Moreover, what could possibly have given her the impression that he'd be honorable enough to offer for her once she'd made her play?

And he wouldn't mind knowing why his shaft had been hard, miserably tight and throbbing, from the time he'd left her. He took it in his fist and stroked, but stopped directly, drawing his hand away with a hissed oath. Why should he spend in his hand—instead of inside her once more?

There was nothing to be done for it.

Ethan would make her his mistress.

With a resigned exhalation, he rose to wash and dress, determined to enter into some kind of arrangement with her this morning. As he set up to shave, he realized there were obstacles to this plan.

The first? If she truly hadn't been thinking to trap him, then she would be outraged by his accusation anddisinclined to accept him.

The second? He'd hurt her last night. Ethan recalled her responses, her exquisite body writhing beneath his, first in pleasure—but then in…agony.

Now that the haze of the night had faded, he comprehended that the pain he'd given her would have been substantial. She had asked him to go slowly, yet he hadn't taken the time to ready her. He'd been frenzied for release, stupid with lust. He'd taken her hard, rutting over her, when she'd been so delicate and fragile.

Damn it, he hadn't meant to hurt her, to make her…cry.

Women's tears did not affect him—this was simply a fact, a part of the coldheartedness others had seen in him since he was a teen. So why had seeing hers troubled him so much?

There'd been a brief moment when he might've promised heranything to get her to stop.

With practiced care, he grazed his razor past the jagged end of his scar. Another obstacle? Quin might actually care for the little witch. Or Ethan's superior, Edward Weyland, might step in. The girl's parents were probably shabby-genteel, land-rich and cash-

poor but still influential, if they were friends of the Weylands. Though none of them could force Ethan to wed her, they could bloody well irritate him on this subject.

Yet everyone had a price—she'd been hunting a rich husband for a reason—and Ethan had already ruined her. Perhaps there were debts weighing on her family, or maybe she had sisters who needed dowries. Ethan was prepared to pay a fortune to make her his mistress, to slake himself on her for a time, and get past her. All he wanted was to put her up in a house close by, somewhere convenient to his needs, and in return, he could make her family's problems go away.

He drew the razor across his face again, then stared into the mirror, regarding the greatest obstacle to his plan.

If I see the girl again, there will be no mask.For the first time in years, he studied his reflection. His scar was deep, stretching taut over the length of his right cheekbone, then twisting down the front of his cheek. Stitches had left uniform depressions at the edges. Every inch of the mark whitened starkly with any expression.

Brymer had done his job well.

That night, once Van Rowen had realized his mistake, he'd hurried to the stable and had grown sick at what Brymer had already done to Ethan. Dazed, Van Rowen had offered restitution or an exact reprisal to himself.

But Ethan had had bigger plans for him and his wife—and for Brymer. When freed, Ethan had just gritted his teeth against the pain and blindly lurched to his horse. Sheer will had gotten him off Van Rowen lands before he'd blacked out in a ditch for two days.

Just months later, before Ethan had been able to finalize his revenge, Van Rowen had provoked a drunken duel. He'd turned without drawing, dying in what was known as a "gentleman's suicide."

As for Sylvie, Ethan had rendered her penniless, leaving her to rot in a slum.

For some reason, Ethan had spared Tully. But his confrontation had left the man so shaken, Tully had promptly disappeared from the area and likely still lived in fear.

And Brymer? Ethan had gutted him—his scarred visage the last sight the bastard had seen on this earth….

Before he'd been cut, Ethan would have been a fitting match for the girl. Now she would probably laugh at his appearance. Hadn't she professed herself—what had she called it?—anaficionada of male beauty?

Ethan tried to smile, but he found it uncomfortable, the sight repulsive, even to himself. Hating the Van Rowens anew, he threw down the straight razor, sending it clattering into the basin.

An hour later, after having run into Hugh—and engaging in yet another brotherly row—Ethan made his way to Quin's. This morning, Ethan was more acutely aware of how people on the street stared at him. In return, he gave them his most menacing glower.

When he reached Quin's home, he found himself anxious. Hell, the girl would likely spurn him for his behavior last night anyway. He supposed it didn't matter as long as he got this settled with her, for good or ill.

Quin scowled when Ethan strode uninvited and unannounced into his study. "Excellent, another MacCarrick to deal with. Already this morning, I've had to haul your brother away from a fight with another man over Jane."

"I saw Hugh just a short while ago—he dinna tell me there was a fight."So much for loving her secretly from afar, Hugh.

"In reality, I wouldn't so much call it afight —that would imply two contenders," Quin amended. "Needless to say, after witnessing Hugh in a rage like that, Jane's reluctant to be near him, much less to go into hiding with him."

Going into hiding.And that had been the subject of the brothers' dispute. Hugh had actually agreed to take Jane out of the city—just the two of them.Disaster awaits….

"What are you doing here?" Quin asked. "I thought you were going after Grey."

"I combed his haunts last night. I doona believe he's made London from the Continent yet."

"Then what do you want?"

"To talk to the lass staying with your sisters."

"Madeleine? Is this about Grey? How could she know anything?"

Madeleine. Ethan liked the name. But then he frowned as some memory tugged at his consciousness. "This is no' about Grey. It's…personal."

"What in the hell could you have to say to her? How do you even know her?"

"I met her last night, at the masquerade."

"I wondered what had spooked her!" Quin rose and paced to the window. "I should have known only one man in London could terrorize the poor girl like that."

"Terrorize? Oh, aye, such a sweet, innocent girl. Did you know she's been trying to trap you into marriage?"

Quin turned back. "I might have suspected something when she told me she'd dreamed of being my wife since she was a girl and then asked me if I would ever consider marrying her. So devious—how does she sleep nights?"

Dreamed of marrying Quin.Ethan ground his teeth, suddenly needing to pummel Quin's unscarred face.

"Here's the thing, MacCarrick. I did consider it. She's secretive, occasionally dishonest, and inordinately concerned with money, but she's also kind and winsome and intelligent. Any man would be proud to call her his wife."

"Then why did you no' keep her?"

"Youknow why." Quin's role in the Network required him to seduce women, often traveling the world to do it. "Besides, she has a proposal in hand," Quin said as he returned to his desk. "She's going to accept him directly."

The hell she was. "Who?"

"You don't expect me to tell you that?"

"You know I can have that information in a day." Ethan's job wasn't only to deal the blows that no one else wanted to deal. He also brokered information.

"Why are you so bloody interested in her? She's a lady and a virgin, not your usual fare of jaded whore."

"Do youwant me to hit you?"

"Just stay the hell away from her, MacCarrick. I don't know what dire thing happened at the masquerade—she refused to talk about it even to Claudia—but when I saw her this morning, she looked as if she'd cried all night."