To Love a Stranger

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Send her in.” Christopher sat back in his chair and braced himself for the worst.

  The door opened and Madeline glided in, looking the part of a fashion diva and glaring at him as though ready to eat him alive. “Christopher.”

  “Madeline. Won’t you have a seat?”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  He nodded and reached for his drink again. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  She ignored the stupid question, but patiently crossed her arms and waited for him to stew in silence.

  He didn’t last longer than a few seconds. “I guess you want to talk about Russell.”

  “No. I want to talk to you about the stranger living under my roof, playing father to my impressionable children and…” She stopped and drew a deep breath to collect herself.

  Christopher guessed what she wanted to say. “I figured that’s how you found out.”

  In a blink of an eye her face turned to stone and she came close as humanly possible to breathing fire. “You figured that’s how I’d find out? You purposely sent a stranger to my bed? Are you out of your mind?”

  He worked his jaw, swallowed. “Maybe.”

  Madeline stared, shaking her head. “Why? Why would you lie?”

  Christopher’s eyes widened, incredulous. “Why do you think?” He finally stood from his chair, walked over to the window and gaze out at the skyline. “Look at him. He’s a perfect carbon copy of Russell. His face, his voice and even his laugh.” Tears raced down Christopher’s face. “I just wanted my brother back.”

  Madeline walked stealthily to the window, but paid no attention to the view. “That’s bull and you know it.”

  Christopher turned and locked gazes.

  “You wanted your damn company back. Announce to the world that your dearly departed brother has returned from the dead, reinstate our prenuptial agreement and convince Russell to divorce me and—what? Were you hoping the man would never get his memory back? Hope that he would live the rest of his days as your long-lost brother? What?”

  “You got it all wrong.”

  She stalked toward him. “You look me in the eyes and tell me none of this crossed your mind. Tell me you weren’t behind him telling me to stick the marriage out until after holidays and then we should look into getting a divorce!”

  Christopher opened his mouth, the denial seconds from falling off his tongue…but then he quickly closed his mouth and dropped his gaze.

  Madeline reared back a fist and threw her whole body into a punch across his jaw. Christopher’s head rocked to the side. This time his body turned to stone and anger blazed in his eyes. Yet, his hands stayed clenched at his sides.

  “Tell me, Saint Madeline. When did you discover he wasn’t Russell? Last night?”

  Madeline’s gaze faltered.

  “The night before?”

  She clenched and unclenched her jaw.

  “Tell me, what took you so long to confront me about this?”

  Madeline moved from the window, but Christopher stalked behind her. “You wanted him to be Russell every bit as much as I did. You want him to be your husband. You want him to be the father of your children.”

  She whirled toward him. “Only because he’s a better man than your brother ever dreamed of being.”

  “Face it. You just don’t want to lose him.”

  “What makes you think I’ll lose him?”

  Christopher’s lips sloped into an uneven line before he marched over to his desk and picked up a thick manila folder.

  Dread seeped into Madeline’s bones. She suddenly didn’t want to continue this argument—an argument it took her a week to prepare for. “What’s that?”

  “One guess.”

  She clutched her cane and hobbled backward toward the door, but Christopher reached her with lightening speed.

  “You want the truth?” He shoved the folder into her arms. “Well, here you go, my dear. Peruse at your leisure.”

  The folder felt heavy, too heavy, in her arms. She willed herself not to look down at it. “How did you get this?”

  Christopher laughed and walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. “Care to join me?”

  “Answer the question.”

  He took his time refreshing his drink and by the time he faced Madeline again, tears had worked their way up and blurred her vision.

  “Dr. Rountree took not only his blood samples, but fingerprints. I contacted a few friends, greased a few pockets and—voila.”

  “Fingerprints?” Madeline felt sick. “Please don’t tell me he some kind of criminal. This all hasn’t been some kind scam, has it?”

  Christopher took a hefty swallow of his drink. “No. As far as I can tell his memory loss is legit.” He watched as her shoulders slumped in relief, but then continued studying her while she warred with herself to read the information he’d given her. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Madeline couldn’t bring herself to answer. The folder was getting heavier by the second. This was her reward for not sticking to her mother’s creed of falling for money and not love. Love hurts a hell of a lot more.

  “I’m sorry, Madeline,” Christopher said, and actually managed to look genuine in his apology. “His name is Marcellus Cougar. Once Major Marcellus Cougar of the United States Army…and he has a family…and a wife.”

  The folder slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. “He’s married?”

  Chapter 22

  Madeline didn’t remember leaving Stone Cold Records, driving to the House of Madeline or even how long she’d been staring out of her office window. One thing for sure, she hadn’t mustered the courage to read Russell, or rather Marcellus’s file. At the moment, she kept waiting for Christopher’s words to stop ringing in her ear.

  “Maddie?” Lysandra poked her head inside the office. When Madeline turned from the window, Lysandra’s mouth dropped open. “My God. You look like…What’s wrong?” She entered the office and closed the door behind her.

  Madeline shook her head, prepared to lie through her teeth if need be, but one look at Lysandra’s concerned face and she broke down.

  In a flash, Lysandra enclosed her in her small embrace and, despite not knowing the problem, assured her cousin that everything was going to be all right.

  “It’s never gong to be all right,” Madeline sobbed, clutching her cousin tight. “Everything is a mess. What am I going to do? What am I going to tell the children?”

  “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Come over here and sit down.”

  Madeline allowed her cousin to lead her over to her desk.

  “Now. Tell me. What’s going on? What happened?”

  “Russell…I mean, Marcellus—he’s not him. He’s not mine. He can never be mine. I have to tell him. I have to let him go.”

  Lysandra knelt in front of Madeline, shaking her head. “Who? I don’t understand. What did this guy do?”

  Madeline turned and grabbed the folder. “It’s in here. I can’t make myself read it.” She shoved into Lysandra’s arms and then grabbed a few Kleenexes to mop her tears. “You read it. You tell me what it says.”

  Lysandra still struggled to understand Madeline’s babble, but she did glance down and read the name on the folder. “Marcellus Cougar.” Her gaze found Madeline’s again. “Who is he?”

  Madeline fought for control of her trembling lips. “He’s Russell.” When no bells and whistles went off, she continued. “The new Russell…the one who’s been living with me.”

  “You mean…Russell is not Russell?”

  Hearing the truth like that caused a fresh wave of tears to rush down Madeline’s face.

  “But I don’t understand.” Lysandra opened the folder and pored over the numerous pages. “Here’s a copy of a military ID, driver’s license, and…How did you get all this?”

  “Christopher,” Madeline said both angrily and wearily. “He’s known the whole time.”

  “What? Did you kill him?” />
  “No. Although, the thought did cross my mind.”

  “You want me to go kill him?”

  “Tempting, but no. I have a much bigger problem on my hands. Like telling the kids…and Marcellus.” She sighed. “Marcellus. It sort of suits him, don’t you think?”

  “Wait a minute? Christopher pulls an outrageous stunt like this and expects you to clean it up?”

  “He doesn’t want to give Russ—I mean, Marcellus—up. For him, it would be like losing his brother all over again.” Madeline dropped her gaze. “I don’t want to give him up, either.”

  Lysandra’s concern collapsed into pity. “Oh, Maddie.”

  Madeline returned to her cousin’s embrace and cried until the well ran dry.

  Russell spent the morning in Tiffany’s, searching for a wedding ring. When he first walked through the door, the saleswoman, Helen, presented one monstrous diamond after another. But he didn’t like any of them.

  “Something simple,” he finally told the woman. “Simple yet elegant.”

  “More like an antique design?” Helen suggested, seeming impressed and pleased that he wasn’t a man who just asked for the biggest diamond they had.

  “I want a ring that reflects the qualities I love about her. Her intelligence, the way she dotes on my children and the subtle ways she shows her love for me. Nothing flashy or over the top.”

  Helen sighed dreamily. “She must be one hell of a woman.”

  Russell smiled. “She is.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man of your stature blush before.”

  “That’s because the other men don’t have a woman like mine,” he said.

  Helen winked. “I think I have the perfect ring for you.”

  And the perfect ring she had. It was an antique Asscher-cut diamond and platinum ring. The diamond’s small table, high crown, deep pavilion and square culet gave it an almost octagonal appearance.

  “Asscher-cut diamonds were developed in the early 1900s by the Asscher Diamond Company in Amsterdam,” Helen went on to tell him. “They are extremely rare and desirable.”

  Russell’s smile bloomed. “I’ll take it.”

  Ten minutes later Russell headed back to his limo, feeling like the luckiest man on earth. He was already dreaming of ways to present the ring to Madeline: a fancy dinner, carriage ride through Central Park, or before a nice crackling fire.

  Just like Pamela.

  Russell stopped. Something ghosted around his memory or someone—a woman. He stood still in the middle of Fifth Avenue, the January wind freezing him to the bone.

  Dennis frowned while still holding open the limousine door. “Did you find what you needed, Mr. Stone?”

  Russell snapped out of his reverie, the ghost gone. He looked around the busy street, momentarily confused. His gaze searched the faces of the busy New Yorkers. None of them paid him any attention.

  “Mr. Stone?” Dennis asked.

  Russell didn’t answer.

  “Mayday! Mayday!”

  “Mr. Stone?”

  “What’s your position, Major Cougar?”

  “Mr. Stone?”

  “What’s your position?”

  Dennis approached, concerned etched in his features. “Mr. Stone, are you all right?”

  Russell touched the side of his head and felt the scar buried beneath his short-cropped hair.

  “Do you need me to take you to the hospital, Mr. Stone? You don’t look too good.”

  At long last, the men’s gazes connected.

  Russell blinked, shook his head and gave the young driver a reassuring smile. “Fine. Everything is fine.” He pounded Dennis on the back for good measure. “Why don’t we just go home?”

  “You’re not going into the office today?”

  “No. I, uh, I’m going to take the day off.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Russell walked over to the limo and slipped inside. The moment the door closed behind him, he slumped back against the leather interior and tried to recapture the voice and images from moments ago.

  Dennis slid behind the wheel and they melted back into traffic. Usually, the two engaged in friendly conversation during their drives, but after a couple of failed attempts, Dennis left his employer alone with his thoughts. However, he did keep watching him through his rearview mirror.

  After a few intense minutes of heavy concentration, Russell felt the tingling of another headache. He abandoned his efforts and turned toward the limo’s dark windows. The passing scenery calmed him, but then suddenly everything seemed wrong or rather something was missing.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “Sir?”

  Russell nodded to the massive construction site. “What are they working on?”

  “The World Trade Center Memorial. It looks like it’s coming along pretty good.”

  Something clicked inside Russell’s head. “The World Trade Center…9/11.”

  Dennis’s gaze snapped back to the mirror. “You remember the attacks, sir?”

  “Oh, my God,” Russell whispered.

  “Sir? Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Pull over, Dennis.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s a lot in here,” Lysandra said as she continued to pore over Marcellus Cougar’s file.

  Madeline snatched the last tissue from the box and returned to pacing the office. “All right. I can’t stand it anymore.” She marched over to her desk and plopped into her chair. “Just tell me what it says.” She jumped back up. “Wait, no. Don’t tell me.” She returned to pacing.

  Lysandra turned toward her cousin. “Look, Maddie. I know this has to be incredibly hard…but he’s not a puppy. You can’t keep him.”

  “Why not?” Madeline asked. “Just the three of us know the truth.”

  Lysandra cocked her head in weary sympathy. “Maddie.”

  “I know,” she whined. “It’s just that…he’s so perfect. The kids love him.”

  “And you love him.”

  “Yes, damn it. I love him. Why do you think I’m losing my mind here?” Madeline swore under breath. “It’s bad enough that I’ve know for over a week that he wasn’t my husband. Russell wished he was that good in bed. Quantity doesn’t mean quality.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Oh, Lysandra.” She sighed almost dreamily. “He’s attentive, eager to please and my God, he’s like the Energizer bunny.”

  Lysandra’s shoulders drooped. “Okay. Now I’m jealous.”

  “It never entered my mind that he had another wife somewhere.”

  Her cousin closed the folder. “You know what? I think you need to take this folder to Marcellus and you guys read it together.”

  “Then what? Watch him walk out the door?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Madeline’s lips trembled as fresh tears found their way to the surface.

  Lysandra stood, walked over to her and placed the folder in her hands. “Just make sure you get a kiss goodbye.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Madeline groaned. She and Lysandra spent most of the day telling employees they were not to be disturbed. So when Madeline rounded toward the door to give whoever it was a piece of her mind, she was not prepared to see Marcellus.

  Belatedly, she remembered to speak. “Oh, hi.”

  “Hello. Uh, Kate wasn’t at her desk so I thought it was okay to come on in.” He glanced over at Lysandra. “Is this a bad time?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Lysandra corrected. “I was just leaving.”

  Madeline’s gaze cut to her traitorous cousin, but Lysandra was smart enough not to look in her direction. Both Madeline and Marcellus watched her as she left the office.

  When they were finally alone, Marcellus turned to Madeline and took in her puffy, red eyes and disheveled appearance. “Is something wrong?” he asked, moving toward her.

  “No, well, I’m fine,” she sa
id, stepping back and sliding the folder behind her back. In order to think, she couldn’t stand too close to him. “What are you doing here?”

  For the first time, she noticed his drawn appearance, his troubled eyes.

  “Have you talked with Christopher?” she asked fearfully.

  “No. I didn’t make it into the office today.” He frowned. “Why?”

  “No reason,” she covered, and relaxed a little.

  “Madeline, we need to talk.”

  The seriousness of his tone quickened her heartbeat and she finally read the truth in his eyes.

  He knows.

  “I don’t know how to say this,” he began.

  “Then don’t,” she said without thinking. Her body showed no signs of running out of tears.

  “You know, don’t you?” he asked, strolling up to her.

  She nodded though her vision was completely blurred.

  “How…?”

  “The first time we made love. It was also when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was in love with you.”

  Tears glistened in Marcellus’s eyes. “I have to go.”

  “I know,” she croaked. Dropping the folder, Madeline completely broke down.

  Marcellus was at her side in a flash, pulling her into his strong embrace and whispering words of comfort. None of them worked.

  Just make sure you get a kiss goodbye.

  And that’s exactly what she did.

  Chapter 23

  Ariel cried for a week.

  Russ simply stopped talking.

  After two months of the media raking him over the coals, Christopher Stone woke the morning of March first and put a bullet through his head. Three days later, after the funeral, Tiffani inherited a small sum and the rest of Christopher’s estate was divided between Madeline and her children.

  “Hot damn,” Cecelia popped the cork off a bottle of champagne. “I never thought I’d be happy of the day you didn’t listen to me.” She quickly poured the gushing, bubbly into two flutes. “Just don’t go around making it a habit.”