Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] (29 page)

Take a wife, oversee his properties, look after his tenants. He’d discovered something deeply appealing about working so closely with his lands. Indeed, it seemed to call to him.

Yet the last time he’d had these thoughts had resulted in tragedy.

When he’d planned to marry Sarah MacReedy, it had been out of a sense of obligation to the title. Now Ethan found he might
need
that life—if Madeleine was part of the bargain.

But if he kept her, Ethan would just end up hurting her worse than he already had. It was inevitable. She would discover his involvement in her past and his present deceit, and it would devastate her.

To partially exonerate himself, would he tell Maddy her parents hadn’t been as she’d believed? Would he tell her that her father, whom she spoke of so lovingly, had been a pathetic cuckold, and her mother hadn’t been merely spoiled and selfish, as Madeleine seemed to believe, but out-and-out evil?

Did Madeleine need to know that her parents were responsible for a twenty-three-year-old man being strung up in their stables and tortured?

There could be no union more doomed than his and Madeleine’s. If he did have children with her, they would be
Van Rowen’s
grandchildren—
Sylvie’s
grandchildren; Ethan had bloody made sure Madeleine
starved
.

Doomed…

Damn it, he’d made a decision not to marry her, and he never wavered from his decisions. When had he lost sight of all he’d planned? His first impulse was to leave her. Give her money to see her happy and let her have one or—sod it all—
all
of his homes. The problem with that plan? He was already too attached to her to part from her willingly. Ethan was snared.

He’d hurt her, and she was unwittingly repaying him a thousand fold—just by being herself. Every time he saw her utter lust for delicacies, and every night she woke, cheeks wet from some nightmare, his chest hurt.

The more attached he grew to the lass, the more guilt and strangling frustration he battled. The regret was riding him hard, and having never wrestled with that emotion before, he had no idea what to do with it.

He resented being saddled with that unbearable guilt; he bloody resented
her
for being everything he could dream of in a wife.

Though he hadn’t had a drop of liquor in years, he now found himself lurching to the drink service, pouring a whisky with shaking hands.

Staring into the glass, he muttered, “
Slip.
”

As if he were attempting to drive Maddy away, Ethan hadn’t come to her the last two nights, instead spending the time drinking—though he’d repeatedly assured her that he never did.

Maddy certainly had seen pleasanter drinkers. Lying on stoops. In La Marais.

If she and Ethan crossed paths during the day, he’d taken to snapping at her. Indeed, at times she could swear that he begrudged her very presence at Carillon. Occasionally, she’d caught him staring at her from his study window, sometimes frowning, sometimes gazing at her with a disquieting anger.

So each day she climbed up to the widow’s walk. When the weather was clear, she could see all the way to the Irish shore. Pondering her situation, she’d stare at the sea for hours, watching the ferries jaunt back and forth to Ireland.

She’d finally admitted to herself that Ethan’s behavior had nothing to do with the strain of work. Either he believed she would endure any kind of treatment just to marry him, or he was seeking to drive her away….

That evening she returned at sunset and found him sitting in his study, staring blankly at the whisky in a crystal glass in his palm. Her heart sank when she saw he was well on his way to getting foxed.

Though uninvited, she entered the room, sitting in the chair in front of the desk. “How was your day, Ethan?” When he shrugged, she said, “What did you do?”

“Worked.”

“You’re drinking,” she said.

“You’re observant.”

Honey!
She could be patient. “Have there been any leads on a new steward?” she asked.

“No.”

“Can I do anything to help you? I find I have a lot of time on my hands,” she added, struggling to keep a rein on her temper.

“No, no’ a thing.”

“We’re supposed to leave in four days.”

He finally faced her. “Do you think I doona bloody ken that? As if you’d let me forget it. It’s always got to be about Madeleine.”

“Already we’ve been here for—”

“And I’m no’ done here yet!”

In as calm a tone as she could manage, she said, “Perhaps you’d accomplish more if you drank less?”

Ethan’s expression turned menacing, his scar stark against the tan skin of his face. “
Aingeal
, you doona want to begin this with me, no’ tonight.”

“Have I done something to you, Ethan? Have I offended you or failed to please you in some way?”

“Aye, it’s called intercourse.”

Enough! Deuce the honey.
“You’ll have intercourse as soon as I have matrimony—just as we agreed! It isn’t as if I just sprang this on you at the last second.”

“No, but then I never expected you to hold out, or I’d never have agreed to something as asinine as that.”

“You can be so hateful, Scot. You love to give me reminders that I really shouldn’t marry you.” And, as she’d begun to suspect, he was doing it purposely, with intent. Maddy knew men.

This one was angling for a way out.

“I’m the best you’re going to get”—he raised his glass—“and doona ever forget that.”

She gasped, drawing back her head as if slapped. It hurt all the worse because he was…right.

“I see. I fear this is all growing wearisome.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Aye, that’s what I’ve been saying—”

“For
me,
Ethan.”

Thirty-three

M
addy was finished.

Living across from Bea had taught her that it didn’t matter how lovable she was, or how hard she tried to please, some men couldn’t see when they had a woman to be treasured. MacCarrick had never hit her, as Bea’s man had, but he could still wound.

Last night, she’d stayed awake till nearly dawn, mulling over her options. She’d heard him in the adjoining room, pacing for just as long, it had seemed.

Before she’d gone to sleep, she’d reached a startling conclusion. She didn’t agree that MacCarrick was the best she could do.

When she woke, she’d started packing her bags.

Maddy could see now that when she’d accepted MacCarrick’s proposition, she’d been cowed, hungry, and afraid of Toumard. Of course the Scot had looked like a godsend in light of those circumstances.

Now she concluded that there was no way she would become his legal chattel. She had other options. At worst, the ring he’d given her would see her through a few years.

When he came downstairs that morning and saw her bags, he said, “You’re leaving me?”

“You’re observant,” she said, repeating his words from the previous night, astounded to see he was already drunk.

He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “And how do you think you’re going to get anywhere?”

“I was thinking the posting coach. I’ve been outside so much, I’ve noted it comes every other day at five on the dot.”

His rapidly fading smirk was satisfying. “You little fool. You’re going to throw away marriage and wealth because you’re
impatient
? I’ve told you I’m no’ done here yet.”

She gave him a pitying look. “No, but I am. Ethan, I have too often and for too long been forced into unwelcome situations. Do you think I can’t recognize the same trapped feeling in another? You don’t want to marry me. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I’m merely making this easier for you.”

“No, you’re no’. This is naught but added pressure. An idle threat. Understand that I doona respond well to pressure.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“You told me you’d stay ten days. I’ve three days left.”

“Don’t play games with me, Ethan. You could have married me in this town and then again in your county. You could have done a lot of things differently. All I wanted was to be treated decently by a faithful husband. It would have taken so little to make me love you.”

“
Love
me, is it now?” He made a scoffing sound. “So all I would have to do is throw you some scraps of kindness and keep my prick in my pants?”

She didn’t bother hiding her disgust at his drunken coarseness.

“Do you think things will be better for you without me?” he demanded. “When you go back to the gutter?”

“Actually, I’m planning to visit Claudia—”

“You mean Quin.” He narrowed his eyes. “Well, it’s like I said, your precious Quin was ready to offer for you. Especially after I told him I’d plucked your virtue the night of the masquerade.”

She gasped. “You told him that?”
Oh, God, how humiliating.
“You utter bastard! You’re making this so easy for me. But thank you for reminding me of Quin as an option. I’ll be sure to inquire if he’s still interested.”

Ethan gritted his teeth, staring back at her. “You would,” he said, his tone seething. “You’d take him today.”

“I’d be a fool not to. He’s kind and honorable—and I know that if he promised me marriage, he’d do it!”

So Madeleine was truly leaving him? The idea made his head swim.

When had she gotten under his skin this badly? When had the thought of life without her begun to make him crazed? He felt physically ill picturing her and Quin together. They’d be a perfect bloody match.
Unlike her paired with me.

This had to end.

She’d won. Whether he married her or not, she’d defeated him.

“If you’re going to be too selfish or too impatient to wait for me,” Ethan told her, “then what can I do?” He let her see all the fury he was feeling. She blanched.

Bugger this
. He knew a fine way to shake his attachment to her, like a fish throwing a lure that pains it.

He’d promised himself that he’d get Madeleine tucked away somewhere, then glut himself on other women, enjoying the return of his appetites. If he could get hard with Madeleine at the drop of a hat at his age, five times a day if he chose, then he was obviously cured.

Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? He’d take his predilections and spend them on a woman of experience, reverting to his old cruel self. Then he could make the break with Madeleine that he’d planned from the beginning. He could go back to work—to the solitary job he was truly suited for.

Decided, he said, “You’re so ready to throw me over, I’ll respond in kind.” He stormed out, leaving her with her chin jutting up, then rode for the village.

When he reached a quayside inn, he strode inside the downstairs tavern, shoulders back, with all the confidence of a man who’d been slaking himself with a woman like Madeleine—a beauty who was longing to marry him. Or she had been. Now she was leaving. Didn’t matter. He was done with her anyway. He
had
to be.

He sank down into a booth, noticing that the establishment was filled today. All these poor bastards must be trying to escape their wives.
No’ the life for me.

Let her go.
He couldn’t keep on like this. The last three nights he’d tried to distance himself, but only ended up pacing his room and drinking because he couldn’t bloody sleep without her.

The guilt for her pain was razor sharp inside him.

Take another and forget her. Just common sense…

He spotted an attractive, dark-haired barmaid giving him a measuring smile—and she’d seen both sides of his face. She wore a choker like the one Madeleine had that night in Paris, though it didn’t look a fraction as good.

But this woman had big breasts, which he’d always liked. He’d rub his face on them. On the ship, he’d done that with Madeleine’s little ones, and she’d gone wild. He had run his shadow-bearded chin over her nipples, abrading her, then suckling her. She’d melted, coming for him before he’d even glanced at her sex.

His ballocks began to ache, and blood pooled in his groin. The woman glanced at his erection and wrongly assumed it was for her. She got breathless, those breasts heaving. No, his cockstand wasn’t for her—but did it matter? If he had to fantasize about Maddy to tup this trollop, then so be it.

Break free
. The alternative was unimaginable.

Two whiskies later, another wench with pouty lips caught his eye. For some reason, her expression said she liked what she saw.

Three whiskies after that and before he knew what had happened, he was entering a room upstairs with the raven-haired barmaid. He stumbled to close the door behind them, and, surprise—her pouty-lipped friend had decided to join them.

Just like old times. Ethan knew his grin was wicked. A man
couldn’t
change his nature.

Maddy sat on her widow’s walk, hours ticking by as she waited for the coach. Silently crying, she watched the ferries bandying between the coasts for the last time.

MacCarrick hadn’t returned.

What had she expected? Ethan on his knees begging for another chance? Or even politely seeing her on her journey? She angrily swiped at a tear.

She already missed him. Yes, he’d been horrid to her in the days, but those nights with him, filled with passion and pleasure and tenderness…she’d never felt closer to another person in her entire life.

Should I have fought for us more, given him more time?

She shook her head sadly. Maddy well knew that affection couldn’t be forced. She couldn’t make him miss her. She’d done everything she could think of to make him want her.

And yet still the regret came.
Would I rather stay with him as we’ve been or live a life without him?

She swallowed. Maddy had drawn a line with the Scot, and perhaps she oughtn’t to have.

Another tear streaked down her face. Especially since she’d gone and fallen completely in love with him.