Heiress Without a Cause (9 page)

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 wall, 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.

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.”

He wanted to kiss her then, to thread his fingers through that glorious brown hair, which had been freed of its wig only to be stuffed into a tight chignon. More, he wanted to make her see that his desire to help her was more than just chivalry.

But she was still an innocent. And if there was any hope of letting her walk away at the end of the month, he had to ensure she remained that way.

He escorted her out the door and handed her up into the waiting coach. Josephine’s husband Pierre would deliver her back to Salford House, and Josephine would sneak her in through the gardens. She was safe for the night.

She would be safe the following night as well. Her next performance was two nights away, giving him time to put their plans into motion. It also gave him time to consider his intentions toward her — and whether she might be willing to entertain those intentions.

He walked slowly back up the stairs to Ellie’s salon. Madeleine was like no other woman he had ever met, either in the ton or the demimonde, but her real identity meant that he could not seduce her as he wished. She was the type of woman one would have to marry, even if he suspected she could be just as passionate as a courtesan if partnered with the right man.

But he didn’t want to think of marriage now. Seeing Ellie again only reminded him of the price they had paid for a marriage gone bad. Their childhood was happy, until their mother died and took every ounce of their father’s heart with her.