain to anyone.”
“You can now, lass,” he said, curling his fingers under her chin. “We’ll take care of this matter before we leave. I will no’ have you fretting over this.”
Just like in London, he was acting heroic and protective. Just like in London, she found herself gazing up at him in that way that made him glower.
When the modiste delicately coughed to get their attention, he gruffly said, “Go on, then.”
The woman led Maddy back to the dressing room. The space was large, with a silver tea service and a wine rack inside, made to cater to a woman’s mother and sisters and friends, consulting on a new wardrobe or ball gowns for the latest season. Maddy felt a jab of disappointment at the thought that she would be alone.
She’d just undressed to her shift when MacCarrick strolled in. He sank back on a divan, relaxing his towering frame with a kind of lethal grace. He didn’t appear discomfited in the least. “She can dress in front of me,” he said, his tone bored as he opened his newspaper. “It’s nothing I have no’ seen before.”
The shopkeepers shrugged, no doubt having seen this again and again.
Had this been anywhere but Paris, Maddy might have protested, but he’d just saved her from facing her despicable creditor. How could she deny MacCarrick anything?
The near encounter only reinforced her intention to stay with the Scot. She could put up with much never to see Toumard again—oh, and to be fantastically rich—even trying on clothes in front of MacCarrick.
But every time they pulled a gown above her head, her shift rode up, exposing her bottom to him—and her front as well in the four-way mirror. Just as embarrassing, she’d caught him frowning at her scar, and he even seemed to notice when others peered at it.
Over the next hour, she tried on day dresses and evening dresses, skirts and blouses, cloaks and gloves. A milliner was brought in to see to her hats and bonnets, and a shoemaker provided pair after pair of colored satin slippers and boots of a buttery soft kid leather.
She already had enough clothing for several days, but after MacCarrick and the modiste spoke outside, additional dresses were unexpectedly available to Maddy—appropriated from someone else’s tailored wardrobe.
At first glance, these garments were hideous, but then she realized that, hidden under the weight of tasteless trimmings, the dresses were cut well, with a modern flair even, and made of expertly styled fabrics. As usual, some rich Parisians had gone overboard with the embellishments—but then, they’d probably wanted to demonstrate their wealth at every turn.
To make the gowns her own, Maddy simply directed the seamstresses to take them in and discard the abundant tassels, tufts of silk flowers, and fur pom-poms.
Once she’d selected everything but undergarments with nary a comment from MacCarrick, they stripped her down to her stockings and garters to try on lingerie.
She was as mortified as a provincial when she felt his eyes on her. She willed herself not to raise her hands for cover, sighing in relief each time they slid a nightgown over her.
MacCarrick was holding up a paper, but she knew he wasn’t reading. He kept turning it aside until he set it down completely and leaned forward on the edge of the divan. His lids grew heavy, but his eyes were alert and flickering over her. She reminded herself that she could endure this scrutiny and more for all that MacCarrick was doing for her. Even being displayed in lingerie to his fancy.
Though he’d had no interest in the dresses, he voiced his opinions on the lingerie forcefully. “In the red one. I want to see her in the red,” he demanded, his voice growing husky.
Maddy swallowed, stepping into a crimson gown with two lace-trimmed slits at the sides that climbed all the way to her hips. Even with these women in the room, she began to respond to his attention, her breasts feeling heavier every time he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the lace cups caressed her nipples, she pictured how his muscles had flexed under her fingers this morning. When she recalled how he’d explored her the night before…
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing out loud.
Ethan had never thought he’d enjoy shopping for a woman as much as this.
He was buying her far more than was necessary, but he was deriving too much pleasure from the process to stop himself. As he watched Madeleine dress and undress, into and out of wicked silks, he abandoned the pretense of reading the paper and used it only to conceal his raging erection.
Earlier, Madeleine had been nervously darting glances at him in the mirror. Now she held his gaze, her lips parting. Her nipples had hardened and her breaths were shallow.
Christ, she…wanted him. She’d seen every inch of him, and she’d bloody touched his scar, and yet she wanted him. Waspleading for him.
He nearly shuddered with pleasure. Her desire was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could imagine.
“Out,” he abruptly ordered the women.
“Monsieur?”
“Take a midday break from the shop. Now.” The look on his face silenced them, and they darted from the dressing room.
When the door shut behind them, Madeleine swallowed but said nothing.
“You know what I want, and you know better than to question me,” he said as he neared her, removing his jacket. “I like that.”
“I won’t question you, even though I wonder if you’ll appease your lust whenever you feel like it.”
“Aye, with you I will. And it’s no’ onlymy lust that I plan to appease.” He ran a hand into one of the high slits, then slipped his finger between her legs. When he felt her sex, a harsh sound broke from his chest. She was wet for him, slick and lush. “Seems you might needappeasement more than I do.”
At that she shoved her legs closed, twisting out of his grasp.
“Doona close your legs to me,” he growled.
“Then stop trying to embarrass me!”
“I was only stating fact.”
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Make an effort not to.”
“As your husband, I’ll no’ be denied, Madeleine.”
“You’re not my husband yet.”
“If I were, would you let me take you in this room?”
“Yes, if that was what you desired.” She’d surprised him, but she clearly meant it.
“I will be soon, so what’s the difference? I want to be inside you. Now.”
She shook her head firmly. “Not until we’re wed.”
“Then perhaps I should no’ be buying you a new wardrobe as befits a wife, if I’m no’ yet a husband?”
She stiffened, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not a whore. Buy me the clothes or not, but don’t expect sex in return. And don’t confuse my desire for you—and for self-preservation—with desperation.”
“And do you desire me?”
She put her chin up. “Yes. But I can still walk away.”
“Ah,aingeal , it’s too late for that….”
Twenty-four
MacCarrick stalked around her, as if deciding what he wanted to touch or do first.
“You already know you need me for more than just money or clothes, do you no’?” He seemed angry with her, but she couldn’t understand what she’d done to make him so. Finally he stopped in front of her, leaning in to press his mouth to her neck. As he brushed the straps from her shoulders, his rough palms made a delicious contrast to the silk. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” Maddy admitted. The garment whispered to the floor, leaving her in nothing but stockings and garters.
He nodded slowly. “Good lass,” he said, then bent his dark head over her pale breasts. She watched in the mirror, glorying in the way this man seemed to crave kissing her there. His hands were huge, the palms callused, yet the manner in which he worked them over her body was adoring.
Her thoughts grew dim when he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. After suckling both tips until they were hard, swollen points, he stood fully and walked behind her. Cupping her leg behind her knee, he lifted her foot onto the low stool, spreading her legs in front of the mirror.
When she glanced away, he said, “Stay like this. I want to see you.” Then he coaxed her to face the mirror as his jet eyes flickered over the reflection—possessively lingering on her breasts and between her thighs. Most wouldn’t find his visage beautiful, but at that instant, he was the most irresistible man she’d ever beheld.
Just when she was about to beg him to put his hands on her, he cupped her between her legs. Though she’d wanted his touch, she still jerked in shock.
“Relax, I just want to pet you here,” he said as he spread her legs more. “Look at my finger stroking you,” he rumbled at her ear. “You doona want me to stop?”
“No…”
“Then tell me you desire me again.”
“I do…you know I do.”
With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, he pressed her up against the mirror, delving his finger inside her wetness from behind. Her damp nipples met the cool glass and she moaned, lost.
Her sheath hugged his finger, shockingly tight as Ethan lazily thrust it inside her. With his other hand, he wrapped her hair around his fist, tugging her head back so he could watch her reactions in the mirror. How had he ever thought her experienced? Her responses were ungoverned, bare. She was so passionate—and his possession to do with as he would.
She wore nothing but his ring on that ribbon dangling between her breasts, and her garters and stockings. The red silk of her garters stood out against the pale skin of her thighs.
“So lovely,” he heard himself say. Her skin was sleek and soft, her nipples dark pink, like the bow of her lips.
She hissed in a breath when he tried to fit a second finger into her, and her hand shot behind her to his wrist, her arm straight to push him away.
“Shh, I’ll stop.” He withdrew it. Again that heavy feeling arose when he was reminded of how badly he’d hurt her that night—he hadn’t prepared her. He vowed to himself that when he did decide to take her, he would frig her for a damned hour till she begged him for it. “Here, put your arms back around my neck.” She hesitated. “Just trust me.”
Once she tentatively grasped his neck, he began to tease her nipples, lightly pinching the tips. When she moaned, he ran one hand from her breast to her flat belly then to her sex, but she tensed. “Trust me. Let me make you come….”
She gasped at his words but allowed his touch. With one hand, he spread the flesh around her clitoris wide and smoothed the pad of his other forefinger side to side over her swollen little bud. “Do you like that?”
“Oh, my God, yes,” she said, panting. Soon she was trembling, her hands gripping his neck tightly. Keeping her open, rubbing her clitoris over and over, he watched as she grew wetter, her flesh glistening. When she began to undulate her hips to his fingers, he thought he’d spill in his trousers.
With her brows drawn, clearly aching for her climax, she met his eyes in the mirror. “Ethan,” she whispered, saying his name for the first time.
And it sounded like a benediction.
In a flash, he understood that she hungered for this passion and pleasure, but that wasn’t all she was longing for at that moment. There was yearning in her eyes, so raw and furious he was staggered by it. Then her lids slid shut, which was good, because he was shaken.
“Let yourself go,” he grated at her ear, barely recognizing his own strained voice. “Come for me, Madeleine.”
When she did with a strangled cry, he knew she was his.
He leered at her reflection as her back arched, her breasts quivering. He felt a savage thrill as she rolled against his finger, tensing and shivering to his touch. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You like that.”
He slowed his strokes as the tension began to leave her body. Though he had a fierce need to come, he decided he’d further demonstrate to her that he was no horrible lover. He dipped his finger into her wetness, spreading it all around. Without warning, he sped up the rhythm once more.
“What…?” she cried, lowering her arms, trying to wriggle away from him, but he looped an arm around her waist to hold her firm. “Oh, God. It’s too much!”
But he was merciless, rubbing her, kissing and licking her neck, until she’d stopped struggling. When he sucked her earlobe, she began meeting his fingers again. “Do you find me a horrible lover now?”
“N-no—”
“Tell me when you’re goin’ tae come again.”
“Now,now ,” she said, the word breaking on a moan. As she climaxed, he slipped the forefinger of his free hand into her sheath, thrusting it fast. “Oh, yes, Ethan! Feels…so…good,” she cried.
His head fell back, and he groaned to the ceiling, feeling her sex squeezing his finger so tightly, in a rush of wet heat.
Even after she’d finished, and though he was about to explode, he took his time, delving inside her as she sagged against him. He wanted to accustom her to the feeling, to trust him to touch her this way.
Her response was so rewarding that part of him said to let this be only about her, to act as though he could give without taking. But when his cock ached like this he didn’t feel very giving.
Unfastening the front of his trousers, he pulled himself free with a hissed breath. Then taking her hips, he pressed his shaft against her arse, his thumbs covering those dimples above her bottom. He groaned as he thrust over her plump curves, settling between them to grind against her. His cock head was so slick he daubed wetness against her lower back. He could readily come like this, but he wanted her hands on him. He choked out the words, “I need you tae ease me.” He slid his cock against her hip. “Touch it.”
She inhaled, trying to catch her breath, then nodded. Reaching down, she brushed the pad of her finger softly on the crown, making unhurried circles around the slit, but he grasped her wrist and put her palm to his shaft. “No teasing. No’ yet.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “I’m starving for this,aingeal .”
“How should I…what do you want me to do?”
“Stroke me as you did that night in the carriage.”
When she wrapped her soft palm at the base and drew her fist up, a wave of pleasure and elation swept through him. How in the hell had he lived without this for so long?
“Tighter,” he commanded, and she gripped him harder. “That’s it.” He thumbed her nipples to urge her on. “Good, Madeleine…,” he grated. “It’s so damned good.”
He squeezed her against him, covering her breasts with his hands, groans and coarse oaths breaking from his chest. “Faster.” She did, pumping her fist on him as he bucked into it. “Clever girl,” he rasped against her damp neck, “you’re making me come.”
At the last second, he placed his hand over hers, pressing down. Yelling out, he ejaculated, pumping hot seed directly against her wicked garter, over and over.
When he was finally spent, he shuddered and stayed her hand, astonished by the pleasure he’d just experienced, unable to remember its equal, but for the night he’d taken her.
He still held her against him and wanted to stay like that as they caught their breath, yet he expected her to disentangle herself. Instead, her head fell back against him, and he had the leisure of watching her breasts rise and fall with her panting, her flesh perfectly flushed.
She caught his gaze in the mirror. Between breaths she whispered, “If you give me a chance, I’ll be a good wife to you, Scot. Just please, don’t hurt me again.”
“I will no’,” he said, holding her tighter, and for the briefest moment, he might have meant it.
Twenty-five
Madeleine stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, touching his scar with her lips—not even seeming to mind.
Having never experienced this kind of gentle affection from a woman, he had no idea how to proceed with it. She seemed delighted by what had happened, humming as she strolled to thesalle de bain to freshen up and change into one of the previously tailored dresses.
When she returned, clad in her smart new clothes, with her shining hair braided atop her head, he found himself saying, “We’ll go to the garret now. If you want to take something to your friends, we can put a couple of bottles of champagne on the tab.”
“Really? For Bea and Corrine?”
“Aye.” And that one gesture earned him an expression from her that could only be described asadoring— the way she’d regarded him that night in London. He pulled at his collar.
The overjoyed modiste had used her break to tally their bill, saving him time when paying. He thought Madeleine was going to faint when she sneaked a glance at the total. But he would have spent twenty times that if he’d known how he was to be rewarded.
As the girls wrapped the bottles of champagne and fitted them into a narrow carrying basket, Ethan told the modiste that he’d wire directions for shipping the rest of Madeleine’s clothing once they finished tailoring them. Whatever was completed today, they should send to his hotel.
When he and Madeleine exited the shop and he offered her his arm, she took it without hesitation. On the street, passersby gave them openly quizzical glances. He knew they wondered what she was doing with him, which reminded him that he used to be handsome. Before, he would have been a fitting match for her. Instead, he was a man who had to spend money on a woman to get her attention.
Ethan was feeling something for her, some kind of appreciation for what had just happened between them, but that only disgusted him. He was like a starving wolf that had been fed a scrap and was happy to get it—a thirty-three-year-old man grateful to have his cock stroked. He ground his teeth, seething. He was never supposed to have ended up this way.
And her parents were to blame for everything.
Things used to be black and white. He was a man not bound by any fixed moral code; she was the daughter of two people who’d wronged him.
How could there possibly be any hesitation or second thoughts about what he was planning?
There wouldn’t be. All he cared about was getting her beneath him enough times to work her from his system.
“Thank you for today,” she said, smiling up at him. Was she pleased with him because he’d spent a fortune on her or because she’d enjoyed what had happened between them? Why did he even care?
“You’re welcome,” he said, for probably the first time in his life.
When they arrived by cab in La Marais and he helped her down, the streets were harried and chaotic once more. Madeline stood out here like a diamond in dust.
“Oh, look, there’s Berthé!” she whispered. “The one who tripped me last night. Make sure she sees us.”
He hid a frown. Did Madeleine want to be seenwith him ? Or did she only want to show off her new finery? Just when he’d decided on the latter, he felt a distinctly proprietary patting on his arse.
“Madeleine,” he growled in warning, and she yanked her hand up.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I just couldn’t resist.”
Why was he oddly…flattered?
At her building, he followed Madeleine inside and to the stairwell. “Hold onto the rope,” she said, taking the bottles and hastening ahead of him as though she could see in the dark.
As soon as the stair head groaned, Bea’s door swung open, but it was Corrine who rushed out to meet them. “Toumard’s men came by again,” she said. “You have to get out of here, Maddy! They roughed up Bea—”
“What?” Madeleine cried. “Bea?”
Corrine nodded. “She wouldn’t tell them where you’d gone, and then she had to go and spit in one’s face. She’ll be all right, but she’s lying down now, resting.”
The news of this threat made that feeling of protectiveness for Madeleine surge in him again. “Go check on Bea,” Ethan told her. “Corrine will tell me what happened.”
Once Madeleine hurried to Bea’s room and softly closed the door behind her, Corrine said, “I see that look in your eyes. You really are going to take care of Maddy from now on.”
He hesitated before giving her a quick nod. “Madeleine accepted my proposal.”
Corrine sighed in relief.
“But I need to know some things about her past, and the lass is tight-lipped.” When Corrine nodded ruefully, he asked, “How did she burn her arm?”
“Oh, that was in the fire of forty-seven. Her building went up like a wick, and she was trapped upstairs. She very nearly lost her arm and came close to losing her life.”
If she had been eleven or twelve, she’d just been forced away from her home to move to a foreign city. Her father had just died….
“That’s one of the reasons Maddy’s so terrified of Toumard—his men love to break arms,” she continued. “Maddy’s been like a cat sidling round a boiling pot of porridge these last few weeks. Fit to break your heart.”
The idea of her being afraid, day after day…
Toumard was as good as dead.
“Why does Madeleine no’ live with her mother?”
Corrine lowered her voice. “Well, she doesn’t like people to know this, but her mother’s…dead.”
“You canna be serious,” he snapped. She nodded, and suddenly all Ethan could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. “Dead…”
All the time I’ve wasted hating, wanting to hurt someone—someone who didn’t even exist any longer….
Corrine’s hands twined. “Maddy’s been an orphan for years. Her mother died when Maddy was fourteen.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anorphan .”
Ethan had thought he’d been hell-bound before. Now there was no doubt. He gave a bitter laugh. This must be a jest.
He’d deflowered a penniless waif. An orphan.
“She had friends in England,” Ethan said. “When her mother died, she could have petitioned them for help, and they would gladly have given it.”
“She’d been here for some time already. Living in La Marais makes you feel a bit…worthless, especially in the young. She was ashamed. The only reason she went after that man in England was because Bea and I wouldn’t let it rest. We eventually got her to promise to try before she married Le Daex.”
“Le Daex, the count?” he demanded. “Her mother didn’t arrange that?”
“Yes, years ago. But after she died, Maddy ran away before the wedding. We only recently revived that cull with La Daex. But all it did was get Maddy in debt.”
And put an unprotected young woman under Toumard’s notice.
Ethan supposed he’d hoped Madeleine had been close to Sylvie, that they were two of a kind. Instead, Sylvie was dead, and Madeleine had suffered destitution for years by Ethan’s hand, bearing the brunt of a revenge meant for another. She’d suffered alone.
And Ethan had planned to hurt her worse.
How could it be worse for her? He remembered the look on her face as she’d picked herself up in that tavern. How many times had she had to do just that over the last ten years here…?
Just walk away.
This information, taken with the way Madeleine had said his name like a bloody benediction—with that undisguised longing…Even I’m no’ cruel enough to do anything more to her.
He briefly closed his eyes as he finally admitted the truth to himself. He had come here because hewanted Madeleine. The revenge aspect only allowed him to justify the idea of a man like him using a young innocent like her.
If you are no’ bent on punishing her, then what right do you have to her?
None. None whatsoever.
He couldn’t take her away to hurt her, and he sure as hell couldn’t keep her. He’d fix her problem with the lender, then get out of her life. Hell, he could even send some money later.
Abandon her here?After he’d convinced her that he was taking her with him?
What choice did he have? If he took her away, would he find himself saddled with her? He had a profession, a solitary one, and he wanted to get back to it.Damn it, I doona want to get stuck with her.
Help her, then leave her. Of course. “Tell me how to find Toumard.”
Twenty-six
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Maddy asked when Bea rose from the bed and dressed.
“Maddée, if I rested every time I had a blue eye,” she said in a deliberate tone as though explaining to a child, “I would do little else,n’est-ce pas ? Now, let’s sit on your balcony and you can tell me everything that happened last night.”
When Bea opened her door, MacCarrick and Corrine appeared to have just finished their conversation. His stony gaze flickered over Bea’s eye, and his jaw clenched.
To Maddy, he said, “I’ll return soon.”
“Are you going to see Toumard?” At his short nod, she said, “Can I come with you?”
“Absolutely no’. Stay here, enjoy a going-away drink together.”
“Very well,” she finally said, confused by his mood change. He seemed to have trouble looking her in the eyes just before he left them to wait in Maddy’s apartment.
The three had just agreed to sell the pricey bottles when the door opened once more. MacCarrick had returned.
To open the champagne.
“Some things are meant to be enjoyed in the moment, are they no’?” he said, with another fuming glance at Bea’s face. To Maddy, he added, “So that you doona go out to sell it by the glass…”He filled her new reticule with cash.
Her jaw dropped at the wad of money. “This is four hundred francs! Do you want me to go buy a piano? Or a cabriolet?”
“Un bateau!” Bea cried with a clap. “A boat!”
Maddy leaned into her, play-shoving her with her shoulder. MacCarrick didn’t come close to smiling.
“Well, let’s pour it up!” Corrine said, taking out chipped porcelain mugs from under Maddy’s stove. When she offered a cup to MacCarrick, he waved his share away. “Doona drink.”
“Plus pour nous,” Bea said, her tone delighted.More for us . Even after her run-in with the henchmen, Bea was likely deeming this one of the best days of her life.
“I’ll be back,” MacCarrick said to Maddy with a curt nod.
“Please be careful, Scot.”
When the door shut behind MacCarrick once more and they heard him stomping down the stairs, Bea fanned herself and whispered, “I’m in love. Maddée, do you know he sent us lobsters last night? I’m not jesting.” She added with a sigh, “Pretty lobsters…”
Maddy grinned. MacCarrick was turning out to be such a…surprise, giving her a new day, a new beginning. She hurried to the balcony to watch him striding away.So tall, strapping, confident. Just as he had been the first time she’d spotted him—when he’d been huntingfor her .
“I think you might have a diamond in the rough there,” Corrine said behind her.
Maddy was beginning to think so, as well. In London, he’d been the first person ever to fight for her—and now he was marching out to do battle again.
“Très viril,” Bea added, joining them.
There was that, too. She blushed to recall the way he’d pleasured her so perfectly in the shop—twice. She believed that her nights spent tossing in her sheets, yearning and lonely, were ended.
“Now, Maddy girl,” Corrine began with a sniffle, “we’ve got to drink two bottles of champagne and get you packed by the time your fiancé comes back.”
Maddy nodded, then set about divvying between her two friends the new cash windfall, her stash of coupons, and her contraband. After she’d packed the few things that were dear to her, they sat outside drinking and awaiting his return.
She was stunned to realize this could be the last time the three ever sat here like this. “If he’s legitimate, I’ll send more money as soon as I can.” In fact, she’d be sendingfor them , but she didn’t want to get their hopes up before she knew if she could trust him implicitly.
“And if he’s not legitimate?” Bea asked.
Maddy hesitated. “Corrine, can you hold my room for a couple of months, just in case?”
“Naturally,” Corrine said, then added, “but I do hope this works out with him. Just remember, Maddy, with a man that strong-willed, you’ll get more with honey than with vinegar.”
She sipped her champagne. “And if I run out of honey…?”
What would be worse for her?Ethan thought on the way back from killing Toumard.Mixed up with a man like myself or left behind?
At heart, Ethan was a selfish bastard. If he took her away, eventually this superficial noble streak would fade.A man canna change his nature .
Get away from her…just bloodythinkabout this for a while. Doona do anything drastic.
But the idea of leaving her behind felt so wrong that it pained him physically.
If Maddy didn’t get out of this slum, then at best, she’d become like Corrine—working to the bone, old before her time. Or she could become like Bea—or worse. Then Madeleine would have some man lifting her skirts in a reeking alley while his friend waited.
Ethan’s fists clenched even now. If Toumard had had his way, that would have been her within mere weeks.
Ethan had already known he’d have to kill Toumard. When the man had coldly informed him what he’d been planning to do to Madeleine—sampleher before putting her to work—Ethan had burned to. He would have shot him in cold blood if Toumard hadn’t drawn on him.
Breaking the arms of the henchmen…? Well, that had merely been sport.
If Ethan left Madeleine, there were a thousand more like Toumard eager to prey on a girl like her, and she now had no marriage prospects. Except for bloody Quin. Ethan would have to remember that. As soon as Quin learned that Ethan had left her alone, he’d come charging down to Paris to save her. Perhaps Ethan should let him.
The thought of them together clawed at him.
Damn it, do nothing drastic….Ethan was a man who liked to have a plan. Now that his initial one was absolutely extinguished, he cast about for what to do next. The facts: The most desirable woman he’d ever beheld desired him back. He’d contributed to her painful past and could ease her troubles now. He’d vowed that he wouldn’t rest until he’d had her again, and when he made decisions, he bloody stuck by them. He would take her away, seduce her, then settle money on her. He’d be getting her out of this place—in the end, she’d be thankful.
Yet when he arrived back at her building, he was still uncertain. Then he found her hurrying from the entrance, her face lit with a relieved smile. Having grown accustomed to expressions of disappointment or fear whenever he arrived somewhere, he looked over his shoulder before catching himself.
When they reached each other, she appeared to check him over to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Shortly after, Bea and Corrine emerged to see them off, handing Maddy her small bag.
“Write to us,” Corrine told Madeleine as she wiped away a tear.
“Of course.” Hugging them both, Madeleine sniffled. “Take care of each other.”
Bea gave a watery nod, and another round of lingering good-byes ensued before he could steer Madeleine away. As he led her to the top of the hill, she waved over her shoulder until her friends were out of sight.
While they waited for a cab, Ethan said, “Madeleine, I need to speak with you.” It seemed everyone on every stoop watched them. “I’ve thought of some things.”
“I see.” She didn’t appear surprised. Had she expected him to disappoint her?
Why? She soddingliked him. Even his brothers—who Ethan knew would die for him—didn’t seem tolike him. He made Court wary, and he continually disappointed Hugh.
How would Hugh feel, knowing his older brother had taken the virtue of a defenseless girl? Then abandoned her in Paris?
Hugh’s parting words in London echoed in Ethan’s head.“What if she’s the one?” he’d asked again.“The irony would be that you’ve somehow found her, you actually get to keep her, and yet you intend to hurt her beyond forgiving.”
But Ethanalready had hurt her, well before he’d ever met her. And the longer she was with him, the more likely it was that he’d hurt her again. It was simply his nature; he had no talent at pleasing others.
Perhaps Madeleine needed to better understand what he was truly like.
“What do you want to tell me?” Maddy asked, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d known this situation was too good to be true, and now MacCarrick looked as though he was plagued with second thoughts. When he began to speak, only to fall silent, she asked, “Did you pay off Toumard?”
“You owe him nothing,” he replied in a cryptic tone.
She frowned. “Did you…kill him?”
“Aye, I plugged a bullet into his skull.” His eyes flickered over her face for her reaction.
She sighed.A fierce protector returning from battle. When she nodded up at him, he seemed confounded that she wasn’t running away.
“Damn it, lass, why do you keep looking at me like that? I doona care for it. And I just informed you that I bloody killed a man this morning.”
Maybe MacCarrick wasn’t having second thoughts—maybe he was merely feeling guilt for what he’d done. “I hope you don’t feel bad about that. La Marais is a better place without Toumard in it. But we do need to get you out of the city. Do you think we can stay aboard the steamer before it departs tomorrow?”
He froze, then jerked his head back. “I will never figure you out. I ken that now. Because you’recrazed .”
She waved his comment away. “Did you offer to pay him?” she asked.
He said nothing.
“So you offered to pay him, and he refused. He never wanted money from me. He planned to put me to work like Berthé, didn’t he?”
MacCarrick’s eyes bored into hers, raw fury burning in their dark depths. His voice was seething when he said, “Aye, after he’d bedded you himself.”
“I see.” She felt a wave of revulsion. “Well, he didn’t leave you much choice. If he refused your money and I left town, he’d just terrorize Bea and Corrine. What did you do to his men?”
“I broke their goddamned arms.” Whatever he saw in her expression made him snap, “No’ again! Stop lookin’ at me that way—I’ve told you I doona like it.”
“Yes, very well. But, again, we really have to get you out of here, and quickly.” When a cab passed them, she gave an urgent whistle, but was roundly ignored. She muttered a curse; then suddenly her eyes went wide. “Oh, MacCarrick, what about your injury? You didn’t pull the stitches open, did you?”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, raking his fingers through his hair. “You’re no’…you’re just no’ right in the head if this does no’ bother you. You’re ignoring warning flags about me because you want out of this hellhole so badly.”
“As many times as I’ve seen death here, Toumard doesn’t warrant even a passing thought.”
“Toumard’s far from the first man I’ve killed.”
“I thought as much. I suspect you’re involved in some kind of dangerous, secret occupation.”
“Aye, and I would no’ give it up—even when married.”
Maddy studied his face. “This isn’t about you feeling guilty, is it? You really are trying to get rid of me.”
He said nothing.Deuce it, no!
She had the ring and the money and clothes. Toumard was taken care of. She had a future again. Why couldn’t she just brush this off as a good cull while it lasted?
Because she wantedhim . She wanted more of his unpracticed smiles. She wanted more of what he’d given her just this morning—unimaginable pleasure.
“You are.”Deny it…deny it! He remained silent. “Then just a suggestion. Do something truly horrible to scare me away. Do something a lot worse than killing a thug—known for maiming young women—in order to protect me and my friends. Now, I’m a big girl,” she said with false bravado. “I can take it if you’ve changed your mind,” she lied, planning to cry for days if he threw her over. “And obviously I’ve done something—”
“No, you have no’,” he said quickly, forcefully.
“Then why did you pursue me so strongly last night, and now you can hardly look me in the eyes? Nothing has changed except that you got to know me better.” She couldn’t help it; her eyes began to water.
He ran his palm over the back of his neck. “Damn it, lass, every bloody thing I’ve learned about you I’ve liked. Maybe I’ve recognized that you could do better than me.”
“What do you mean?”
As though the words were pulled from him, he grated, “When I left, Quin thought you might be…in a compromised situation.”
“What do you mean by a ‘compromised situation’?”
“He suspected things with you were no’ as he’d thought them.” MacCarrick’s voice broke lower when he said, “Quin intended…to come marry you if I dinna.”
Her lips parted. Was this what caused MacCarrick’s hesitation? Did he think Quin was a better man than he was? Quinwas a good man, and she would’ve been proud to have him, but she’d never felt as drawn to Quin, whom she’d known all her life, as she did to this rough Highlander she barely knew.
“He was the one you wanted, so you could—”
“I don’t want Quin,” she interrupted in a quiet tone, meeting his gaze. “I want you.”
He looked bewildered—as if she’d just struck him—and had to cough into his fist before he could speak. “Did you no’ hear me? You can marry the man you sought.”
“The one I sought before I metyou .” A cab finally rolled to a stop before them. “I’ve told you what I want, Scot. Now make a decision about me. But when you do, it must be final.”
He opened the door, then paused, clutching the handle as though in a death grip.
She drew a breath before she said, “You can’t leave, then come back for me in a month, and you can’t throw me over in a few weeks—”
With a frustrated sound, he grabbed her by the waist. Tossing her inside, he growled, “Then get your arse into the cab.”
Twenty-seven
Ethan stared at the ceiling of the train car, reeling from the magnitude of what he’d done.
The chit seemed determined to stick to him like glue. Because sheliked him. He’d admitted to murder, and she’d given him that adoring expression again.
Sometimes being with her reminded him of going hunting with Hugh. His brother was a master rifleman, so fast to aim and shoot that even Ethan, no slouch, found himself doing a double take, frowning. That’s what he felt like with her. Always doing a double take. Always perplexed with her.
Ach, if he wasn’t careful, he could get used to those looks she gave him.
And when she’d met him eye to eye and told him she’d chosen him over Quin? The excitement he’d felt from winning her was indescribable….
“I have to warn you,” she said, then, “Trains have a tendency to make me very”—she yawned—“sleepy.”
Within five minutes of their departure, her body slumped and her forehead hit his shoulder, but she jerked awake.
She did this several times until he said, “Just fall asleep. I will no’ let anything happen to you.”
She nodded. “Maybe I could just lie there…” She stared hungrily at his chest as if she was fantasizing sleeping against it.
“I thought you dinna like sleeping with another.”
“Only in bed.”
“Why?” Before he’d thought better of it, he’d patted his chest, coaxing her to lie there. When she curled up against him, his arm decided to slide around her. “Why only in bed?”
“When I broke my arm, I had to go to l’Hotel Dieu. A hospital for indigents. And they packed four girls into a cot.” Her voice was getting softer. “Every night, these fevered girls would thrash about, hitting my arm again and again. If the floor hadn’t been freezing and covered with filth, I would have slept there.” When she fell silent, he jostled her a bit until she continued, “I had to wait there for days after I’d been cleared to leave.”
“Had your mother already died, then?”