Madeleine's Christmas Wish (9 page)

Madeleine twirled around, launching herself into Georges's arms. “It all makes sense now. How you knew about me, and the way you knew exactly what to do to get us here.” Her arms went around the back of his head, pulling it down and kissing him. “You are so brave. Why did you not tell me sooner?”

He cocked a glance at Armand, whose face had darkened again, and, unless Georges missed his guess, was about ready to pummel him. “My love. I think we should tell your brother we are married.”

“When?” Armand snapped.

Madeleine turned. “Before we left England. Georges would not accompany me unless we were wed first.”

“
England?
” Armand's brows shot up. “What the devil were you doing there?”

“We will tell you in a while,” Georges said, as he wrapped his arm around Madeleine's shoulders. “First we must enter the house.”

“
Bon.
” Armand extended his hand to Georges. “I apologize for thinking you would have behaved in a manner contrary to what our fathers always wanted.”

She glanced from Georges to her brother. “But I—”

He whispered, “He does not know what you intended.”

Her eyes widened. “You knew?”

“Yes.” He kissed her deeply this time. “I hoped to talk you out of it.”

“I don't know. I cannot leave until my family . . .”

“I understand. Will you trust me?”

She furrowed her forehead. She'd had so many burdens to bear alone. Would she allow him to take control now?

“Yes.”

“Then I think we should tell your family you are well and Armand is alive, and we should formulate a scheme to rid you of your problems.”

Coupe was a dead man.

 

 

The back of the house was already dark. If only she knew the time. Madeleine watched astounded as her husband picked the lock to the garden door. “Where did you learn to do that?”

The devil grinned. “I have many talents,
ma biche.
”

Well, a doe was better than the flea that her brother called her. Unfortunately the only one she could think of for him was a wolf. “I can see that,
mon loup
.”

“Quiet,” he said, placing his finger against her lips, “we do not wish to frighten anyone.”

Armand lit one of the candles, and they made it into the corridor. “Perhaps we should go to our rooms, and tell them we're here in the morning.”

Only her brother could think of something that stupid. They'd be lucky to make it to the stairs. A church bell rang out. “What day is this?”

Georges stilled. “Listen.”

Armand pinched the candle flame. The shuffling of feet could be heard. They pressed themselves against the wall as a maid holding a tray with small multicolored glasses and a lamp made her way into the morning room, opened the window, then lit three of the candles, leaving them outside on the window sill. The flickering of the flames illuminated the woven straw star hanging above it.

“
La Fête des Lumières
.”

“What?” Georges asked.

“You remember,” Madeleine whispered. “Maman is from Lyon. On December eighth they light candles in each window for the Holy Mother. That was why the house was dark.”

“That means we missed
la fête de Saint Nicolas.
” Her brother grumbled.

“What makes you think you'd receive any presents?” Madeleine said tartly. Then she softened her voice. “You've been gone so long, we'd given up hope.”

Armand started to respond, when Georges pushed him ahead. “Let's find a room.”

“My study should be safe by now.” Placing her hand on the wall, Madeleine led the way. As she suspected, candles had been set in each window. She surveyed the room. It was as if she'd never left. Even the decanter was full of wine. She poured a glass for herself and brandy for the men.

She sat next to Georges on the sofa. “We must discuss what we'll do next. It won't do to draw attention to the house by rousing everyone.”

His arm snaked around her. “We wait. Once the household has settled, you and I will go to your chamber and Armand to his. The morning will be soon enough to reveal ourselves.”

Madeleine glanced at her brother. “Armand, there is something you should know. Papa is dead.”

His head snapped back as if he'd been struck. He opened his mouth and shut it again, before whispering in a strained voice. “How?”

Madeleine told him.

They were silent for several moments, before Georges said, “It could have been Coupe.”

“The overseer?” Armand asked.

“We believe him to either be Le Coupe, a man known for his skill with a knife, or someone close to him.”

She worried her forefinger with her thumb. “But Papa's neck was broken. We saw the body.”

“It would have been too obvious,” Georges said, “to kill your father by cutting his throat.”

“
Mon Dieu!
” She dropped her head into her hands. “I left my family here with a murderer.”

Georges rubbed her back. “You had no choice, my love. Even though I believe the target was you, make no mistake, they would have taken your sister.”

Armand's eyes narrowed.

She debated not telling him, but he needed to know. By the end of the story, his face was mottled with rage.

“I have my own tale to tell. I was shot from behind after the truce was called.” Armand reached over to the side table and refilled his glass. “It took place when we were identifying the dead and taking the wounded to the doctors. An English soldier found me when one of the women robbing the bodies on the field heard me groan and was about to finish the job.” He stood and began to pace. “I was in the hospital for more than a month before I was finally deemed healthy enough to leave. I had no money to speak of, and my horse was gone. I made it to Carcassonne before collapsing.” He drained half his glass. “An old couple took me in and nursed me. I'd had an infected blister and almost lost my leg.” He gave a low harsh laugh.

Only then did Madeleine notice how gaunt his face was. She'd never seen him so thin. “It was a miracle you survived.”

He nodded. “I'd never prayed so hard in my life. It was months before I was able to walk again. When I left, I worked my way home doing anything I could for food and shelter.” Armand made a flourishing bow. “Which is the reason you missed me so much,
ma puce.
” He grinned at her before cutting a harsh look at Georges. “As I fell, I saw the man who shot me. Unfortunately his description would fit most Frenchmen, except for his eyes. They were like black stones.”

Madeleine sucked in a breath. “And empty. As if he had no soul?”

He nodded. “Yes, and he saw me as well.”

Georges had been silent while Armand told his story; now he turned to Madeleine. “I take it you've seen a man like that?”

She shuddered. “Monsieur Coupe.”

“We'll take care of him in the morning,” Georges said in a low, harsh tone.

Once they were sure everyone else in the household was in bed, the three of them made their way up the servants' staircase. As they had conversed, she'd made her decision. By sending Armand home, God had given her what she'd prayed for: a life with a husband and, hopefully, children. She loved Georges and never wanted to be without him. To-night she would give herself to him, and finally become his wife in truth.

Although she'd miss her family and France, her brother was the head of the family now. It was time for Madeleine and Georges to begin one of their own. Her mother had told her what to expect and she had no fear.

Madeleine took Georges's hand, leading him to her chamber.

M
ore lit candles, in colored-glass holders, stood on the sill of Madeleine's windows. Arrangements of greens and candles were on the fireplace mantel, as well as a shoe filled with sweets. No one had forgotten her on St. Nicholas's Day.

Georges wished he could light the candelabras scattered throughout the chamber. He found wood piled next to the fireplace, and built it up, nursing the small flame. Soon the chamber started to warm.

She turned her back to him. “Will you act as my maid?”

“Of course.” He unlaced her gown and stays, pushing them down over her hips. She bent to untie her garters. “Allow me.” Dropping to his knees, he placed one of her legs on a stool. Her scent invaded his senses as he untied the scrap of lace with his teeth, then trailed his tongue along her inner thigh.

Madeleine swayed, grabbing on to his shoulders.

“Now the other.” His voice was hoarse. Imagining what would come, he could barely speak. God had given him his miracle, and Georges intended to take full advantage of his gift.

Madeleine's breathing quickened, and she gripped him more tightly as he repeated the process, but this time he slowly rolled down her stockings, nipping the soft flesh behind her knee.

“You next,” she said, her voice a breathy command.

Georges hid his smile. “As you wish.”

He'd had years of experience enticing women, but this was different. Madeleine had seen his naked back, but he suspected this was the first time she would see a naked man with an erection, one that was growing larger by the moment.

He threw his jacket over a chair, followed by his cravat. She stared at him. Her beautiful breasts rose and fell rapidly as she licked her upper lip, then pulled the plump lower one between her teeth. He quickly divested himself of his shirt, boots, and socks. Placing a finger on the top left button of his falls, he caught her gaze. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He allowed his pantaloons to slip down and hang on his already engorged shaft, before removing them. “Madeleine, my only love, be mine.”

She sniffed and nodded again.

Georges picked her up, carefully placing her on the bed before following. “I love you.”

Her hands framed his face. “I love you too, and I've been so afraid this could never be.”

He cupped her cheeks, brushing away a solitary tear. “You have no more reason to fear. I will always be here for you.”

“Not now.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “But when I knew I was falling in love with you, and I had to let you go . . .”

When he touched her lips with his tongue she opened, eagerly tangling her tongue with his. “I would never have let you.”

“But you have to return to England, and if Armand had not returned . . .”

He pulled her shift over her head, discarding it on the floor, then took her left nipple in his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him in place. “I have my lands back.”

Madeleine jerked up. “How?”

“I'll tell you later.” Georges didn't want to talk, all he desired was her.

Nibbling and licking his way over her body, he finally reached her mons. She squirmed frantically. “No. Oh yes. Should we be doing this?”

“We can do anything we wish, we
are
married.”

Moving back up her body, he covered her mouth and inserted one finger into her sheath. Almost immediately, she convulsed around him.

“I feel as if there is more.” She gasped. “I want more.”

Georges rubbed his member against her mons. “I know.” God, he'd never taken a virgin. He prayed he wouldn't hurt her too much as he thrust into her then stopped. “My love. Are you all right?”

“I will be.” Madeleine had been told it would hurt the first time, but it wasn't as bad as she'd thought. He moved slowly, thrusting into her.
Ah that felt better
. The pain receded as something within her begged to be touched. With each thrust, Georges made her want more until she writhed under him, craving the bliss again. Then it happened. Her body tightened as if it were wound tightly like a clock, then sprung loose, releasing in cascading waves.

He groaned and shuddered, warmth filled her as she clasped him to her. Rolling off her, Georges pulled her on top of him.

Her chest tightened, as tears of joy gathered in her eyes. She'd never been so happy. Finally she would have everything she'd always dreamed of. Even now a child could be growing within her. “Georges, my love, my husband.”

“Madeleine, my wife.” She felt his lips curve into a smile against her cheek. “I've waited so long for you.”

“And I you.” Madeleine found his lips and kissed him. “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you, and at the same time I felt so guilty when I did.”

“There was no need.” He stroked her back. “I knew we would conquer any difficulties. You, my love, are a strong woman. There has never been another I wished to marry. We were always meant to be together.”

“And there was never another man for me.” She laid her head on his broad chest. “No matter where we . . .” She lifted her head from his chest. “You said you had your lands? No one I have heard of has got theirs back, and why didn't you tell me before?”

His hands cupped her face, as he took her in a searing kiss. One that spoke of love and possession. “Very few have had their loyalty to Louis rewarded. During the revolution and the war, I took care of my people, making sure they were safe and fed, and they allowed no squatters to take up residence. The British forced Louis's hand. Jamison gave me the documents when we were in London.” He kissed her again. “With everything going on, I even forgot to tell my mother about the estate.”

“I thought your mother and sister were to remain in England?”

“They are.” He pressed his lips to her hair. “As much as I hate to say it, Liliane is better off marrying an Englishman. She was born and raised in England, and most of the Frenchmen I trusted are dead.”

Except for one Frenchman, Madeleine mused. Armand needed a wife. Perhaps she could . . . Better to leave that for later. “I understand.” She cuddled closer to Georges. “How did Armand know the name you gave him?”

“I rescued a friend of his.”

They talked long into the night. He told her about his missions saving those loyal to the French king. When Georges paused a bit too long at times, she had a feeling that he skipped some parts, and she hadn't wanted to ask. His job must have been much more dangerous than he told her, but what did it matter? Many people did things during the revolution and the war they would not normally do. They had each other now, and she'd never let him go.

Christmas was the time for miracles. It had already given her Georges. Could the season give her family one or two more? They were a bit overdue.

 

 

Madeleine awoke to a woman screaming. She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. This is what she got for not closing the bed hangings last night. “Viole, stop screeching.”

“Mademoiselle, is it really you?” The maid crept toward the bed. “You're not a ghost come to haunt us?”

Madeleine pulled the covers up further. “I am not a ghost. Though I may haunt you if you don't bring water, coffee, and tea immediately.”

Viole pointed at the bed. “Who is that?”

“My husband. I'll explain later. First coffee and tea. Now!”

The maid ran out the door.

Georges chuckled. “I predict we will be invaded shortly. Would you like your nightgown?”

Madeleine raised her brows. “Do I have one? I remember my trunk being left behind.”

In one graceful moment he rose from the bed, opened his valise, and tossed a garment to her. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes.” She donned it before rising. “There, I look halfway presentable.”

His lazy gaze raked her from head to toe. “Other than the fact that you look like a well-loved woman, you are completely acceptable.”

He, however, was beautifully naked. “You might want to put something on as well.”

Georges pulled on his pantaloons and a shirt before donning his robe. “There, I'm respectable.”

Madeleine had never been so happy. She sauntered the few feet between them. “They will have to become used to my disheveled appearance.”

Georges's arms came around her. “Ah, you have quickly become used to being a wanton.”

“
Non.
” She lifted her lips to his. “To being your wife.”

Still ravishing her mouth, he walked her back to the bed.

The door slammed open. “
Madeleine!
”

Reluctantly she broke Georges's kiss and glanced over her shoulder. “Maman, I believe you know my husband, Georges.”

Her mother stood staring at him as if he were an apparition.

“The Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel? Georges?”

“
Oui,
madame.” He gave her a courtly bow, as his hand roamed over Madeleine's derrière.

Even as heat rose within her, she almost burst out laughing. If he didn't stop, they'd be making love with her mother there.

“Maman, give us time to dress, and we will meet you in the breakfast room.”

The minute the door closed, Madeleine went into whoops. “You are a wicked, wicked man.”

“Only with you, my love.”

Once they'd washed and dressed, she and Georges went to Armand's room, only to find him still asleep.

Madeleine yanked the covers off. “If you don't want Maman, Genevieve, and all the servants in here, you'd better get up.”

 

 

A half hour later, Madeleine, Georges, and Armand entered the breakfast room. Pandemonium ensued as her brother was greeted. Finally, they sat down to eat while Madeleine and Armand told their mother and sister what had been going on. When they were finished, Maman's lips formed a thin line, and Genevieve sobbed softly.

Something was wrong. “What is it?”

“After they took you away . . .” Maman paused for a few moments. “Monsieur Coupe began paying court to Genevieve. He said it was to protect our family.”

Armand half-rose from his chair, his attention directed at Genevieve. “Did he touch you?”

She shook her head. “He kissed me once. On the cheek.”

Maman bit her lip. “He demanded a wedding date, and I gave him one.”

“When?” Georges bit out.

“Next week.”

Madeleine placed her hand on Georges's arm. “Did you sign an agreement?”

Tears gathered in her mother's eyes as she nodded. “I didn't know what else to do.”

Coupe must have believed Armand was dead, and that she would never return. Madeleine tried to remember what Papa's will had stipulated. First the head of the family, then the king? That wasn't right. Louis would have used the marriage for political gain, and Papa knew it. “Give me a moment.”

She dashed to the study, opened the safe, removed the will, and read it as she strode back to the breakfast room. “The contract is not valid. Maman, you did not have the authority to sign it.”

Maman set her cup down and frowned. “If you and Armand were gone, who did?”

Madeleine grinned. “The Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel.”

She resumed her seat next to Georges.

Armand scowled. “When will Coupe come next?”

Genevieve wiped her eyes. “This afternoon.”

“Georges,” Armand said, standing. “I'd like to speak with you, alone.”

Georges knew that leaving Madeleine out of any discussion would be a mistake he might not recover from. “Let us retire to the study.” He stood, assisting Madeleine up as well.

When they got to the room, Armand balked. “It should be just the two of us.”

“Since your father died, Madeleine has been in charge. She remains, and she knows Coupe better than any of us as she had to deal with him for work.”

Her brother shrugged. “You have a point, but I think the easiest thing to do is take him to the tunnel and kill him.”

Armand always had been a hothead. Georges raised his brows. “And have half the town know he entered this house and never left?”

“We could approach him at the château,” Madeleine said softly.

He cocked his head. “What do you have in mind?”

“As we actually have no proof he did anything but use the opportunity for his own benefit . . .” Her lips pressed together. “We should confront him.”

“And kick him out of my house,” Armand growled. “Better yet, all the way back to wherever he came from. I'll order a cart to meet us there.”

Georges didn't think it would be that easy. If the man was Le Coupe, he would attempt to kill them all. “Madeleine, I would prefer you remain here.”

She shook her head. “
Non.
Even if he did not murder Papa, or try to kill Armand, he was forcing Genevieve to marry him. For that I will see him punished.”

Other than tie her up and hope the servants didn't release her, there wasn't much Georges could do to keep her here. She would be safer with him than following. “Very well. Do you know how to use a pistol?”

“Yes. I have one in my chamber.” She rose. “I'll fetch it now.”

All his weapons were in his valise. “I'll come with you. Armand, arm yourself.”

Georges held Madeleine's hand as they climbed the stairs. “How many servants are usually around the château?”

“This time of year, about ten. Mostly for outdoor maintenance and the stables. Once a week, the housekeeper takes the maids and they clean, but that is not to-day.” When they reached her room, she took a pistol from a hidden drawer in her desk. “What will you say to him?”

Georges secured two knives in his boots, and one in a sheath strapped to his leg. After donning his greatcoat, he placed pistols in each pocket. “I may not get a chance to do anything more than defend us. Please stay behind me and well away from the blackguard. If he is who I think he is and he gets his hands on you . . .”