"Avail yourself of the carriage," he finally said in a dismissive tone, tossing cash on the bench between them.

At his words, she froze. This couldn't be happening. She'd guarded her virtue for years, defended it jealously, and then in a wild, reckless moment, she'd thrown it away on this animal, this oaf.

And received nothing but searing pain and humiliation in return.

Her vaunted instincts had served her ill.

He pounded his fist against the roof. When the carriage stopped, he turned to her slightly. "I'll be gone for a week or two. But afterward, I will return for you to decide what's to be done with you."

Her jaw slackened. "What's to be done with me?" How did he think to find her? She still wore her mask and hadn't revealed her name. And she would make sure she was long gone from London by the time he returned. The idea that she never had to see him again helped her temporarily stem her tears.

The count would've been a better lover than the Scot. He couldn't have been worse. She would run back to Le Daex eagerly—gratefully.

As if he read her mind, the Scot said, "And,aingeal , doona think of marrying anyone before then."

At that, he stepped out. Before he slammed the door, she could have sworn she heard him say, "Or I'll make you a widow."

As Ethan rode for home, his mind was a knot of conflicting ideas. All of them involving the girl.

He'd realized that by the time he finished with Grey, she could be married to the fiancé she had "waiting in the wings."

When asking himself why in the hell he cared—he'd always preferred married women—he could posit no credible answer. At least, none better than the fact that he wanted her at his complete disposal. If she were wed, she would be Ethan's onlyafter her husband had taken his due.

That was intolerable.

He reasoned that he felt possessive of her like this only because he had taken her virginity, claiming her as he had no other woman before. Tonight he had made her a woman, and on some primal level, he was proud that he had. Ethan didn't want another man enjoying her in between the times he did.

Yet there were only two ways he could have her exclusively—as his wife or his mistress. The former was impossible, and even that latter struck him as far too much of a commitment.

Let her fade into the past….Now was not the time to have his mind on a woman.

If Ethan wasn't cold and focused in the days to follow, he'd get himself killed.

Before Grey's affliction had twisted him, the man had possessed untouchable instincts. Even addicted to opium, Grey had been able to escape the suicide mission Edward Weyland had dispatched him on six months earlier—and from what they knew, Grey was still strong enough to exact revenge for it.

Ethan had assured Quin that Hugh could handle the threat at hand. Yet tonight, Hugh had seen Jane for the first time in years, and Ethan had noted with frustration that none of his brother's feelings for her had faded whatsoever—even after so much time had passed.

This couldn't go on. Once more, he would be forced to act….

Ethan knew his faults and reveled in them—he was selfish, callous, and coarse, and he killed easily; his only redeeming quality was that he would die for his brothers and wanted them to have some measure of happiness.

But for some reason both Hugh and Court had always wanted—needed—more. They were never satisfied to continue with less than other men could rightfully expect. It maddened Ethan to know how miserable they both were.

Just as he'd done years ago, Ethan was going to have to remind Hugh of why he couldn't have Jane, though he didn't relish the task—it would only drive a wedge deeper between him and his brother. Just as he'd done before, Ethan would use the book that shadowed his family.

When he arrived back at his home, Ethan strode directly to the study to reach theLeabhar nan Sùil-radharc , the Book of Fates. Long ago, a clan seer had predicted the fortunes of ten generations of MacCarricks and inscribed them in theLeabhar . The lines within foretold events that had all come to pass.

The tome was centuries old but well preserved, its cover producing an unearthly gleam. The only marking it had ever accepted was blood, on the last page—the one written to his father….

To the tenth Carrick:

Your lady fair shall bear you three dark sons.

Joy they bring you until they read this tome.

Words before their eyes cut your life's line young.

You die dread knowing cursed men they become,

shadowed to walk with death or walk alone.

Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate;

Your line to die for never seed shall take.

Death and torment to those caught in their wake…

The last two lines were concealed, covered with indelible blood.

Both of Ethan's brothers believed the foretelling, abiding by the warning in it. They lived their lives by the book, and Ethan encouraged that. But Ethan's relationship with it was more…complicated.

He knew there was power within the tome—it was palpable and the book was indestructible. And there was much evidence to support the predictions: Neither he nor his brothers had fathered a babe, they all walked with death in their professions, and of the two times any of them had thought to marry, one fiancée had perished and another nearly had.

Just as foretold, their beloved father, Leith, had died the very morning after his sons had read the lines.

Coincidence could explain some. An undivulged or unknown childhood illness could explain why none of the three brothers had ever been petitioned for support of a child or marriage—though they'd actually hoped for it years ago. In fact, Court had once speculated that this was why Ethan bedded so many women. Hell, maybe Court had been right—maybe Ethan had been trying to get a bairn on any one of them.

And to explain the death of Ethan's fiancée the night before their wedding?

If one believed the rumors circling him, Ethan had cornered her on the roof of Carrickliffe, his family seat, and then pushed her to her death….

Ethan didn't worship the book, taking it as his creed, because the three brothers were well and truly cursed on their own—so why bring theLeabhar into it? Ethan lived his life rationally, and a modicum of common sense said that, cursed or not, assassins and mercenaries andworse best not taint the innocent.

Then why in the hell was he even considering going for the lass tomorrow?

Did you ever think I just wanted you…?

Ethan lay in bed for hours until dawn, scowling at the ceiling as he replayed every minute of the night. That same inexplicable sense of urgency to see her continued to claw at him.

Part of him wanted to shove her from his mind, even as another part of him had wanted to storm Quin's house last night and take her away. Again the need toget her, to possess her, surged within him. He didn't understand it. He hungered for her as he never had for any woman before.

He remembered his lack of response to the comely prostitute displaying her breasts. However, if he recalled the lass's soft, wee ones beneath his palms he shot hard as wood. Yes, he'd just had her and the pleasure was fresh, but his reaction to her still made him uneasy.

What if she was the only one who could provoke him to that kind of lust? Even with the abrupt ending, taking her had been…mind-boggling. Just touching her trembling body…

What if he never experienced that fierce need again without her?

There were other questions surrounding the mysterious chit that he wanted answered. If she was untouched, then why hadn't she been shocked at the sights in the masquerade? And how in the hell had she known how to fondle him with such skill?