The woman led Maddy back to the dressing room. The space was large, with a silver tea service and a wine rack inside, made to cater to a woman's mother and sisters and friends, consulting on a new wardrobe or ball gowns for the latest season. Maddy felt a jab of disappointment at the thought that she would be alone.

She'd just undressed to her shift when MacCarrick strolled in. He sank back on a divan, relaxing his towering frame with a kind of lethal grace. He didn't appear discomfited in the least. "She can dress in front of me," he said, his tone bored as he opened his newspaper. "It's nothing I have no' seen before."

The shopkeepers shrugged, no doubt having seen this again and again.

Had this been anywhere but Paris, Maddy might have protested, but he'd just saved her from facing her despicable creditor. How could she deny MacCarrick anything?

The near encounter only reinforced her intention to stay with the Scot. She could put up with much never to see Toumard again—oh, and to be fantastically rich—even trying on clothes in front of MacCarrick.

But every time they pulled a gown above her head, her shift rode up, exposing her bottom to him—and her front as well in the four-way mirror. Just as embarrassing, she'd caught him frowning at her scar, and he even seemed to notice when others peered at it.

Over the next hour, she tried on day dresses and evening dresses, skirts and blouses, cloaks and gloves. A milliner was brought in to see to her hats and bonnets, and a shoemaker provided pair after pair of colored satin slippers and boots of a buttery soft kid leather.

She already had enough clothing for several days, but after MacCarrick and the modiste spoke outside, additional dresses were unexpectedly available to Maddy—appropriated from someone else's tailored wardrobe.

At first glance, these garments were hideous, but then she realized that, hidden under the weight of tasteless trimmings, the dresses were cut well, with a modern flair even, and made of expertly styled fabrics. As usual, some rich Parisians had gone overboard with the embellishments—but then, they'd probably wanted to demonstrate their wealth at every turn.

To make the gowns her own, Maddy simply directed the seamstresses to take them in and discard the abundant tassels, tufts of silk flowers, and fur pom-poms.

Once she'd selected everything but undergarments with nary a comment from MacCarrick, they stripped her down to her stockings and garters to try on lingerie.

She was as mortified as a provincial when she felt his eyes on her. She willed herself not to raise her hands for cover, sighing in relief each time they slid a nightgown over her.

MacCarrick was holding up a paper, but she knew he wasn't reading. He kept turning it aside until he set it down completely and leaned forward on the edge of the divan. His lids grew heavy, but his eyes were alert and flickering over her. She reminded herself that she could endure this scrutiny and more for all that MacCarrick was doing for her. Even being displayed in lingerie to his fancy.

Though he'd had no interest in the dresses, he voiced his opinions on the lingerie forcefully. "In the red one. I want to see her in the red," he demanded, his voice growing husky.

Maddy swallowed, stepping into a crimson gown with two lace-trimmed slits at the sides that climbed all the way to her hips. Even with these women in the room, she began to respond to his attention, her breasts feeling heavier every time he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the lace cups caressed her nipples, she pictured how his muscles had flexed under her fingers this morning. When she recalled how he'd explored her the night before…

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing out loud.

Ethan had never thought he'd enjoy shopping for a woman as much as this.

He was buying her far more than was necessary, but he was deriving too much pleasure from the process to stop himself. As he watched Madeleine dress and undress, into and out of wicked silks, he abandoned the pretense of reading the paper and used it only to conceal his raging erection.

Earlier, Madeleine had been nervously darting glances at him in the mirror. Now she held his gaze, her lips parting. Her nipples had hardened and her breaths were shallow.

Christ, she…wanted him. She'd seen every inch of him, and she'd bloody touched his scar, and yet she wanted him. Waspleading for him.

He nearly shuddered with pleasure. Her desire was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could imagine.

"Out," he abruptly ordered the women.

"Monsieur?"

"Take a midday break from the shop. Now." The look on his face silenced them, and they darted from the dressing room.

When the door shut behind them, Madeleine swallowed but said nothing.

"You know what I want, and you know better than to question me," he said as he neared her, removing his jacket. "I like that."

"I won't question you, even though I wonder if you'll appease your lust whenever you feel like it."

"Aye, with you I will. And it's no' onlymy lust that I plan to appease." He ran a hand into one of the high slits, then slipped his finger between her legs. When he felt her sex, a harsh sound broke from his chest. She was wet for him, slick and lush. "Seems you might needappeasement more than I do."

At that she shoved her legs closed, twisting out of his grasp.

"Doona close your legs to me," he growled.

"Then stop trying to embarrass me!"

"I was only stating fact."

Through gritted teeth, she said, "Make an effort not to."

"As your husband, I'll no' be denied, Madeleine."

"You're not my husband yet."

"If I were, would you let me take you in this room?"

"Yes, if that was what you desired." She'd surprised him, but she clearly meant it.

"I will be soon, so what's the difference? I want to be inside you. Now."

She shook her head firmly. "Not until we're wed."

"Then perhaps I should no' be buying you a new wardrobe as befits a wife, if I'm no' yet a husband?"

She stiffened, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm not a whore. Buy me the clothes or not, but don't expect sex in return. And don't confuse my desire for you—and for self-preservation—with desperation."

"And do you desire me?"

She put her chin up. "Yes. But I can still walk away."

"Ah,aingeal , it's too late for that…."

MacCarrick stalked around her, as if deciding what he wanted to touch or do first.

"You already know you need me for more than just money or clothes, do you no'?" He seemed angry with her, but she couldn't understand what she'd done to make him so. Finally he stopped in front of her, leaning in to press his mouth to her neck. As he brushed the straps from her shoulders, his rough palms made a delicious contrast to the silk. "Answer me."

"Yes," Maddy admitted. The garment whispered to the floor, leaving her in nothing but stockings and garters.

He nodded slowly. "Good lass," he said, then bent his dark head over her pale breasts. She watched in the mirror, glorying in the way this man seemed to crave kissing her there. His hands were huge, the palms callused, yet the manner in which he worked them over her body was adoring.

Her thoughts grew dim when he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. After suckling both tips until they were hard, swollen points, he stood fully and walked behind her. Cupping her leg behind her knee, he lifted her foot onto the low stool, spreading her legs in front of the mirror.

When she glanced away, he said, "Stay like this. I want to see you." Then he coaxed her to face the mirror as his jet eyes flickered over the reflection—possessively lingering on her breasts and between her thighs. Most wouldn't find his visage beautiful, but at that instant, he was the most irresistible man she'd ever beheld.