If You Deceive - Cole Kresley (версия книг .txt) 📗

In a last bid to avoid marrying that man, Maddy had journeyed to London, calling on her childhood friendship with Claudia, specifically to snare her brother, Quinton Weyland. Unfortunately, Quin—with his curling hair, laughing green eyes, and robust finances—refused to marry.

It was time to face her three remaining choices.

First, she could continue on her own in La Marais as she had for years; second, she could reveal her litany of lies to the Weylands, confess her current pitiable situation, and beg them to make her their charity case; or third, Maddy could marry Le Daex.

The mere idea of admitting to Quin and Claudia everything she'd fabricated about her life made her flush with mortification. She could imagine Quin's laughing eyes narrowing with disgust. Maddy shook her head hard, resolving that she'd never tell them.

But to continue in La Marais, she faced a mountain of debt and a cold, uncertain winter. Ahungry winter. Maddy loathed hunger.

So Le Daex it would be. How dismal….

To distract her thoughts, she focused once more on the tall one as he made the perimeter of the building. His methodical and determined hunt, even the way he moved, fascinated her. He finally stopped, raking his fingers through his hair, turning in a circle in the crowd. She felt sad that he couldn't find the paramour he sought so urgently, and she drank to him, wishing him luck—

He raised his head to where she sat, and his gaze locked on her. At once, he turned that aggressive stride toward the swan-and-satyr dais.

Frowning in confusion—shewas the only one seated here—Maddy lowered her glass. He must have mistaken her for someone else. She wondered if she should take advantage of his mistake and enjoy a few kisses with him. How delicious that would be. Just to squeeze those muscular shoulders while his lips brushed hers…

As he neared, his gaze held hers until she was captivated. Everything else dimmed. The drunken men were unseen; the high, false laughter of the courtesans below her was silenced.

He took the steps to her two at a time. When he stood before her, she stifled a gasp. She was eye level with his groin, and there was no disguising the fact that he was…aroused. She slowly tilted her head up.

He stared down at her, silently offering his big hand. His eyeswere dark—and she'd never seen such intensity. She inhaled a shaky breath.

Le coup de foudre.

Bolt out of the blue. No, no.No bolts for me! Maddy was ever practical, never fanciful. She had no idea why that thought had arisen—becausele coup de foudre had a second, more profound meaning.

The urge to take his hand was overwhelming. She clutched her glass in one hand and her skirts in the other. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not who you seek, nor am I, er, one among these other women."

"I ken that." He took her elbow—gently, but firmly—and helped her to her feet. "If you were like these other women, I would no'be seeking you at all." He had a marked Scottish accent and a voice so deep and husky that it gave her shivers.

"But I don't know you," she said, sounding breathless.

"You will soon, lass," he answered, making her frown. But before she could say anything, he took her glass and set it away, then caught her hand to pull her from the dais into the crowd.

For Maddy, two flaws warred with each other for the title of What Would Prove to Be Maddy's Downfall: an overly developed sense of curiosity and a marked pride. She imagined the traits to be in a race, like two horses in themutuels on which she occasionally gambled. Right now, curiosity took the lead, demanding that she hear what the Scot had to say—even when she realized he was taking her toward the rooms lining the back wall of the warehouse. She quirked a brow. The rooms where prostitutes more fully serviced their patrons.

He opened the first door they came upon. Inside the dimly lit area, a woman was on her knees before a young man, taking him with her mouth while he leaned down and pinched her swollen, rouged nipples.

"Out," the Scot ordered with quiet menace. "Now."

The woman obviously sensed a threat better than her patron did, and she pushed the drunken man back to tug up her bodice and scurry to her feet.

The Scot swung a glance at Maddy as the pair lurched out, no doubt to gauge her reaction to what they'd just witnessed. She shrugged. One of her best friends and across-the-hall neighbor was apopular girl , and scenes like this took place constantly where she lived. Turn any corner and find a different vice on display.

At twenty-one years of age, Maddy had seen it all.

As soon as they were alone, he closed the door and retrieved a chair to wedge against it. Where was her alarm? Where was her well-developed sense of self-preservation in a place like this? The room was dominated by a massive bed—twelve feet square at least—draped in glaring scarlet silk; no one could hear her scream back here, and they would ignore it even if they could, thinking a prostitute was giving a good show.

Yet, for some reason, she sensed this man wouldn't hurt her, and she possessed unfailing and proven instincts with men—a priceless gift to have in La Marais.

In any case, if things played out badly, this wouldn't be the first time she'd kindly introduced her knee to a man's groin and her fist to his Adam's apple. He would be shocked at how dirty and fiercely this dainty mademoiselle could fight.

When he returned from securing the door, he stood before her, far too close to be polite. She had to crane her head up to face him. "As I told you before, sir, I'm not one of these women. I don't belong back here, nor should you be…collecting me as you did."

"And as I told you before, had you been a courtesan, I would no' have collected you at all. I know you're a lady. What I doona know is why you're at this masquerade."

I'm trying to forget that soon I'll have to return to hell….

She shook herself and answered, "I'm here with my friends. We're out for adventure." At least, the others were. She planned to pick pockets once the punch was flowing freely.

"And by 'adventure' you meanaffair ." His tone seemed to grow irritated. "A bored young wife looking for a bedmate?"

"Not at all. We're merely here to be scandalized so we'll have something to write in our little diaries." As if she could afford either the diary or the time to write.

"Is that why you allowed me to lead you back here? Because you thought I'd make good diary fodder?"

"I allowed you because it would have been fruitless to resist," she replied. "I've seen intent like yours before. Would anything have stopped you from taking me to one of these rooms?"

"No' a thing in the world," he said, catching her eyes.

"Precisely. So I decided that instead of being hauled over your shoulder and carried, I might as well follow you to a quiet spot so I could explain to you that I am not interested in this."

He stalked closer to her, forcing her back to a narrow table along the silk-papered wall. "My intent was no' only to get you alone, lass. And it has no' waned."