Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER EIGHT

The heat of his kiss, the firm pressure of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, and the wildfire of fear from the encroaching footsteps threatened to burn her. She tried squirming away from him, but he kept her trapped against him. So she kicked his shin, and she felt him flinch as her foot made gratifying contact with bone.

But just as she thought he might let her go, she heard the door open behind her. The sound of those booted feet coming to a stop froze her in Ferguson's arms.

Holding her like she was a racing trophy, he looked over her head at whoever had entered behind them. "She's a feisty lass, isn't she?"

She tried to turn, but he draped his arms around her shoulders, a prison disguised as affection. Behind her, she heard a man drawl, "Indeed. I do hope you are prepared to give her up, though."

"Give her up? You are better acquainted with me than that, Westbrook."

Madeleine sucked in a breath. The earl of Westbrook's name was whispered in the ton - more often around her now that she was on the shelf - but he did not frequent the debutante-rich circles Madeleine moved in.

She turned around to face him. It was stupid, but they had never spoken, so the chance he would recognize her was small. Westbrook was quite handsome, in a sinister way, with a physique and complexion not yet devastated by drink. He had dark hair that swept back from his face, and grey eyes that would be lovely when warm - but now, as they stared uncompromisingly at Ferguson, they were cold and intimidating.

He was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And what he wanted now was Madeleine as his mistress.

She might have found it funny if her situation weren't so dire. Ferguson, however, was unamused. He took charge again, sitting in her dressing chair and pulling her down onto his lap. She landed with a muffled gasp, her legs falling astride his thigh, her back pressed to his chest, and his arms quite proprietarily encircling her waist.

He kissed the side of her neck, right over the vein, and she was surprised to discover how sensitive she was there. She arched her neck unconsciously, then realized that Westbrook, still watching from the doorway, would think she wanted more.

Westbrook's grey eyes glittered. Madeleine felt utterly out of her depth.

"Madame Guerrier, I assure you that you would be more secure under my protection," he said, with all the calm of a man conducting a business arrangement. "Ferguson - Rothwell now, I suppose - has been out of London for nearly a decade, and I doubt he will remain for any length of time. You should think about which of us is better placed to support you."

He sounded like he had negotiated with mistresses for years. There was a lot about the demimonde she did not know. But she suspected his argument would sway a high-flying courtesan.

Ferguson cut her off before she could answer. "How does the lovely Lady Greville feel about this?" he asked, his lips still grazing over Madeleine's throat.

The earl waved a hand and his onyx signet ring flashed in the candlelight. "Not that I should like to admit this, but it is the lady's decision to end our arrangement. If she no longer wants me in her bed, I see no reason to delay finding a new companion."

Ferguson's lips pulled away from her and she felt his arms tighten. "I do hope you are not leaving Caro out in the cold."

Westbrook laughed bitterly. "My dear Caroline can shift for herself better than any of us. But I forgot all about your connection with her - it was your precipitous flight from her bed that sent you off to Scotland in disgrace, was it not?"

Madeleine's head snapped up at that. Westbrook met her eyes. "I did not intend to offend you with this nonsense, Madame Guerrier," he said silkily. "But you should know what you are signing up for if you choose to align yourself with Rothwell."