If You Deceive

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.