Chapter Twenty-one

As Maddy sat in the vast plunge tub, rinsing complimentary lavender shampoo from her hair, she mused that she might - just maybe - have gotten back on her feet.

Just with that ring, currently threaded on her length of ribbon and glinting at her from the nearby bureau, she could dig her way out of debt.

And if the Scot genuinely wanted to marry her, she'd be rich! A countess even.

She leaned back in the hot water - so high it practically hit her shoulders - allowing herself to relax as the steam rose all around her. She definitely could get used to this.

Maddy frowned. But then she'd have to allow him to make love to her. If only he could do that part as well as he kissed. Nevertheless, she could endure much to receive all this. And at least she'd come to believe that he hadn't meant to hurt her that night. He'd flinched every time she brought it up.

She opened her eyes -

He was just there, watching her!

Shooting to her feet, she dove for a bath towel. She yanked it over her shoulders like a blanket, but she feared that with his eagle eyes, he'd seen her arm. How had she not heard him come in? "You said you'd give me half an hour!"

"And you said you'd satisfy me whenever I wanted it. I want it now." He removed his jacket. "Drop the towel."

"I-I never agreed to be naked!"

"You want me to marry you without ever seeing your body in the light?"

"Most do!"

In a flash, his hand shot out, stripping her of the towel. When she grappled for it, he whirled her around, and with his grip both gentle and firm, he pinned her wrists together behind her. He was maneuvering her as if he was searching for her scar, but the sight of her breasts seemed to stop him.

His voice roughened. "I only got to see these in shadow before." He made some growling sound, and his big palm covered one. She froze at the shock of heat. He hissed in a breath.

Would he still want her after seeing her body completely? She wouldn't want him anyway! Why couldn't she have bigger breasts? She squeezed her eyes closed, mortified.

Softly kneading her flesh, he grated, "No bigger than a teacup."

Maddy wanted todie .

"You might beintelligent , but you're no'pretty ," he sneered.

Die immediately.

He dropped his hand to palm her bottom, and low masculine sounds broke from his chest. "You're bloodybeautiful ." He sounded infuriated by that fact.

She peeked open her eyes and found his muscles tensed. His erection was huge, straining against his trousers.

Beautiful? After he's seen me naked in the light?

His hand began rubbing all over her, along her hips, over her belly and breasts, as if he didn't know where to touch her next - as if he was overwhelmed by a bounty. His brows drawn, his breaths haggard, he said, "So fair..."

Though he was clothed and scrutinizing her, Maddy's pleasure heightened with each stroke.He thinks I'm beautiful. The idea was so pleasing...her eyelids fluttered closed. The more he touched her, the more she wanted just to lie back and let him explore her like this.What is happening to me?

When he swept a hand over the curls between her thighs and rasped, "The color of your light hair," she shivered, having to stifle a moan.

"Aye, just let me look at you, lass," he bit out once she relaxed in his hold.

When he released her hands, she took a breath, as though gathering courage. He could tell she had the urge to cover herself - she blushed and glanced sharply away - but she didn't.

He'd taken her virginity, enjoyed her, touched her, and had never comprehended - or savored - exactly how lovely her body was.

The room's lamp cast light over her pale, smooth shoulders. Her long hair cascaded in wet curls, brushing over her hardened nipples. His gaze followed the rivulets of water sluicing down from her breasts to her belly and lower, and he hungered to follow that trail with his tongue and lips.

He heard a low rumbling sound and was surprised to find it came from within him.

She was slim, but somehow shapely, utterly womanly. Her hips flared from her tiny waist, giving her an hourglass shape. Her arse could not be more pert and lush. And the two dimples above it...? Ethan stifled a groan. He wanted to press his thumbs over them as he held her in place and thrust against her.

But her sensuous little breasts riveted him.... They were small yet high and plump, and her nipples were so sensitive, budding with the lightest touch. Though he remembered he'd always preferred heavy, full breasts, after cupping hers in his palm, he couldn't quite recall why.

She was perfect - but for one thing. His attention turned to her scar, the one she hadn't wanted him to see. He took her elbow and tugged her closer to the steam-fogged lamp, raising her arm. The mark covered about a third of the bottom of her forearm and looked like a typical burn scar, with white twisting lines contained within borders of red.

"You broke it, too?"

Her eyes widened before she made her face blank.

"When?"

She shrugged as best as she could with her arm seized. "I don't know. It happened a long time ago."

"You raised your arm against something that was burning. And it broke the bone."

Now her lips parted. "How could you...why would you say that?"

"I know scars." His lips curled in a bitter smile. "Where were you in a fire?"

She hesitated just a heartbeat, then said in a blithe tone, "At a manor we lived in. When I was younger. One of the servants was drunk and careless with his pipe."

"In other words, your garret caught fire from a drunken tenant."

She shuddered, then whispered, "I wasn't always poor, MacCarrick. I did live in a mansion, and there were servants and parties and friends."

"Aye, I know that."I'm the one who took it all away. "Or you'd hardly be friends with the Weylands."

"W-will you please let me go?"

His chest felt heavy and uncomfortable again, goading him until he released her.

She sank down into the water, her back to him, streams of her hair curling down. Her shoulders curved in miserably. Her ribs were visible, not terribly bad, but enough to show she'd missed meals.

Goddamn it.This was not the time to be developing a conscience. He cast about for something, anything, then recalled how much she'd insulted him this evening. "You've a lot of nerve to comment onmy scar."

She sucked in a breath.

He knew why he might be moved to say something like that at a time like this, but he wasn't too far gone toward absolute cruelty to understand why hemightn't have said it.

"Stand up and come here," he demanded. "I want to touch you more."

"No! It's bad enough baring my body to you, but to be ridiculed - "

"Ridiculed?" he asked, incredulous. "There's no' anything to ridicule!"

"The th-thing you said about my scar. And about my...my breasts being small."

"You did repeatedly insult me tonight, and it's no' as if I need you to remind me what I look like."

She peeked over her shoulder, her cheeks even more flushed.Does she feel guilty for her insults?

"As for your breasts, if you could no' tell by the raging cockstand I had while touching them, or when I outright told you I find you beautiful, I'll say it plain: I look at your wee body and reasoned thought leaves my brain. So if you want to see a man lose his mind, you'll come to me and let me touch you more." When she still didn't rise from the water, he said, "If you doona want my hands on you again, then come touch me."

She nibbled her lip at that. A promising enough answer for him. He promptly began to strip down, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Uh, wait! I don't want to do that either...." She trailed off, brows drawn as she stared at the stitches in his chest. "What happened to you?"

"Doona worry. It'll soon scar, and you'll have more to belittle about me."

Ignoring his comment, she said, "You've lost weight, too. Is this the injury you spoke of?"

"Aye."

"What happened?" When he didn't answer, she quirked an eyebrow. "Scot, you really must stop running with scissors."

"You are such a daft lass." As he sat on a cushioned stool, removing his boots, he found himself telling her, "I was shot."

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.

Chapter 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 oc¨¦ane. 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 glac¨¦ 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.