Kresley Cole - If You Deceive

A place to live…

As Madeleine recounted the harrowing trials of an eleven-year-old girl forced away from everything she had ever known, Ethan felt tears on his chest. He learned how painful it had been to be turned away from her home, from all the possessions that a young girl would believe she couldn't live without—her dolls, her dresses, her beloved pets…

…how terrifying and sordid La Marais had been when she'd first seen it.

And he'd learned that Madeleine knew nearly enough to put everything together. She was keenly perceptive, and obviously had been an observant child. Already she suspected another man had been in her home.

How long would it be before she uncovered enough to determine it was Ethan?

When she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up and clutching her ring on the ribbon, he stared down at her, unable to stop himself from petting her soft hair.

After tonight, he understood far more about the depth of her courage and indomitable spirit. Those traits in her made the failings in Ethan's own character all the more obvious.

That recognition was painful and unwanted.

Most people assumed bad men didn't try to better themselves because they couldn't be bothered to make the effort or because they didn't know how to make the right choices. Few supposed it had nothing to do with the future and everything to do with the past. Recalling black deeds with a different perspective was hellish.

Ten years ago—when he'd been older than she was right now—he'd pitied himself, swilling liquor, behaving cruelly, and he'd been punished. Madeleine had done nothing but show strength of character and a will that humbled him, yet she'd been punished, too, for her parents' mistakes.

Punished by Ethan. He often imagined how he might begin to explain that to her:

"I was drunk one night and decided to tup, well, Sylvie, your mother. She cried rape to your father—a weak-willed cuckold who was easily swayed and kept henchmen on hand to do foul tasks. Brymer cut off half my face, so later I gutted him. After I bankrupted your father, no doubt pushing him closer to his suicide, I seized your home and assets, turning you and your mother out into the streets."

If she hadn't run screaming by then, he could finish, "Then Sylvie took you, at the tender age of eleven, to hell, and I knew about it. I let it happen when I could have spared you. And if all that wasn't bad enough, I ruined your engagement with the count and came to Paris specifically to deceive and use you."

What if she's the one…?Hugh had asked. Ethan gave a bitter laugh.

What Hugh didn't understand was that her being "the one" or not was incidental. The curse being false or not had no bearing. Ethan could never have Madeleine because the damage had already been done, and ultimately she would hate him.

Whatever he was experiencing with her would end.Common bloody sense….

Just as before, Ethan's die had already been cast.

"This is alesser residence ?" Making a credible attempt at keeping her jaw from dropping, Maddy gazed out the coach window at the oceanfront mansion they neared.

"Aye. It's called Carillon, named after the series of bells in the village," MacCarrick said as they rolled along the long gravel drive. "And yes, it's less grand and more obscure than my other estates."

She swallowed and nodded. "Of course."

The stately manor house was built in large ashlar blocks, like castles usually were, but these were dark cream-colored and smooth. Along the drive, they passed terraced gardens, walled gardens, wild gardens. Grass pathways and crystal-clear streams wended through the property.

"It's very beautiful," she said absently, butbeautiful couldn't adequately describe this place. When she saw a peacock strutting across a green lawn, she realized Carillon was like a fairy tale. "That's a…peacock."

"My grandmother was eccentric, and she brought them here. They're nearly wild now."

"Is that apalm tree?"

"Aye. The water that travels the Irish Sea is warm, making it temperate here. It rarely snows or freezes."

This place was to be partly hers? "I don't think I've ever seen such a splendid home."

"The steward's let it fall into a sad state of neglect."

"How can you tell?"

"At this time of year there should be hay rolls and autumn crops planted over the back fields we passed earlier. There were neither. I see the paint is chipping on the trim of the manor and the stables, and the fences need mending throughout. The fountains are no' running—since I'd wired the staff of my coming arrival, that means they're likely broken. I doona keep estates in this condition—ever."

"I don't think it looks that bad," she said, trying to lighten his mood.

He gazed out the window. "You would no'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Would anything no' seem palatial next to La Marais?"

Though she'd been thinking the same thing, she was growing tired of his jabs. Since they'd made port, he'd grown cold again—worse than he'd ever been.Honey, not vinegar, she reminded herself.

Yet she was on the last of her stores. "And here I thought we'd go a day without you reminding me where you plucked me from."

"I was only making a point," he said, but their row was delayed when the coach rolled to a stop in front of the manor. "Speak of the devil," Ethan grated when they found a middle-aged man and woman awaiting them. "Silas the steward."

When MacCarrick helped Maddy down, he ignored the man and said, "Madeleine, this is Sorcha, Carillon's housekeeper. Sorcha, this is my wife, Lady Kavanagh."

Maddy understood why he had to introduce her like that, but the lies sat ill with her. Sorcha smiled shyly and curtsied.

"Show Lady Kavanagh up to our rooms and see that she has everything she needs." To Maddy, he said, "You'll join me for dinner."

Sorcha curtsied again, then turned for the front door, with Maddy following. Inside was a marble tiled foyer, which opened up into a high-ceilinged room. Graceful wooden stairs curved in a horseshoe, with both sides carpeted.

After following Sorcha up the steps to the wide first-floor landing, Maddy briefly peered over the railing to see Ethan downstairs. He strode across the room in another direction, boots booming, a visibly terrified Silas trailing in his wake.

When she glanced back up, Sorcha had opened a heavy door to the master suite and was bustling inside. Joining her there, Maddy found that both bedrooms of the suite were ornately paneled, with Maddy's room lightly painted and Ethan's stained much darker. Plush carpeting ran throughout, and the ceilings were soaring.

Standing in the rooms' connecting doorway, she glanced from her graceful pencil-post bed to his immense bed, which looked as big as a normal room. How would Ethan want them to sleep here, now that they didn't have to share a stateroom?

"It's very fine," Maddy told Sorcha. The manor was, but the interior was also a bit staid. Some of the rooms they'd passed had seemed…grim, even. Making this place more comfortable and less rigidly orderly would be a rewarding task.

When she realized that she could soon make these changes as mistress, she decided to ask Ethan if they could come back and redecorate when things settled down.

"It's fine, aye," Sorcha said shyly, "but wait till ye see the view." She drew wide the curtains to reveal tall bay windows and a glass door that seemed to take up the entire wall.

Opening the door, Sorcha beckoned for her to step outside. Maddy walked out onto a marble balcony—and lost her breath.

The sea…was directly there. Cerulean blue water glittered in the sun, stretching out for miles.

The house was situated on a cliff, tucked back from the rocky headlands and a sprawling beach. Down below was a marble terrace fronted by a balustrade that matched the balcony's. From every point of this side of the manor one could overlook the beach and the Irish Sea.

"My Lord," Maddy whispered. If she'd been infatuated with Carillon from seeing its gardens and hills, the sea side enamored her.

Yet her excitement was tempered with a growing sense of uneasiness. The idea of her being mistress to an estate like this seemed…fantastical.

Fortune favors the bold, she reminded herself.Yes, but this is ridiculous.

"So, did you find out why Silas was remiss in his duties?" Madeleine asked after an uncomfortable, reserved dinner with Ethan. He'd brusquely adjourned to his study, without inviting her, but she'd followed him anyway.

"Aye. Strong drink. All day long," he said, taking a seat behind an imposing, mahogany desk. "The estate's been neglected sorely. Which makes me fear how my other properties are faring under myriad stewardships."

He looked so concerned that she sidled behind him to knead his shoulders. "Surely you'll be able to find a suitable replacement. It seems Carillon would be a feather in any steward's cap."

"I suppose."

"You can run an advertisement in the paper and have inquiries forwarded."

"What do you mean?" He tensed beneath her fingers. "We're staying here until this is resolved."

She forced herself to ask in an even tone, "So how long do you predict we'll be delayed here?"

"I have to find a replacement, then acquaint him with the operations."

She drew her hands away, then crossed to the other side of his desk. "How long?"

"A week. Maybe two."

Maddy's heart sank. "I can't stay here with you unmarried that long."