If You Deceive mb-3

by Kresley Cole

  Instantly, he groaned, his fingers biting into her soft thighs. She cried out at once, undulating against his mouth. As he delved harder with his tongue, flicking her clitoris, her heels dug into his back in total abandon.

  Then he somehow made himself draw back.

  She raised her head and opened her eyes, brows knitted in confusion. "M-more," she panted. When she looked at him so hungrily, he nearly wasn't able to deny her.

  "Now do you ken how I felt?"

  "Yes, yes."She tried to free her hands, writhing with her legs spread, until he didn't know how much longer he could keep his mouth from her. "Ethan, I-I won't tease you. I promise."

  "Good, Maddy." He forced her legs wider to take her more deeply, to get more of the exquisite taste he'd only sampled.

  "Oh, my God," she moaned, making his breaths come rough. He'd begun grinding against the bed.

  He spread her flesh, took her clitoris with his tongue and lips, then slowly suckled her. "Yes," she cried, arching her back, rocking her hips to his mouth. "Ah, Ethan…"

  As she began to climax, she moaned his name again and again, making him certain he was dreaming—no man could know this much pleasure. When he'd suckled her spent, her legs trembled around his shoulders and neck.

  He released her, moving up to take her place, but she clutched his chest, rubbing her face against his neck. She whispered in his ear, "I love the things you do to me," making his chest swell with pride and his erection pulse unbearably beneath her.

  Then she kissed down his body, her hair trailing down his heated, sensitive skin. He yelled out when her hot little mouth closed over him. Wet, sucking, hungry…

  He growled, "That's my good lass. Nice and deep." Disbelieving, lost, he struggled not to clench her head to hold her while he thrust. She was taking him greedily, moaning around his shaft. It was as if he were an outsider looking in as she had a love affair with his cock—she adored him with her tongue, consuming him with licks and tender kisses.

  The experience was mind-boggling. She worked his flesh lovingly, yet wantonly, mystifying him. But when she was about to bring him to come in her mouth, and he felt himself on the verge of losing control completely, he gave a defeated groan and pulled her away.

  "Ethan?" she asked, her tone dazed when he drew her up to his chest. "Am I doing it wrong?"

  "No, no. I just doona want tae do anythin'…tae make you shy with this." Feeling wicked, his cock about to explode, he looped an arm around her neck and kissed her.

  As he teased her with her taste, he began to handle his shaft. "A particular favorite," he said against her lips, "want you tae love it as I do." He stroked harder, his other hand palming her arse. He broke away to ask, "Do you want tae watch me?"

  Wide-eyed, she nodded, and he eased his grip around her neck so she could look down at his fist pumping furiously.

  Her eyes on him only aroused him more. When he came, the force of his release was violent. He yelled out, and his back arched sharply, seed spurting up across his torso as she gaped.

  Once he'd at last finished, they lay catching their breaths. Feeling overpoweringly satisfied, he held her for long moments, petting her hair. Damn, if she hadn'tenjoyed giving him a below job—yet another example of how well she fit with him.

  He finally made himself rise and clean off, but when he returned, she cried, "Oh, Ethan! Your injury is bleeding!"

  He glanced down at his chest and shrugged.

  "Come here, please." She eased up on her knees and beckoned him. "Let me check you." When he returned to the bed, she sidled close to examine him. "You didn't pull the stitches open, thank God. But it's bleeding more than I thought it would."

  As she rose to collect a wet towel, he tilted his head to stare, riveted by her pert arse. "I dinna take you for the nurturing sort," he said absently.

  Towel in hand, she said, "I will be with a man like you."

  "Like me?"

  She climbed back into the bed with him. "Yes, Scot, you're the dark horse I'm betting on." She lovingly brushed his hair from his forehead, catching his gaze. "You get all my extra sugar and apples."

  "What about servicing mares? I've one I want to be led to."

  "And I'm sure she wants to be covered by a virile stallion, but she needs to secure greener pastures for her future first."

  Even to himself, his tone sounded fascinated as he murmured, "Daft, cheeky lass."

  She slid him that grin; he stared dumbly. All at once he understood why a man might go a little crazy over a woman.

  Chapter Thirty

  Asea squall had whipped up late in the night, and the ship was pitching.

  "Tell me how you came to be in La Marais," Ethan said, as if to take her mind off the storm. He was leaning up against the headboard, with her lying on his torso.

  "What did Quin tell you?" Maddy asked, drawing back so she could see his face.

  "That your father died in a duel and creditors seized your home. Your mother was French and took you back to Paris."

  She shrugged. "That's about it, really."

  "No, it's no'. I want to know everything."

  "So you can have more ammunition to be mean to me?" she asked.

  "No. I'm curious about you."

  "I'll tell you, but first you have to reveal something about yourself that I didn't know."

  He frowned. "Like what?"

  "Something about your past. A deep, dark secret."

  He seemed to be giving this a lot of thought, taking his time before answering, "I used to think I was cursed."

  Her eyes widened. "Truly?"

  "Aye. There's a book that's been handed down in my family for centuries—it contains foretellings that have all come true. They have for my brothers and myself as well."

  She eyed him suspiciously. "Are you jesting with me? Because I would never take you for superstitious."

  "O' course I'm superstitious—I'm bloodyScottish ."

  "In any event, this doesn't sound like a deep, dark secret to me. I think it's adorable that someone as strong and powerful as you, with so much control over your destiny, has irrational beliefs."

  "Adorable?" he spat. "And I suppose you doona have any irrational beliefs?"

  "I do. Very much so. But then, I don't have a lot of control over my own destiny."

  They both fell silent.

  She quickly reached up to touch his shoulder. "Ethan, I didn't mean that I felt forced to come with you. I chose to. And I'm glad I did."

  His demeanor grew guarded. "I've told you what I will, now it's your turn."

  "It's not a pretty tale," she said. "And I don't want to hurt your opinion of me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Brides from happy families make happy families. That was inGodey's , which is an irrefutable source."

  "It will no' hurt my opinion. Now tell me."

  "Do you want the long story or the cursory one?" she asked.

  "Tell me everything."

  She took a deep breath and began, "Well, contrary to what everyone thinks, my life didn't fall apart on the day of my father's death. It was on a night six months before that."

  A night of secrets and fury that she had never been able to understand.

  "It was all so dreamlike, Ethan." Lightning crackled just outside the ship, and she shivered. "I went to sleep safe and secure, and I woke into a different life, a foreign world filled with strangers. It's hard to explain."

  He rubbed her arm with his big scratchy palm. "Try."

  "I've struggled for years to put together what occurred that night." Her brows drew together as memories assailed her. "The first thing I noticed when I woke was how jumpy the servants were. They peered at me as if to gauge what I knew of the night before. Finally, I learned that two of our family's most trusted servants had been fired—my father's right-hand man and my mother's maid and confidante." She trailed off, studying his expression. "Are you going to ridicule everything I'm about to tell you?"

  "No' going to ridicule anythin'."


  She exhaled, then admitted, "I think my father…found my mother in bed with another man."

  "Why would you think that?" he asked in a measured tone.

  "Because it became apparent that my normally passive father had…struck my mother over the night." Maddy could well remember her mother's glaring blackened eye, and how her father hadn't been able to bear looking at his once beloved wife.

  "That does no' mean—"

  "He'd come home early from a business trip that very night. And honestly, knowing my mother, I would be shocked if she hadn't committed adultery regularly during their marriage. She was a weak, selfish woman, and my father was a good deal older than she was."

  "I see." Ethan was tense, his body stiff as a plank. She studied him, wondering if he was disgusted—or dreading what she might say next.

  "At one point that day, my father absently patted my head and said, 'Maddy girl, Papa's made some mistakes.' Then he wandered off aimlessly. He was never the same. It was like I'd never known either of them."

  "After that night, what happened?"

  She noticed Ethan's jaw was clenching and said, "I don't know if I should be telling you this."

  "I need to hear it, Madeleine."

  "But it doesn't—" She broke off under his hard stare and murmured, "Very well."

  Ethan knew the events—had orchestrated them—and now, in a low haunted tone, she supplied the aftermath.

  "Half a year after that night, my father died, and the creditors descended upon us. My mother and I came home from my father's funeral and were turned away from Iveley Hall—that's the name of my childhood home—in a violent storm. I was so frightened. Especially since my mother was completely unprepared to care for me. I remember asking her once, 'Are we going to find a place to live soon?' Instead of answering, 'Of course. We'll have a spot of luck any day now,' my mother snapped, 'I only know what you know, Madeleine. So what do you think? Tell me.'"

  A place to live…

  As Madeleine recounted the harrowing trials of an eleven-year-old girl forced away from everything she had ever known, Ethan felt tears on his chest. He learned how painful it had been to be turned away from her home, from all the possessions that a young girl would believe she couldn't live without—her dolls, her dresses, her beloved pets…

  …how terrifying and sordid La Marais had been when she'd first seen it.

  And he'd learned that Madeleine knew nearly enough to put everything together. She was keenly perceptive, and obviously had been an observant child. Already she suspected another man had been in her home.

  How long would it be before she uncovered enough to determine it was Ethan?

  When she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up and clutching her ring on the ribbon, he stared down at her, unable to stop himself from petting her soft hair.

  After tonight, he understood far more about the depth of her courage and indomitable spirit. Those traits in her made the failings in Ethan's own character all the more obvious.

  That recognition was painful and unwanted.

  Most people assumed bad men didn't try to better themselves because they couldn't be bothered to make the effort or because they didn't know how to make the right choices. Few supposed it had nothing to do with the future and everything to do with the past. Recalling black deeds with a different perspective was hellish.

  Ten years ago—when he'd been older than she was right now—he'd pitied himself, swilling liquor, behaving cruelly, and he'd been punished. Madeleine had done nothing but show strength of character and a will that humbled him, yet she'd been punished, too, for her parents' mistakes.

  Punished by Ethan. He often imagined how he might begin to explain that to her:

  "I was drunk one night and decided to tup, well, Sylvie, your mother. She cried rape to your father—a weak-willed cuckold who was easily swayed and kept henchmen on hand to do foul tasks. Brymer cut off half my face, so later I gutted him. After I bankrupted your father, no doubt pushing him closer to his suicide, I seized your home and assets, turning you and your mother out into the streets."

  If she hadn't run screaming by then, he could finish, "Then Sylvie took you, at the tender age of eleven, to hell, and I knew about it. I let it happen when I could have spared you. And if all that wasn't bad enough, I ruined your engagement with the count and came to Paris specifically to deceive and use you."

  What if she's the one…?Hugh had asked. Ethan gave a bitter laugh.

  What Hugh didn't understand was that her being "the one" or not was incidental. The curse being false or not had no bearing. Ethan could never have Madeleine because the damage had already been done, and ultimately she would hate him.

  Whatever he was experiencing with her would end.Common bloody sense….

  Just as before, Ethan's die had already been cast.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  "This is alesser residence ?" Making a credible attempt at keeping her jaw from dropping, Maddy gazed out the coach window at the oceanfront mansion they neared.

  "Aye. It's called Carillon, named after the series of bells in the village," MacCarrick said as they rolled along the long gravel drive. "And yes, it's less grand and more obscure than my other estates."

  She swallowed and nodded. "Of course."

  The stately manor house was built in large ashlar blocks, like castles usually were, but these were dark cream-colored and smooth. Along the drive, they passed terraced gardens, walled gardens, wild gardens. Grass pathways and crystal-clear streams wended through the property.

  "It's very beautiful," she said absently, butbeautiful couldn't adequately describe this place. When she saw a peacock strutting across a green lawn, she realized Carillon was like a fairy tale. "That's a…peacock."

  "My grandmother was eccentric, and she brought them here. They're nearly wild now."

  "Is that apalm tree?"

  "Aye. The water that travels the Irish Sea is warm, making it temperate here. It rarely snows or freezes."

  This place was to be partly hers? "I don't think I've ever seen such a splendid home."

  "The steward's let it fall into a sad state of neglect."

  "How can you tell?"

  "At this time of year there should be hay rolls and autumn crops planted over the back fields we passed earlier. There were neither. I see the paint is chipping on the trim of the manor and the stables, and the fences need mending throughout. The fountains are no' running—since I'd wired the staff of my coming arrival, that means they're likely broken. I doona keep estates in this condition—ever."

  "I don't think it looks that bad," she said, trying to lighten his mood.

  He gazed out the window. "You would no'."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Would anything no' seem palatial next to La Marais?"

  Though she'd been thinking the same thing, she was growing tired of his jabs. Since they'd made port, he'd grown cold again—worse than he'd ever been.Honey, not vinegar, she reminded herself.

  Yet she was on the last of her stores. "And here I thought we'd go a day without you reminding me where you plucked me from."

  "I was only making a point," he said, but their row was delayed when the coach rolled to a stop in front of the manor. "Speak of the devil," Ethan grated when they found a middle-aged man and woman awaiting them. "Silas the steward."

  When MacCarrick helped Maddy down, he ignored the man and said, "Madeleine, this is Sorcha, Carillon's housekeeper. Sorcha, this is my wife, Lady Kavanagh."

  Maddy understood why he had to introduce her like that, but the lies sat ill with her. Sorcha smiled shyly and curtsied.

  "Show Lady Kavanagh up to our rooms and see that she has everything she needs." To Maddy, he said, "You'll join me for dinner."

  Sorcha curtsied again, then turned for the front door, with Maddy following. Inside was a marble tiled foyer, which opened up into a high-ceilinged room. Graceful wooden stairs curved in a horseshoe, with both sides carpeted.

  After
following Sorcha up the steps to the wide first-floor landing, Maddy briefly peered over the railing to see Ethan downstairs. He strode across the room in another direction, boots booming, a visibly terrified Silas trailing in his wake.

  When she glanced back up, Sorcha had opened a heavy door to the master suite and was bustling inside. Joining her there, Maddy found that both bedrooms of the suite were ornately paneled, with Maddy's room lightly painted and Ethan's stained much darker. Plush carpeting ran throughout, and the ceilings were soaring.

  Standing in the rooms' connecting doorway, she glanced from her graceful pencil-post bed to his immense bed, which looked as big as a normal room. How would Ethan want them to sleep here, now that they didn't have to share a stateroom?

  "It's very fine," Maddy told Sorcha. The manor was, but the interior was also a bit staid. Some of the rooms they'd passed had seemed…grim, even. Making this place more comfortable and less rigidly orderly would be a rewarding task.

  When she realized that she could soon make these changes as mistress, she decided to ask Ethan if they could come back and redecorate when things settled down.

  "It's fine, aye," Sorcha said shyly, "but wait till ye see the view." She drew wide the curtains to reveal tall bay windows and a glass door that seemed to take up the entire wall.

  Opening the door, Sorcha beckoned for her to step outside. Maddy walked out onto a marble balcony—and lost her breath.

  The sea…was directly there. Cerulean blue water glittered in the sun, stretching out for miles.

  The house was situated on a cliff, tucked back from the rocky headlands and a sprawling beach. Down below was a marble terrace fronted by a balustrade that matched the balcony's. From every point of this side of the manor one could overlook the beach and the Irish Sea.

  "My Lord," Maddy whispered. If she'd been infatuated with Carillon from seeing its gardens and hills, the sea side enamored her.