IfYouDeceive_lit

by kc

  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 fa
ce.

  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 r
an 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.”