If You Deceive - Cole Kresley. Страница 36

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 glace 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.

Chapter 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 toFerme.

"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."