If You Deceive mb-3

by Kresley Cole

  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."

  Chapter 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.

  Chapter 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 ret
urn, 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?"