by Mary Campisi
Chapter 16
Douglas unclenched his fists and stepped back. Madeline thought Ethan was him! Dear God, how could she believe that? The man had not an ounce of self-control or logic and was more driven by his breeches and a pretty face than common sense and intellect. Of course, he did possess a fair amount of the latter in that addled brain—somewhere. Unfortunately, he had never been hard-pressed to search for it.
When Madeline stormed into the barn and announced his name, Douglas wished he really were this Simon Schilling chap. The man was simple, direct, and he had the delicious privilege of having enjoyed Madeline’s exquisite body with promises of more enjoyment on future occasions, beginning this afternoon.
“Thank you, Madame—” Ethan bowed with an exaggerated flourish “—how very thoughtful of you.” He selected a cookie and then, damn it, he hefted the glass of milk as well. Milk that belonged to Douglas. “I do apologize, but we have not been properly introduced. Douglas Fontaine at your service.” Another bow.
Madeline’s smile grew. “Lady Madeline Munrove, pleased to meet you.”
Damnation, the woman curtsied. She was merely bating the man with that smile, wasn’t she? Smiles like that were reserved for Douglas, or rather, Simon Schilling, oh damn it, for him—her pretend husband. Douglas cleared his throat. “She’s my wife.”
His wife hazarded a quick glance in his direction. “Yes,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Simon is my husband.”
Douglas hauled her against his hip and slung an arm about her shoulder. “Welcome to Lingionine, Mr. Fontaine.”
Ethan polished off his cookie and saluted him with the glass of milk. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Fontaine was just telling me dear he won’t be able to stay. Business in the city, didn’t you say, Fontaine?” Douglas shot Ethan a warning look before continuing, “Fortunately, you’ve had refreshment—” he pointed to the cookies and milk Ethan had snatched from the tray “—so you will be able to leave posthaste. Pressing matters and all that.”
Madeline’s brow furrowed and she wrangled out of Douglas’s grasp. “But you must stay. We do so love visitors, don’t we, Simon?”
What was the little witch up to now? “Oh, yes, we certainly do, but we shall endeavor to move past the crushing disappointment of your departure.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Well, I do not know what to say.”
“Say you will stay,” Madeline pleaded in a manner that did not suit Douglas. The woman was practically wailing with displeasure. Was she sincere or play-acting? Damn it, he could not tell and that disturbed him most.
“Dear, Mr. Fontaine must leave.” Now.
Madeline met his gaze and said in a voice he recognized as annoyed and condescending, “Dear, he must stay the night. And have supper with us. Roast pork, a fine medley of cauliflower and carrots, and potatoes with butter and a dash of Mrs. Fowler’s secret spices.” Her voice grew softer, her look harder. “In the morning, after a peaceful sleep and Mrs. Fowler’s scrumptious eggs with sausage and buttermilk biscuits, he may leave. Not. Until. Then.”
With that, she handed him the tray, curtsied to Ethan and said, “Welcome to Lingionine, Mr. Fontaine. Do make yourself at home.”
* * *
Neither men spoke until Madeline was well out of earshot which Douglas calculated at half the distance to the manor. When he was certain she could not possibly hear them speaking or shouting as he was tempted to do at this very moment, he turned on Ethan. “What the hell do you think you are about?”
“I was about to ask the same of you.”
That damnable grin stole across Ethan’s face and Douglas swore he would wipe it off. With a right hook. Or a left. Maybe a right and a left.
“She is quite comely,” Ethan said. “Have you noticed how her backside—”
“Enough.” Douglas glared at him. “Speak in that manner again, and I will break your nose. Then see how attractive the ladies find you.”
“I was merely making an observation. There’s no need to get all…unless…” His gaze narrowed. “You and she…you did not. Did you?”
Douglas clamped his mouth shut. What he and Madeline did and did not do was none of Ethan’s business and he would tell him so as soon as he had his wits about him. Ethan was a crafty one and able to deduce more than he let on, saying his nonchalance made others speak freely and—
Ethan ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Ah, Christ, man, what were you thinking?”
Damn, he knew. “Obviously, I wasn’t.”
“You, not calculating and analyzing?” He laughed. “Impossible.”
Douglas shrugged.
“What? No response? No sarcasm? Where is your wit? Hell, you act as though you…damn, you love her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Love is an abstract notion with no substance and less relevance.”
“If you say so, but I’ll bet a bottle of whisky you won’t be able to reason your way out of your feelings for her.” He bit into a sugar cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “Excellent cookies. She’ll make an exceptional wife.”
* * *
“He’s here?” Annabelle whispered, eyes darting toward the window as though she might leap from her seat and scurry to the dark corner of the room.
“Douglas Fontaine?” Sarah’s voice dipped in a mix of excitement and foreboding.
“The bugger.” Regina bound from her cross-legged position on the sofa and raced toward the window. “Where is the stuffed cravat?”
“Is he handsome?”
Had Sarah just asked about Douglas Fontaine’s physical appearance? As one would a suitor? For heaven’s sake, next she would compare the man’s similarities to her dear Lucien, deserter and spoiler of innocents. “I suppose some might call him handsome.” Though he did not have Simon’s rugged appeal. Or his eyes. Or his mouth.
“What does he look like?” Sarah’s words fell in a breathy drawl as she moved toward the window in a swish of cotton and anticipation. “Tall? Fair? Blue eyes?”
Otherwise, did he resemble Mr. Despoiler of Maidens? “Yes, to all.” Though he was not quite as tall as Simon and his eyes were friendlier. Speaking of friendly, Simon had not seemed at all pleased to make Mr. Fontaine’s acquaintance. As a matter of fact, he had acted quite surly about the whole affair. When he learned the reason for the man’s arrival, which she would divulge this evening when they were alone, he might well be inclined to punch Mr. Fontaine in the nose. Or call him out or some other foolish nonsense men were apt to do in these situations. Cunning and patience were needed and Madeline would employ both to secure the deed to Lingionine.
“Why don’t we just tie him up, strip off his clothes, and take the deed?”
Regina did so love the idea of rendering men helpless, but there was a time and place for such behavior, or at least she thought there might be as she recalled Simon stretched on his back last evening as she explored his body. This was definitely not it. “There will be no tying up or stripping of clothes. And Regina, you must wear a dress at supper this evening—” she paused “—and employ the use of a fork.”
“Gad!” Regina spat out. “The man is a pain in the arse already and I haven’t even spotted him yet.”
Sarah pressed her fingers against the windowpane and squinted. “I think I see him. Wait. Oh, drat, he stepped back into the stables.” She glanced at Regina and Madeline. “I’ll wager he is quite handsome. With dimples.”
“And I’ll wager he’s the Queen’s nephew,” Regina muttered. “If we can’t tie him up, can we at least threaten to do so?”
“I have a much better plan that if carried out to my specific direction, will bring us the deed. I shall require assistance from each of you.” She glanced at the chair where Annabelle had sat moments before but it was vacant. “Annabelle?” Where had the woman gone? A movement in the far corner of the room caught her attention.
Annabelle stepped from the shadows, hands clasped against her middle. “How can you be certain this man is who he sa
ys he is? And if he is a silver-tongued thief, how will four ladies stop him? Would it not be better to let Mr. Schilling handle him?”
“Absolutely not. We are capable of dealing with this ourselves.” Why did so many women think their very breath depended upon a man? It was unnerving and made women believe themselves incompetent.
Sarah took a second’s break from scouring for Mr. Fontaine to add her opinion. “Mr. Schilling would not be gentle with his questions or his handling.”
Agreed. Simon would no doubt insist on answers and if Douglas Fontaine refused, there would be a bloody nose and one or two broken bones. It did not bear thinking upon, not until Madeline possessed the deed to Lingionine. “Mr. Schilling is not part of our plan and will not be unless absolutely necessary. The same is true of Gregory, who shall remain ignorant to the true reason for our guest’s arrival. We, on the other hand, know exactly why the man is here which gives us an advantage.” She nodded and added, “Somewhat like a chess match, with us capturing the queen, the bishops and the rooks.”
Regina snorted from her perch at the window and added, “Leavin’ the king’s pants down so to speak.”
Madeline cleared her throat. “Yes, well, there is that.” Lacing Regina in a dress and placing a fork in her hand would not make her a lady, but they had to begin somewhere. “You must all pay close attention. Mr. Fontaine will dine with us this evening during which time we shall remain cordial yet vigilant. Annabelle, you will engage him in conversation and Sarah will follow your lead and join in.”
“But I do not want to talk to the man.” Annabelle retreated toward the shadows. “I’ve barely begun to speak with Mr. Schilling. Please. Do not make me converse with a stranger.”
This was not the time for Annabelle to go all mishy mushy. “Mr. Fontaine is a man of means who has just returned from London. You have lived amongst the ton and I’ll wager, traveled in like circles. You will be aware of the latest fashions and interests of his type, which will put him at ease. Sarah will follow your suit and join in while I observe and analyze his responses.”
“And me?” Regina swatted her braid between her hands like a horse’s tail. “What should I do?”
“You will concentrate on your utensils so as not to arouse suspicion. Once we retire to the library for tea and after dinner restoratives, you shall excuse yourself and head straightaway to Mr. Fontaine’s bedroom.”
“To hunt down the stolen deed.”
Madeline nodded. “You must search his belongings first and if you are unsuccessful, proceed to investigate the entire room. Beneath the mattress, behind the dressers, under the bed. The deed is a mere piece of paper that could be tucked away anywhere if one were bent on hiding it.”
Regina thumped her chest and announced, “If it’s in the bedroom, I’ll locate it.”
“And if it’s not?” Annabelle ventured forward with small steps. “If the deed is not in Mr. Fontaine’s bedroom? What will we do then?”
That’s where the plan grew a bit tricky. “Regina will notify me by a show of fingers. One means she located it. Two, she did not. ”
“And then we can tie him up and strip off his clothes,” Regina added with a snort of satisfaction as though she had known it would end this way all along.
“You cannot go about tying people up willy-nilly,” Annabelle said in a fit of frustration. “It is not civil and it is certainly not ladylike.”
Regina curtsied and pointed to her breeches. “I’m sorry your Highness, I was so trying to be a lady.”
Sarah stepped from the window and said, “We owe Madeline and it is our duty to help locate the deed. Mr. Fontaine may act the gentleman and may be more handsome than my very own Lucien, but he has committed a crime against our friend and we must help right it.” She settled her hands on her rounded belly and smiled at Madeline. “Tell us exactly what to do and we shall see it done.”
To that, Annabelle and Regina nodded.
“Well then.” Madeline eyed her cohorts. “In the event Regina is unable to locate the deed in Mr. Fontaine’s bedroom, we shall have no choice but to search his person.”
Annabelle looked truly aghast. “But how will we do that?”
Madeline gnawed her lower lip a moment and formulated a plan. “I shall occupy Mr. Schilling in one manner or another—” she squashed the image of a naked chest and well-muscled legs “—while Annabelle slips a drop or two of laudanum in Mr. Fontaine’s wine. Once he lapses into sleep, she will search him.”
“Me?” Annabelle squeaked, her face pinched white. “I cannot search the man. I simply cannot.”
“You can,” Madeline said, grasping Annabelle’s hand. “You were a married woman. It would be unseemly for Sarah or Regina to perform the task.” She ignored the fact that if Sarah had done less task performing she might not be in her current predicament.
“We’ll be right beside you,” Sarah assured her. “For support.”
Regina’s eyes lit up. “And if he makes one twitch, I’ll truss him like a turkey.”
“Very well then.” Annabelle nibbled her lip and nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 17
The minute he had a chance, which had better come sooner rather than later, Douglas would strangle Ethan. Or at the very least, punch him in the gut and blacken his eye. See if he walked about like a rooster amidst his hens. See if he studied Madeline with a keen interest that made Douglas want to blacken both eyes.
“Tell me, Lady Madeline, do you prefer the country to the city?”
He would punch the bastard’s mouth too so he couldn’t ask any more questions. Two quick jabs would split open his lip or break a tooth. See how pretty the women thought him then.
Did Madeline think Ethan handsome? Douglas forked a hunk of pork and stuffed it in his mouth. This whole charade had gone too far and he would see an end to it. Tonight. He chewed harder. Once he made love to Madeline and she lay all soft and languid in his arms, he would confess. Quietly. Quickly.
Of course that would not work. Damn, why did she have to be so blasted intelligent? And beautiful? He stuffed more pork in his mouth and avoided looking at her. It didn’t matter. He remembered the feel of her skin against his fingers, the taste of her mouth, the touch of her…
Titter, titter.
Douglas glanced up to find them all snickering. At him. Even Gregory had moved to the other side and paired with the captivating dinner guest. Oh, Ethan was a good pretender and just as soon as they were alone, Douglas would let him know what he thought of such pretending when it had to do with Madeline.
“Simon—” Madeline cast him a curious look “—are you all right?”
His mouth was too full of pork to answer so he merely nodded.
“I would say you’re fighting with that piece of pork as though the poor pig was still alive,” Ethan said. “I assure you, he is good and dead.”
Sarah and Regina tittered, even Annabelle’s lips twitched, which was a first. But it was Madeline who annoyed him most. She giggled. Since the very moment he laid eyes on her, he had never heard her giggle like a silly schoolgirl and yet, an hour with Ethan and she’d succumbed to his antics.
Douglas swallowed and downed a good deal of wine before speaking. “I assure you, Mr. Fontaine, I know the difference between a living animal—” his gaze slid to Ethan’s throat “—and a dead one.”
Ethan tapped his chin, a habit he employed when analyzing the truth behind words and actions utilizing techniques Douglas had taught him. The bastard was quite effective with his deductions and the gleam in his eye meant the sparring hadn’t even begun. Ethan was a worthy opponent and normally, Douglas welcomed the mental challenge. But not tonight. Not with Madeline present and so much at stake.
“Speaking of dead, London was abuzz with talk of some gent looking for a wife by way of a questionnaire.” Ethan toyed with his potatoes. “Not the usual beauty and grace nonsense either.” He met Douglas’s gaze and smiled. “The man wanted a wife of intelligence, logic, and common
sense.”
Gregory let out a whoop. “Maddie’s the only one who’s got all three.”
“Gregory! Hush.” Madeline cast him a stern look and blushed a becoming pink. Too becoming, actually, especially when the pink spread down her slender neck and settled on the swell of bosom above her—
“It’s true, Mr. Fontaine. Maddie’s got the logic and cunning of a man.”
Madeline cast her brother a reproving look. “Thank you very much. I have always aspired to be likened to a man.”
Gregory turned five shades of red and mumbled, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Douglas interjected before Madeline or Ethan could offer an opinion on the situation. “I know exactly what you mean, Gregory.” He met Madeline’s gaze. “Your sister is not one of those females who employ fainting as a means of negotiation. Nor does she depend upon her charms to persuade and cajole. She utilizes logic and fairness to formulate her opinions and her decisions. She is a fearless protector of the young and less fortunate. If she were a warrior she would lead her men into battle with purpose and—” he stopped. What had come over him? He’d been rambling like a lovesick idiot.
“You are a grand philosopher are you not?” Ethan had the damnable audacity to chuckle. “Are you a poet as well?”
“No, he’s a groom,” Gregory blurted out, beaming at Douglas.
“A groom. Imagine that.”
Gregory continued, unaware of Ethan’s barb. “He takes care of Matilda, she’s our cow, and Big Red, and the chickens, and anything else we ask him to do.”
Douglas spoke before Ethan could get his hands on that comment. “One’s station does not preclude or determine his level of intelligence.”
