Heiress Without a Cause (34 page)

“Lady Greville,” he said coolly.

“We should have consulted each other before the event,” Caro said, staring up at him and ignoring Madeleine. “If you were the Aeneas to my Dido, think what a stir we could have caused.”

Dido — the Carthaginian queen who stabbed herself in the heart after being abandoned by her Trojan lover. “You look very well, of course, but I have chosen a different consort.”

Caro cast a flickering glance at Madeleine, just enough to make it clear that the actress was socially beneath her. “I have little love for Salford’s ward, but it does seem callous of you to parade this actress chit in front of the ton when you’d have everyone believe that your engagement to Lady Madeleine is a love match.”

“You know how these things play,” he said, trying to sound bored. “Lady Madeleine could never attend an event such as this, and I’ve no intention of giving up all my entertainments.”

“Just the same as always, aren’t you?” Caro said. “You hold all the power, and it’s all directed to your own ends. If I thought you were capable of change, I could forgive you — but you are just as selfish as you were ten years ago.”

He didn’t respond. Any true defense risked betraying Madeleine’s secret. And he could see how his situation looked — most people would politely ignore that he had both a mistress and a fiancée, but not all of them would think highly of him for it.

“I truly am sorry for the manner in which I left England,” he said, settling for an apology over an attack. “But I cannot change what I did, nor can I change the consequences for either of us. Now if you would be so good as to excuse us, I must take Madame Guerrier home.”

Madeleine had stood silent beside him, maintaining the distant air of a courtesan who knows she is not welcome in the conversation but is too proud to look abashed. He snuck a glance at her profile, wondering what she thought, and was surprised to see some combination of pity and impatience. She didn’t think Ferguson was the villain Caro portrayed him as — but she also vaguely sympathized with the other woman, despite the difficulties Caro had caused them.

Caro glanced fleetingly in Madeleine’s direction again — then looked harder as she interpreted the emotions on Madeleine’s face. “Don’t you dare think to pity me, you little trollop,” Caro hissed. “He’ll turn you out onto the streets soon enough, and you’ll be spreading your legs for the closest protector you can find before the week is out.”

“Is that what you did when he left you, my lady?” Madeleine said. Her French accent suddenly became a lash. As Madeleine, she would never say such a thing — but here, Ferguson knew she would say whatever she pleased.

Ferguson cursed as Caro’s face turned red. “Ladies, this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion.” The ballroom was barely half full, but enough people still lingered to notice their argument. The last thing he wanted was for anyone’s attention to be drawn to Madeleine long enough to see beyond her costume.

“Since I’ve no intention of ever talking to your whore again, I should tell her now that she’s in for a disappointment if she thinks she’s going to stay in your affections.”

Madeleine tossed her head in a very Gallic gesture of annoyance. “Can we leave now,
monsieur
? The company is very dull tonight.”

Westbrook strode up to them, and his grey eyes were grim as he looked at Caro. “My dear, would you like for the duke to leave now? I thought he had more sense than to approach you.”

She looked uncomfortable, and some of her militant anger deflated. “It was the other way around, I’m afraid.”

“You swore to me you would not seek him out,” Westbrook said, his measured voice an odd contrast to the sudden look of fury on his face.

She shrugged, a small, helpless gesture that uncovered the vulnerability lurking beneath her hardened shell. “I’m sorry, Westbrook. But he cannot just walk through his charmed life as though he was entirely unscathed, when I almost lost everything! And to see him now, seducing not just one, but two French girls...”

She trailed off, looking at Madeleine again. Ferguson saw what she was thinking an instant before she realized it herself, and his arm was already reaching for Madeleine, pulling her into his embrace as though he could shelter her. “Oh, my God,” Caro breathed, really looking at Madeleine for the first time that evening. “You can’t possibly be...”

Her brown eyes were filled with shock. Ferguson felt the floor sink out from under him. Caro hated him and would not care to protect Madeleine — she was the very last person he would have chosen to uncover their secret. Madeleine went very still under his arm. She could see their doom too, and she froze beneath Caro’s gaze like a mouse before a hawk.

Ferguson thought briefly, instinctively, of escape, wondering if they could reach their carriage before the rumors spread outside and engulfed them. But he had promised Madeleine that they would do everything possible to stay in England. He didn’t see how they could, unless Caro could be bought off — but she was rich enough on her own, and too bitter to let such a secret go untold.

“Whatever you are thinking, you’re mistaken,” Ferguson said to Caro, hoping to draw her attention away from Madeleine before she fully determined what she was seeing.

Caro’s shock had turned to confusion, and then amazement. She turned to Westbrook as though seeking an ally. “Doesn’t the chit look remarkably like Lady M...?”

“Shh,” Westbrook hissed, grabbing Caro in a protective gesture of his own. “Do not say another word.”

They couldn’t leave, not without making a last attempt to salvage the situation. Ferguson checked his protective instincts, knowing he had to take Madeleine into the lion’s den.

“Shall we adjourn to your study, Westbrook?” Ferguson suggested, his voice as calm as if he was inviting them to a picnic.

The earl nodded, pulling Caro with him as he turned to lead the way. Ferguson felt Madeleine tremble under this arm, and he bent to whisper in her ear. “We aren’t running, Mad.”

He had to keep his promise — and the only way for them to stay in London was to settle the score with Caro once and for all.

Ferguson’s grip on her arm was uncompromising as he escorted her down the hall toward Westbrook’s study. On another night, Madeleine would have found him overprotective — but when that awful realization dawned in Caro’s eyes, Madeleine had been grateful for the support. She was still grateful, even though Caro no longer looked at them. The woman walked stiffly in front of them, and Westbrook bent down to whisper in her ear as he dragged her toward their meeting. She couldn’t hear the words, but the sibilants sounded harsh — Westbrook was not pleased.

Until their encounter with Caro, the ball had been a dream. She had reveled in it, flirting shamelessly with the man who would be her husband in a way that she could never do in public again — even though she fully intended to behave like that with him in private. But now, with Caro’s malice and Westbrook’s unclear loyalties, Madeleine felt the dream becoming a nightmare, one she couldn’t escape from even though she screamed at herself to wake up.

She may have been daring, may have even given Caro an uncharacteristically cruel retort, but this was not her kind of game. So she said softly to Ferguson, “However you wish to play this, I will follow your lead. Even if we must flee the ton.”

His hand closed tighter. There would be a bruise on her forearm in the morning if his tension didn’t leave him soon. “That’s not what you want, and so that’s not what we’ll do,” he said flatly. Then he looked down at her, loosening his hold as though awakening from a nightmare of his own. “But I am sorry, Mad. If I had known what the reputation I built ten years ago would cost me... I would have endured another decade with my father without complaint if I had known you waited for me at the end of it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She knew how much he had hated his father — knew how much it would have cost him to stay. She whispered back, “And if I had known about you, I could have survived any number of seasons as a spinster.”

It was true. It wasn’t that she regretted the theatre — but it was a substitute for all that her life had been missing, and the hole she had tried to fill was no longer there. As long as Ferguson was in her life, she didn’t need the applause of an audience to make her feel cherished.

Ferguson’s love was enough. And it finally made her believe that her life could be something special despite all the rules and constraints that society enforced.

Still, she was nervous as they reached Westbrook’s study. She had a moment outside the door to collect herself. Westbrook first had to oust a flustered shepherdess and a man dressed as King Henry VIII. The king claimed they were merely talking, even though the woman’s skirts had climbed to her waist and her rouge stained the man’s white ruff. They didn’t seem upset to be caught, though. The woman giggled as they swept past, and Madeleine heard them shut themselves into another room just down the hall. A year ago, she would have been shocked — but now, it just made her wish she and Ferguson could make a similar escape.

They entered the study and Westbrook sighed as he closed the door behind them. “These masquerades are a pain in the arse, but they do lead to some interesting gossip. I’d avoid the settee in the corner, though. My upholsterer is usually as happy about my parties afterward as my guests are in the moment.”

Madeleine wanted to laugh, but she kept quiet. As a courtesan, she might have said something ribald. As a lady, she would have frozen Westbrook for such frank talk. But at the moment, she was in a strange twilight realm where she was neither one nor the other. She was sure Caro knew who she was, equally sure no one else had recognized her, and so settled on silence as the easiest course.

Ferguson did not take the same tack. “Caro, this must end now,” he said firmly, firing his opening salvo before Madeleine finished settling herself into one of Westbrook’s comfortable, masculine chairs. “I was a wretch and I treated you abominably, but you know we never would have suited. There is no cause for you to ruin Madame Guerrier’s life in retaliation. Come after me if you must, but leave her alone.”

Caro sat across from Madeleine, at the other end of Westbrook’s desk; with Ferguson standing on one side of Westbrook’s desk and the earl seated behind the other, the four formed an uneasy quadrangle. Caro hadn’t looked at Ferguson during his speech. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Madeleine, roving up and down over her costume, hair, and face, as though everything she needed to know was there.

“How on earth you convinced Lady Madeleine to pretend to be your dead mistress is beyond me,” Caro said, turning her dark eyes toward Ferguson. “But if you would have her risk her entire reputation just to clear your name, you’ve changed not at all.”

Madeleine was too shocked to say anything. Caro thought she was pretending to be the actress? She had never thought that people would assume she was trying to protect Ferguson, although it made sense — it was much easier to believe she would take this risk, rather than guess that a well-born, properly behaved lady such as herself would have been playing the actress from the beginning.

Ferguson leaned against the closed door, looking menacing in his crown and cloak. “I would not risk Madeleine for my own ends, regardless of what you think of me.”

Caro laughed. “How can you say that, when she’s sitting right here? She’ll be ruined when people hear of it, whether you marry her or not. Unwed ladies cannot attend parties such as this, particularly behaving as wantonly as she did.”

Ferguson slammed his palms against the wood behind him. “No one will hear unless you tell them. And I will see you in hell before I let you spread tales about her.”

Westbrook stood behind his desk, his urbane humor replaced with something more sinister. “Duke or not, you will not threaten Lady Greville in my house.”

“And you will not abet her attempts to ruin my fiancée,” Ferguson snapped. Madeleine realized they would both use force if necessary — they were ranged against each other like opposing generals exchanging taunts before the battle commenced.

She clenched her fists in her lap. She had intended to stay quiet and let Ferguson defuse the situation — but he had just struck a match. “If we can all just speak calmly, surely we can come to an agreeable solution for everyone.”

All three of them glared at her, although Ferguson at least had the grace to seem contrite as soon as he realized what he had done. Caro, however, was already incandescent with anger. “I tried to warn you, Lady Madeleine. But if you are willing to marry a man who murdered his last mistress, and would go so far as to attend a party like this just to keep him safe from the executioner, then you’re as hopeless as he is. Of course, if I had been a dried-up spinster like you with a duke finally within my grasp, I would be just as desperate to keep him.”

Madeleine gasped, feeling that killing rage herself — she pitied the woman, but at the moment she wanted to slap her bitter mouth before it could spew any more insults. Ferguson took a step forward, but Westbrook reached Caro before the duke could. Placing a quelling hand on her shoulder, he said, “Ferguson isn’t a murderer, despite his other sins. I saw Madame Guerrier in her dressing room some weeks ago, and I would vow that she sits before us now. There must be more to Lady Madeleine than you are willing to credit, Caro.”

It was Caro’s turn to gasp. Madeleine thought Caro would finally realize the truth, but she wrested herself from Westbrook’s grip. “What were you doing in her dressing room?” she asked, turning in her chair to stare at Westbrook.

He smoothed his cuffs, a nonchalant gesture that failed to draw attention away from the tension in his voice. “If you recall, that night you told me I was free to seek pleasure elsewhere, since you had no intention of remaining faithful to me. I merely followed your suggestion after you abandoned me at the theatre.”

Caro turned a shocking shade of red. “Don’t tell me you slept with her!”

“And if I did? You would have every right to tell me not to if you accepted my proposal, but until then...”