Heiress Without a Cause Read online

  “You either accept my protection, or I will take you to the Stauntons right now and demand they send you away.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would really tell Alex? He will kill you when he finds out your role in this.”

  Ferguson shrugged. “If I died, at least I would be rid of this bloody title. And anyway, I think you would rather accept my help. The Stauntons would smother you in their attempts to protect your reputation, but I’m not ready to give up on you just yet.”

  His voice dropped into a caress on that last line, and she felt a brief, peculiar flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with the bindings around her breasts. The man was insane, and if they were caught it would be the scandal of the decade — but if she had been found out as an actress, it would have been a scandal anyway. The consequences would be the same in any case.

  But with Ferguson on her side, she felt a flash of hope that she might emerge unscathed from her month at the theatre, despite the overwhelming odds. It was strange to have a partner in this. Amelia and Prudence were the closest things she had to partners, but even they had voiced reservations about her scheme. Ferguson, however, seemed convinced they could pull through — and his belief gave her hope.

  She relaxed slightly into the seat. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “My sister’s house, if she’ll have us,” he said. “It was the only place I could think to take you. I sent Josephine back to Salford House so that no one would recognize her, and her husband will retrieve you when the servants are all asleep and it is safe for you to sneak back in.”

  Somehow she had forgotten about servants, even though they were often quicker to know of the latest gossip than their masters were. “And your coachman?”

  “A bit belated to ask — but you can trust him as well. He came with me from the Ferguson clan, and he does not gossip with the English servants.”

  Madeleine left her questions at that. The more important question of what it meant to masquerade as his mistress — and how far that masquerade would go — she left unvoiced. It was too mortifying. Better to brazen it out when he broached the subject. Until then, she would pretend she was on the way to a late supper party, or a musicale, or even a boring evening at Court — anywhere but in a private coach with Ferguson, destined for the home of one of the most notorious hostesses in London.

  The carriage finally came to a halt. With the shades drawn, she had not known where they were, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether to be relieved or worried that they had arrived at their destination. She felt the coach sway as the driver leapt down from the box. The door swung outward and the man pulled down the steps.

  Ferguson exited first, then turned and offered her his hand. In her breeches, sliding out of the coach was trivial — a welcome change from the challenges of exiting a coach in full ball regalia without snagging oneself on the doorframe or ruining one’s slippers in the mud.

  She looked up at the massive townhouse in front of her. It dominated its section of Portman Square, a four-story behemoth nearly twice as large as its nearest neighbor. The surrounding houses were owned by other illustrious members of the ton, including a duke, an earl, and several baronets — all of whom were no doubt appalled by the comings and goings at the Folkestone residence.

  A footman opened the door, retreating unseen behind it. The butler was framed by the opening, his unexpectedly young, handsome face illuminated by the sconces on either side of the door. Madeleine eyed the butler and felt another wave of trepidation mixed with curiosity. One of the rumors about the marchioness was that she trawled the theatres looking for the most handsome men and women to serve her, for reasons that no one knew but herself. Madeleine had never believed the rumors, but the butler’s looks made her wonder.

  Ferguson leaned down to murmur in her ear. “I know Ellie isn’t quite the thing in your circles, but she always had a kind heart. I think you will suit each other quite well if you are willing to chance it.”

  “I am hardly in a position to cut anyone, let alone someone who may be willing to help me.”

  He placed his hand on the small of her back and they walked up the steps to the door. The butler bowed to them. “The marchioness is waiting for you in her private salon, your grace.”

  He led them up the staircase to the hall above. The Folkestone house rivaled some of the grandest buildings in London, redolent with the scent of perfume, dozens of beeswax candles, and lavish bouquets of hothouse flowers. Madeleine imagined an Eastern harem might smell similarly — this was a house dominated by its mistress.

  The butler opened an oak door near the end of the hall. “His grace the duke of Rothwell and Madame Guerrier,” he said, knowing who Madeleine was supposed to be even though her name had not been mentioned.

  A woman lounged on a divan in the center of the room, the book in her hand and the serious expression on her face at odds with her daring gown and opulent surroundings. With her dark red hair and striking blue eyes, she clearly shared a mother with Ferguson. She rose from her seat as they were announced and her gorgeous gold gown shimmered around her as she walked toward them. There was such an allure about the way the silk flowed around her legs that Madeleine felt very plain and insignificant in her men’s garb.

  The woman was taller than Madeleine, even with Madeleine’s high-heeled shoes. She also had a larger bosom and smaller waist — combined with her self-assurance, she was everything Madeleine should have hated. But despite the fact that hosting an actress was a clear impropriety, the woman’s dramatic blue eyes were so filled with wry concern that Madeleine couldn’t help but smile as she was introduced.

  “My dear Madame Guerrier,” the marchioness exclaimed, taking her hands and kissing her on the cheek. “Word of your talent is spreading through both my staff and the ton like a wildfire.”

  “Or a plague,” Ferguson muttered.

  “You mustn’t mind my brother — I don’t,” she said with a laugh. “Now that I’ve seen you, I know why he claimed you so quickly, even if I am in the dark as to why you are here. I did not think my reputation was so far gone that I could entertain my brother’s mistress.” She sounded amused as she said this, even though nearly every other woman in the ton would have had hysterics at the thought.

  “About that, Ellie,” Ferguson said. “We need to talk about why I was so desperate that I brought her here.”

  “I think we need to talk about the fact that I haven’t seen you in ten years and that you did not even attend my wedding, but I suppose we can begin with Madame Guerrier.”

  She was so pleasant, so cheerful that Madeleine could barely believe she had heard correctly. How could Lady Folkestone act so nice when Ferguson’s absence had been so absolute? But before Ferguson could respond, the marchioness glanced to the door where the butler still hovered.

  “Ashby, be a dear and have some tea sent up?”

  The butler nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Madeleine wondered what kind of establishment she had entered — she had never seen such a handsome butler, nor heard the mistress of the house address one so fondly.

  “You will have to forgive the lack of refreshments with the tea,” she said, gesturing them toward the seating area in the middle of the room. “I was just on my way out when I received Ferguson’s note, and my chef has the evening off.”

  “I am so pleased that you read it,” Ferguson said, a banal statement noteworthy only for how very expressionless his voice was.

  “And I am so pleased that you chose to call,” she retorted. “And now that we are all so pleased, please do be seated, Madame Guerrier.”

  Madeleine perched in one of the two armchairs flanking the divan, not trusting Ferguson enough to take a place on the settee where he might join her. A fire burned brightly in the grate between two tall windows, and the flames threw shadows on the elaborate chinoiserie screen and tall Oriental urns. A table with a lacquered writing box stood in the corner, below a painted scene of a Chinese dragon. On the other wa
ll, a large gilt-framed mirror reflected the room and its occupants. It was a luxurious room, but smaller and more intimate than the hall — likely not where the marchioness accepted casual callers.

  “This is a lovely salon, my lady,” Madeleine said, careful not to lose her French accent.

  Ellie nodded her thanks. “The current marquess is enamored with the Orient. Maybe he will find this to his liking if he ever returns.”

  Ferguson waited for his sister to take her place on the divan, then sat down in the armchair across from Madeleine. “You will have the devil to pay if he does come home — where in the world did you unearth that butler? It’s unseemly.”

  “Well, doesn’t someone sound like our dear father tonight?” Ellie said. Ferguson flushed, but didn’t apologize. “And besides, the current Folkestone is not my husband. If he comes back, I’ll pack up Ashby and the rest and move elsewhere.”

  “You can always come to Scotland. Our clan would be thrilled to have you.”

  Ellie sighed. “Can we leave our endless family drama for another time? I was supposed to be playing whist with the delicious Lord Norbury and his cronies tonight, and instead I am hosting you. What do you want, Ferguson?”

  Madeleine saw him clench his jaw. “Ellie, I know this is deuced awkward. I should have called on you when I first arrived, but I did not know what to say to make up for not being here for you.”

  This time, Ellie’s voice betrayed her. “There is absolutely nothing you can say,” she said, sounding frozen.

  “Quite. But you are still the only person in London I trust. And I know that as much as you might hate me — and rightly so — you are still best positioned to help my actress friend.”

  Ellie turned an appraising eye to Madeleine. “From what the servants tell me, she hardly needs assistance. Her debut has set the theatrical world alight. Even I can hardly make her more well-known.”

  Ferguson glanced at Madeleine too. Before she could stop him, he said, “The problem is that she is not Madame Guerrier. She is Lady Madeleine Vaillant, and she is at serious risk of being discovered.”

  Ellie looked at her sharply, as though she could peel away Madeleine’s disguise with a glance. The silence turned awkward. Madeleine would have kicked Ferguson for sharing her secret if he were not seated so far away.

  Finally, Ellie nodded slowly. “Lady Madeleine, your talent is even greater than I have heard. I would never have thought Madame Guerrier was of such noble birth, or that my sisters’ proper chaperone would be so daring.”

  “Did the twins tell you about Madeleine?” Ferguson asked.

  “I haven’t seen the twins since Father’s funeral,” Ellie said. “But I heard you approached Lady Madeleine with the request, no doubt because I cannot chaperone them.”

  She didn’t sound upset — but other than that one bleak moment, Ellie hadn’t divulged any emotion other than amusement. Madeleine unexpectedly sympathized with her, but her own predicament outweighed her concern. “No offense meant, Lady Folkestone, but I did not intend to share this with you. It must remain a secret if I am to avoid ruin.”

  “Please, call me Ellie — we are surely already familiar enough for that,” she said with a little laugh. “You needn’t fear that anyone in this house will divulge your secret. My servants are known for their discretion even more than for their physiques.”

  Ashby returned with a footman pushing a teacart. The conversation halted as Ellie unlocked her tea caddy and measured leaves into the beautiful silver teapot. She filled it with hot water from the urn, then occupied herself with cups, cream and sugar.

  When the servants were gone and the tea was handed around, Ellie said, “Now, Ferguson, tell me why the two of you are here and how you want my assistance. I won’t betray your confidence, but I still have not decided whether to help you or toss you out on your ear.”

  Ferguson explained what happened at the theatre — Madeleine’s would-be suitors, his actions to secure her, and their eventual escape. “This was the only place I could think to take her. I cannot take her to the townhouse with Aunt Sophronia and the twins in residence, and she cannot return to Salford House like this.”

  Ellie sighed. “I do hope you both know what you are about — this will not be a garden-variety bit of mischief if you are discovered.”

  “From what I hear in Scotland, you are no longer one to steer away from scandal yourself,” Ferguson said.

  Her blue eyes darkened. “I am a widow. It is different than being a debutante.”

  Madeleine had heard all the rumors about Lady Folkestone. Madeleine and Amelia would have debuted the same year as Ellie, but Amelia’s father died that spring and sent them into full mourning. Ellie had made a glamorous match, culminating in a June wedding to the marquess of Folkestone. Some gossips claimed that she loved someone else, but if that was true, she had forgotten him by the time she walked down the aisle. Everyone said that her smile as she said her vows was absolutely radiant.

  Then the marquess died three days later in the arms of an opera dancer. And if Ellie had been pleased to marry him, she was more than happy to bury him.

  She mourned him for an eyebrow-raising four weeks, and then set about becoming the most high-flying widow in London. Since the marquess’s cousin and heir had left for the Orient just before the wedding and stayed there, Ellie was free to do whatever she desired.

  And right now, it appeared that she desired to help Madeleine. “My dear, you are indeed lucky that my infernal brother brought you here. If anyone can help you navigate the ton and the demimonde with your reputation mostly intact, it is I.”

  Madeleine noticed the “mostly” that qualified Ellie’s offer, but the risks were too high to hope that she might remain spotless.

  “What do you propose we do?” she asked.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ferguson thought it was a mad plan — but if all went well, it wasn’t any madder than Madeleine’s decision to become an actress in the first place. Her onstage disguise would keep anyone from guessing who she was, and setting her up as his mistress would keep others from pursuing her.

  In fact, as he followed her down the back stairs of Ellie’s townhouse, he knew that the only real danger Madeleine faced was him.

  She seemed completely oblivious to that aspect of their masquerade. She looked like the perfect spinster the ton knew, wearing one of Ellie’s most demure gowns for her quick journey back to Salford House. He watched her hips sway under the white muslin, more obscured and therefore more tantalizing than the revealing breeches she wore on stage. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced back up at him, her green eyes brimming with laughter, he nearly groaned.

  Perhaps he was the one in danger, not she. Whether she was dressed as his sisters’ chaperone or his supposed mistress, she had the same effect on him.

  It was not a connection he would be able to discard lightly when both arrangements ended.

  But she wasn’t thinking of the future. Her eyes only held the pleasure of the present. “If I knew that becoming a mistress would win me a house of my own, I should have done this ages ago.”

  Ellie had suggested that Ferguson rent a house for Madame Guerrier so Madeleine would have someplace to return to. With a house of her own, no one could follow her coach to the Stauntons’ as he had. He suspected his sister took malicious pleasure in suggesting a variety of expensive options to make their arrangement look more believable, but in this instance, he agreed with her.

  Still, he had to warn Madeleine that this was not just a lark. He caught up to her and took her arm. “You would not want to be a mistress, Mad.”

  She tilted her head, considering. “There is something appealing about one’s own house — and I must say I love the stage.”

  “You cannot have the house without the man who provides it,” he said, stepping closer until she was boxed in against the wall of the small passage.

  “Perhaps that would not be so bad either.” But her voice betrayed her, and he
heard the tremor of nerves. She wasn’t nearly as provocative as she wanted to seem.

  He tilted her chin up with his hand, a demanding gesture to prove his point. “Would you really want to trade your body for a house? Take a man into your bed so you can eat?”

  She clamped her lips in a rebellious line.

  “I do not think you would like that lifestyle, Lady Madeleine,” he said, running a finger down her cheek. “You’re destined for a proper marriage, not a string of protectors.”

  She finally looked away from him. He knew she recognized the truth of his statement, even if she was too stubborn to admit it. “Surely my carriage is waiting outside, your grace.”

  He heard the derision in her voice when she said “your grace,” and he found himself aching to prove his point. “If you were really my mistress, Mad, you would only go when I said you may. The life of a mistress isn’t nearly as free as you seem to think it is. In fact, if I wanted to take you up against this wall like a common streetwalker, there would be no other choice for you.”

  He wanted to shock her, and he succeeded. Her mouth formed a small “o” of surprise at his harsh tone, and seeing those moist, parted lips made him think of something else his mistress might do if he desired.

  But he had not shocked her in the way he expected. “Is that really possible? Prudence and I saw an engraving once that made it seem so, but we could not fathom how it would work.”

  The woman was a menace. But her curiosity — and the slight tinge of pink as she realized what she had just asked — took the edge off his anger. “It is possible, minx,” he said, “but not something we should discuss if you want to go home tonight.”

  Madeleine stopped smiling. “All humor aside, Ferguson, I hope you know how much it means that you are willing to help me. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have an ally.”

  “If there is anything I can do to protect you, I will do it — and would have done it for your own sake, not just because you are now linked to my sisters.”