Heiress Without a Cause

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."