Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] (22 page)

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 say
unusual
or
interesting
.

“…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.

Twenty-three

M
addy 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 to
Fermé.

“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.”

The woman led Maddy back to the dressing room. The space was large, with a silver tea service and a wine rack inside, made to cater to a woman’s mother and sisters and friends, consulting on a new wardrobe or ball gowns for the latest season. Maddy felt a jab of disappointment at the thought that she would be alone.

She’d just undressed to her shift when MacCarrick strolled in. He sank back on a divan, relaxing his towering frame with a kind of lethal grace. He didn’t appear discomfited in the least. “She can dress in front of me,” he said, his tone bored as he opened his newspaper. “It’s nothing I have no’ seen before.”

The shopkeepers shrugged, no doubt having seen this again and again.

Had this been anywhere but Paris, Maddy might have protested, but he’d just saved her from facing her despicable creditor. How could she deny MacCarrick anything?

The near encounter only reinforced her intention to stay with the Scot. She could put up with much never to see Toumard again—oh, and to be fantastically rich—even trying on clothes in front of MacCarrick.

But every time they pulled a gown above her head, her shift rode up, exposing her bottom to him—and her front as well in the four-way mirror. Just as embarrassing, she’d caught him frowning at her scar, and he even seemed to notice when others peered at it.

Over the next hour, she tried on day dresses and evening dresses, skirts and blouses, cloaks and gloves. A milliner was brought in to see to her hats and bonnets, and a shoemaker provided pair after pair of colored satin slippers and boots of a buttery soft kid leather.

She already had enough clothing for several days, but after MacCarrick and the modiste spoke outside, additional dresses were unexpectedly available to Maddy—appropriated from someone else’s tailored wardrobe.

At first glance, these garments were hideous, but then she realized that, hidden under the weight of tasteless trimmings, the dresses were cut well, with a modern flair even, and made of expertly styled fabrics. As usual, some rich Parisians had gone overboard with the embellishments—but then, they’d probably wanted to demonstrate their wealth at every turn.

To make the gowns her own, Maddy simply directed the seamstresses to take them in and discard the abundant tassels, tufts of silk flowers, and fur pom-poms.

Once she’d selected everything but undergarments with nary a comment from MacCarrick, they stripped her down to her stockings and garters to try on lingerie.

She was as mortified as a provincial when she felt his eyes on her. She willed herself not to raise her hands for cover, sighing in relief each time they slid a nightgown over her.

MacCarrick was holding up a paper, but she knew he wasn’t reading. He kept turning it aside until he set it down completely and leaned forward on the edge of the divan. His lids grew heavy, but his eyes were alert and flickering over her. She reminded herself that she could endure this scrutiny and more for all that MacCarrick was doing for her. Even being displayed in lingerie to his fancy.

Though he’d had no interest in the dresses, he voiced his opinions on the lingerie forcefully. “In the red one. I want to see her in the red,” he demanded, his voice growing husky.

Maddy swallowed, stepping into a crimson gown with two lace-trimmed slits at the sides that climbed all the way to her hips. Even with these women in the room, she began to respond to his attention, her breasts feeling heavier every time he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the lace cups caressed her nipples, she pictured how his muscles had flexed under her fingers this morning. When she recalled how he’d explored her the night before…

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing out loud.

Ethan had never thought he’d enjoy shopping for a woman as much as this.

He was buying her far more than was necessary, but he was deriving too much pleasure from the process to stop himself. As he watched Madeleine dress and undress, into and out of wicked silks, he abandoned the pretense of reading the paper and used it only to conceal his raging erection.

Earlier, Madeleine had been nervously darting glances at him in the mirror. Now she held his gaze, her lips parting. Her nipples had hardened and her breaths were shallow.

Christ, she…wanted him. She’d seen every inch of him, and she’d bloody touched his scar, and yet she wanted him. Was
pleading
for him.

He nearly shuddered with pleasure. Her desire was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could imagine.

“Out,” he abruptly ordered the women.

“Monsieur?”

“Take a midday break from the shop. Now.” The look on his face silenced them, and they darted from the dressing room.

When the door shut behind them, Madeleine swallowed but said nothing.

“You know what I want, and you know better than to question me,” he said as he neared her, removing his jacket. “I like that.”

“I won’t question you, even though I wonder if you’ll appease your lust whenever you feel like it.”

“Aye, with you I will. And it’s no’ only
my
lust that I plan to appease.” He ran a hand into one of the high slits, then slipped his finger between her legs. When he felt her sex, a harsh sound broke from his chest. She was wet for him, slick and lush. “Seems you might need
appeasement
more than I do.”

At that she shoved her legs closed, twisting out of his grasp.

“Doona close your legs to me,” he growled.

“Then stop trying to embarrass me!”

“I was only stating fact.”

Through gritted teeth, she said, “Make an effort not to.”

“As your husband, I’ll no’ be denied, Madeleine.”

“You’re not my husband yet.”

“If I were, would you let me take you in this room?”

“Yes, if that was what you desired.” She’d surprised him, but she clearly meant it.

“I will be soon, so what’s the difference? I want to be inside you. Now.”

She shook her head firmly. “Not until we’re wed.”

“Then perhaps I should no’ be buying you a new wardrobe as befits a wife, if I’m no’ yet a husband?”

She stiffened, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not a whore. Buy me the clothes or not, but don’t expect sex in return. And don’t confuse my desire for you—and for self-preservation—with desperation.”

“And do you desire me?”

She put her chin up. “Yes. But I can still walk away.”

“Ah,
aingeal
, it’s too late for that….”

Twenty-four

M
acCarrick stalked around her, as if deciding what he wanted to touch or do first.

“You already know you need me for more than just money or clothes, do you no’?” He seemed angry with her, but she couldn’t understand what she’d done to make him so. Finally he stopped in front of her, leaning in to press his mouth to her neck. As he brushed the straps from her shoulders, his rough palms made a delicious contrast to the silk. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Maddy admitted. The garment whispered to the floor, leaving her in nothing but stockings and garters.

He nodded slowly. “Good lass,” he said, then bent his dark head over her pale breasts. She watched in the mirror, glorying in the way this man seemed to crave kissing her there. His hands were huge, the palms callused, yet the manner in which he worked them over her body was adoring.

Her thoughts grew dim when he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. After suckling both tips until they were hard, swollen points, he stood fully and walked behind her. Cupping her leg behind her knee, he lifted her foot onto the low stool, spreading her legs in front of the mirror.

When she glanced away, he said, “Stay like this. I want to see you.” Then he coaxed her to face the mirror as his jet eyes flickered over the reflection—possessively lingering on her breasts and between her thighs. Most wouldn’t find his visage beautiful, but at that instant, he was the most irresistible man she’d ever beheld.

Just when she was about to beg him to put his hands on her, he cupped her between her legs. Though she’d wanted his touch, she still jerked in shock.

“Relax, I just want to pet you here,” he said as he spread her legs more. “Look at my finger stroking you,” he rumbled at her ear. “You doona want me to stop?”

“No…”

“Then tell me you desire me again.”

“I do…you know I do.”

With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, he pressed her up against the mirror, delving his finger inside her wetness from behind. Her damp nipples met the cool glass and she moaned, lost.

Her sheath hugged his finger, shockingly tight as Ethan lazily thrust it inside her. With his other hand, he wrapped her hair around his fist, tugging her head back so he could watch her reactions in the mirror. How had he ever thought her experienced? Her responses were ungoverned, bare. She was so passionate—and his possession to do with as he would.

She wore nothing but his ring on that ribbon dangling between her breasts, and her garters and stockings. The red silk of her garters stood out against the pale skin of her thighs.

“So lovely,” he heard himself say. Her skin was sleek and soft, her nipples dark pink, like the bow of her lips.

She hissed in a breath when he tried to fit a second finger into her, and her hand shot behind her to his wrist, her arm straight to push him away.

“Shh, I’ll stop.” He withdrew it. Again that heavy feeling arose when he was reminded of how badly he’d hurt her that night—he hadn’t prepared her. He vowed to himself that when he did decide to take her, he would frig her for a damned hour till she begged him for it. “Here, put your arms back around my neck.” She hesitated. “Just trust me.”

Once she tentatively grasped his neck, he began to tease her nipples, lightly pinching the tips. When she moaned, he ran one hand from her breast to her flat belly then to her sex, but she tensed. “Trust me. Let me make you come….”

She gasped at his words but allowed his touch. With one hand, he spread the flesh around her clitoris wide and smoothed the pad of his other forefinger side to side over her swollen little bud. “Do you like that?”