Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] (20 page)

“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 on
my
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 he
mightn’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. “No
wonder
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 did
not
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 to
think
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 kiss
him
. 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. “So
you
doona want to share a bed with
me
?” 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…not
every
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, I
held
her. While she slept,” Hugh had said, then he’d exhaled with pleasure. “For over an
hour
.”

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.

Twenty-two

M
en 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.