Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] Page 10

  In any case, it wouldn’t matter if the girl had been warned. Ethan would have her one way or another. He’d been disfigured—the exquisite daughter offered up would appease him. Once she was in his possession, he’d use her until he tired of her.

  Then he would throw her out, thoroughly ruined, on her pert little arse, saving countless foolish noblemen from Sylvie’s clutches.

  Madeleine had told him that his kind used and gave nothing back.

  Miss Van Rowen had seen nothing.

  Thirteen

  For the love of Christ, let it be someone come for me, Ethan thought the next day when he heard a carriage on the drive.

  He closed his eyes in relief when he heard Hugh’s voice in the front parlor. Though Hugh was usually so silent, Ethan distinctly heard him attempt to make conversation with the MacReedys. He wasn’t polished with it, but he seemed to take his fumbles with a light heart.

  When Hugh entered, Ethan noticed his brother looked hale and…happy?

  “Ethan, it’s good to see you!” he exclaimed as Ethan made a painstaking attempt to sit up in bed. “Grey told me he’d killed you.”

  Ethan quirked a brow. “So we’re talking to Grey now?”

  “No, of course no’.” He grinned. “Those were his last words.”

  “You…killed him.” Grey was dead at last? “How?”

  After all this time—it wouldn’t be Ethan who destroyed Grey.

  “Well, I dinna kill him precisely.” Hugh pulled at his collar. “More like Jane and I did it together. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way back. If you’re ready to go home now?”

  “What do you think? It’s about bloody time someone came for me. I sent a wire weeks ago.”

  “There was no wire from you. I’ve searched everywhere—even had runners combing the countryside. That’s how we located you here.”

  “No wire?” he bellowed, then heard the whelp take off, slamming out of the house. That was why he’d been stuck? Because the whelp had pocketed the telegraph fee? “I’m going to kill that puny bastard.”

  “Do it another time. I have to get back to London. Do you need help getting dressed?” When Ethan reluctantly nodded, Hugh helped him to the edge of the bed. “Let me see the damage.” He gave a whistle at the sight of Ethan’s wound. “That was close. Another inch—”

  “And I would no’ have been trapped here for five weeks.”

  “A bullet wound, though? Exactly how slowly were you moving for Grey to be able to hit you?” Hugh asked, and Ethan’s fists clenched. “The skin’s healing nicely. A couple of weeks more for the stitches—if you’re careful with them.” Frowning, Hugh said, “Why are you still so weak?”

  “Because the food here tastes like sawdust,” Ethan said. He’d probably lost a stone of weight.

  “That might be, but you’re still going to have to thank them for it.”

  “The hell I will.”

  Hugh lowered his voice. “If you doona, I will no’ tell you how Grey died. And I might just leave your arse here….”

  Twenty minutes later, Hugh and his coach driver were heaving Ethan up into his carriage. “That was no’ so bad, now, was it?” Hugh grated with a last shove.

  Ethan gritted his teeth, collapsing back onto the squabs. “Sod off, Hugh.” His wound was singing, his head was spinning, and yet even after being blackmailed into muttering gratitude to that family, excitement drummed in him. Because Ethan had realized that Grey’s death meant his duty was done. Ethan was free to go to Paris as soon as he got his strength back.

  Suddenly he felt ravenous.

  “Now, tell me how the hell Grey died,” Ethan said once the coach began to roll along.

  Hugh peered out the window as he answered, “Well, Jane plugged him with some arrows, and I…tripped him.”

  Ethan grew still. “Grey died by tripping?” This was too humiliating.

  “It was worse than it sounds,” Hugh said quickly, facing him again. “Gruesome. A trial, truly. So how did Grey get the drop on you?”

  “I was careless, and I paid for it.” He shrugged, wanting away from that subject. “What else has happened in the last five weeks? Have you gotten your marriage annulled yet?”

  “No, I dinna.”

  Ethan exhaled. “You told me Grey died weeks ago, and you still have no’ done this?”

  “I’m…staying married. Jane is mine now.”

  “But the curse,” Ethan said, scowling at this absurdity. “Your past—”

  “She knows about my past, about her father, about everything. Grey was sure to reveal all to her. And of the curse…it’s no’ as we thought, brother. Court’s gotten married to Annalía, and, well, he’s to be a da.”

  “No. That’s no’ possible.” Ethan grew light-headed. Never seed shall take….

  Hugh shook his head. “It’s true. Annalía’s big with his child. I saw her myself.”

  “The babe’s no’ his.”

  “That’s what everyone thought you’d say. Annalía’s a good lass, but for your benefit, I’ll tell you that Court was her first and only, and that it was just the two of them together for weeks.”

  Ethan had met Annalía and knew she wouldn’t possibly lie about the parentage of her babe—or take another lover besides Court. But still, to have this sole development refute what they’d believed for so long? “So how do you explain why Court’s never gotten a bairn on any girl before? And then he does it so quickly with her?”

  “Everyone who knows about the book and what’s happened agrees that the last two lines of the foretelling must say something about each son finding the woman meant for him.”

  This was exactly what Ethan had feared—his brothers getting their hopes up, to be crushed. And yet Ethan couldn’t argue the reasoning. Many a time, he’d used the book in just such a way as this. “You believe that?”

  “I do, Ethan, and I hope you will, too.”

  “So you feel certain that I can marry and have bairns?” Ethan was unaccountably restless after hearing this news, even as he felt removed from the entire conversation, as if he were watching it instead of participating in it.

  “Aye, if you find the right lass. And then you can get back to the life you’re meant to lead.”

  “I am—”

  “No, you’re no’,” Hugh interrupted. “You’re the Earl of Kavanagh. You’ve got responsibilities and lands and people. You’ve got a title to pass down.”

  “Maybe I’m more satisfied in my current occupation.”

  “It’s no’ the life Da wanted for you—no’ killing and being shot. And no’ being alone nearly every damned day and night of your life,” Hugh snapped.

  “Just because you and Court have suddenly settled down does no’ mean I have the same needs. I like the hunt. I like the danger.”

  “For how long, Ethan? You’re no’ getting any spryer. You bloody got tagged by Grey.”

  Ah, that was low, and they both knew it. Ethan narrowed his eyes. “So you think you can just walk away from your job without looking back?”

  “Aye, because now I have something to look forward to.”

  “Have you ever thought that you should no’ be staying with Jane for reasons other than the curse, and other than your past?” Ethan demanded. “This all goes back to common bloody sense—something I’m discovering my brothers dearly lack, especially in their choices of brides.” He flashed an expression of realization. “Jane’s with bairn, is she no’? Apparently, it’s quite easy for MacCarricks to propagate these days. That’s why you are staying with her? And that’s why she had to accept you.”

  “No, she is no’ pregnant. We’re waiting.” At Ethan’s look, Hugh hurriedly said, “No’ as in abstinence.”

  “Waiting,” Ethan said with a slow nod. “So my mercenary brother has gone off and married an excruciatingly rich heiress and gotten a babe on her, and my other brother is practicing contraception like a radical. Let me guess, her idea?”

  “Our idea. And I have thought over m
y marriage, Ethan. For weeks, I agonized over keeping Jane or no’. Every time I tell someone I married Jane Weyland, they laugh, thinking I’m jesting.” Hugh frowned, muttering, “That’s grown wearying quickly.”

  “It is laughable,” Ethan said, never one to palliate his words. “She’s a famed beauty and wit, with an enormous extended family. You canna stand to be around groups of people and rarely talk to most.”

  “Aye, I know. But she is happy being my wife—turns out she’s wanted to marry me since she was a girl.” Hugh sounded so bloody proud. Ethan had to admit he’d never have suspected that from Jane. “And I’m making an effort for her.”

  “A man canna change his nature,” Ethan said.

  “No, no’ often,” Hugh replied. “But I believe when men like us do, the change is profound.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Take Court. He was almost as selfish as you are, but now he’s different.”

  Ethan didn’t bother denying he was selfish, but he said, “Aye, take Court. Another example of a ridiculous match. Annalía’s an heiress—Court does no’ have two guineas to his name. And he’s a bloody mercenary while she could no’ be more genteel. How’s he to support her? Leave her at home with a new bairn while he marches off to wage war for money?”

  “He’s retired.”

  Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “They’ll starve. And they’ll do it at his run-down manor in the middle of the Highlands—unless he lives off her.” He scowled deeply. “The hell that will be happening. I’ll settle money on him before he becomes the first MacCarrick to live off his wife.”

  “No, when he was on his last campaign, I reinvested for him what he had managed to save,” Hugh said. “Court actually has a steady income now. And when Jane and I were hiding out at his property—waiting for you to kill Grey—we needed something to do, so we renovated the manor house. Put it this way—I saw work as the only thing I could do to keep my hands from Jane. Trust me, Court’s home is a bloody showplace now. And Annalía loves it there.”

  “And how long will that last? How long can it? You two baffle me. I thought my brothers had more sense than this.”

  “If what I enjoy now is due to senselessness, then I doona want sense.” Hugh sank back, appearing to have given up on convincing Ethan. “You will no’ understand, you canna, until you feel it, too. It’s like trying to impress upon a virgin what sex is like.”

  And with one word, Ethan’s mind was back on Madeleine. He’d been doing so well. At least ten minutes had passed since the last time.

  Wait…Ethan narrowed his eyes. “I hate it when people make asinine arguments like that. That’s like our mother telling us that we could no’ comprehend—or forgive—her behavior toward us after Da died, until we’d been in love.” When she’d said that, Ethan had replied, “Bullshite. I doona have to jump off a bloody bridge to understand the landing will prove disagreeable.”

  Ethan could never forgive her for her actions. There was no excuse for the woman to have blamed her sons for Leith’s death, no excuse for reacting so irrationally. She’d screamed, tearing at her hair, uttering things that could never be taken back….

  Hugh said, “No, Ethan, she was right.”

  “Of course you agree—now that you’ve been inducted into the cult of marriage. I canna decide if I’m amused or disgusted by all this.”

  Hugh stared out the window, and his tone turned grave. “If I…if I lost Jane, I could no’ predict my actions, but I know I would no’ be verra concerned with watching what I said.”

  “I’ve decided. Disgusted.”

  “Have you never thought about marrying?”

  “No, never. I thought we were no’ supposed to, and to say my personality isn’t favorable to it is an understatement.” Ethan sounded so sure, but now, for the first time in his life, doubts on the subject had begun to creep into his thoughts. Both of his brothers were wed and sounded happy, and apparently, the curse wasn’t as they’d believed.

  Ethan had heard that a man’s life flashed before him just before he died. Ethan had been on the verge, and nothing had flashed before him—but then, he’d had few meaningful moments in his adulthood. He’d never had friendships like Court had with his band of mercenaries. Ethan had never felt the selfless love for one woman that his brother Hugh had for years.

  That night in the alley, Ethan had believed he was going to die—and he’d realized how pointless his life had been. And for some reason, at such a critical time, he’d thought of that lass….

  After a quarter of an hour of silence passed between them, Hugh said, “What are you going to do when we arrive in the city?”

  “Ready for a trip to Paris.” Unfortunately, he’d need to spend a few days in London before setting off. He’d eat and regain his strength, healing more as he arranged the logistics of his plan.

  “What’s in Paris?”

  “Madeleine Van Rowen.”

  “Still thinking about her?” Hugh raised his brows. “This is interesting.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Doona read anything into it.”

  “This is no’ still about revenge, is it?”

  “And if it is…?” He wanted to finally finish his retribution, to make Sylvie suffer as she was supposed to have. The fact that he would get to enjoy Madeleine in the process was insignificant to his main goal.

  Yet even as he assured himself of that, another part of his mind whispered, You’re seizing on this revenge as an excuse to go after her.

  “Because she canna be made to pay for what her parents did.” In a low tone, Hugh added, “What if she’s the one?”

  Ethan jerked, startled. “What? You must be jesting.”

  “Have you ever thought about another woman as much as you do her?”

  Ethan had never, since he’d been old enough to notice females, had one fascinate or frustrate him so badly. “If I was convinced of your beliefs on the subject of the curse—which I’m no’ saying I am—the fact would no’ matter. There could be no union more doomed. It’s ridiculous even to contemplate.”

  “Would you really go despoil an innocent girl to exact more of your revenge?” Hugh looked as if he was praying for Ethan to say the right thing—for Ethan not to be the bastard he feared him.

  But he was. “No.” Ethan paused, letting Hugh relax before adding, “I already despoiled her. I took her virtue that night of the masquerade.”

  “You would no’.” Hugh appeared aghast. “You have to marry her.”

  “The hell I will.”

  “She’s my wife’s friend. I will step in, Ethan.”

  Ethan gave him a menacing sneer. “You think to stop me from enjoying her? Nothing will stop me, least of all you.”

  Hugh studied his face, then he raised his brows. “I see. Well, the picture’s becoming clearer.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look at the facts: Madeleine’s the first woman you’ve been with in God knows how long, and you canna stop thinking about her. After all the years you’ve wanted to kill Grey, now you never will be able to, and something like that would normally consume you. The fact that Grey bested you should rankle as nothing else, much less the fact that Jane shot him when you could no’. In the past, you would have made an attempt to thrash that MacReedy whelp even if you had to crawl to do it, but you canna be bothered about anything because all you want to do is get back to her.”

  Refusing to be baited, Ethan said, “I want to enjoy her for a few weeks. Nothing more.”

  “I wish you all the luck in the world with that, brother,” Hugh said, then Ethan thought he heard him mutter, “Welcome to the cult.”

  Fourteen

  This was where Madeleine Van Rowen lived?

  Ethan gazed up at the six-story building before him. The dilapidated structure had obviously once been a mansion but now looked as if it would collapse if he put a shoulder to it and leaned. Most surprising, it was in the middle of La Marais, one of the worst slums in Paris.
>
  Madeleine was believed to live on the top floor—usually taken by only the poorest, since continually carrying water and food up the stairs was grueling.

  He climbed the front steps to the stoop, then wound around drunken men fixed there in varying stages of unconsciousness. But the door was locked. He’d have to wait her out, or wait for another tenant to open the door. Descending the steps once more, he dropped back to the closest corner. He leaned against a wall and drew his knee up, surveying the world she inhabited.

  Men strutted by with machetes or guns visibly secured in their belts. Prostitutes actively solicited—then took their work into every alley. Children ran naked and grubby in the streets.

  It reminded him of the rookeries in London, except this was more harrying, more chaotic. If Madeleine truly lived here, then every day she passed this madness, was part of it.

  He tried to picture her here among these street people, elegant and fragile in her blue gown, and he couldn’t whatsoever. Nor could he believe that Madeleine had chosen to live in this place over the luxury of St. Roch. He could too easily imagine Sylvie hearing the rumors about Madeleine in London and punishing her daughter for failing to secure either Quin or the count. So why hadn’t Ethan found Madeleine clawing at the door in St. Roch begging for entrance…?

  Just this morning, Ethan had arrived in Paris, a full ten days after leaving the MacReedys’. Once he’d checked into a hotel, he’d begun his search for her in St. Roch, at the address Quin had given him.

  Ethan hadn’t wanted Sylvie to see him, so he’d asked around the neighborhood, to uncover if Madeleine was even in town, or possibly where her favorite haunts were.

  No one had any idea who he was talking about until he’d described Madeleine.

  A gardener thought she came by the house a couple of times a month. A groomsman had caught an omnibus with her a week ago. She hadn’t gotten off at the last stop before the slums. He’d remembered wondering why a woman like her had continued on.