Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Note to readers: this scene gets a little saucy ;) If you don't want to read kissing, you might prefer to skip ahead to the next installment. Thanks for reading!

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A week later, Madeleine thought she might emerge from the month-long run of the play with her reputation intact. There was not even a breath of suspicion that Madame Guerrier was not who she claimed to be. The ton was enthralled by the French actress, clamored to see her on stage, and never hinted at an alternative explanation for her identity.

The constant praise slowly alleviated the fear underscoring every performance. The aristocrats saw what they wanted to see, oblivious to the deception playing out under their collective noses - so oblivious that Madeleine began to wonder if she could maintain the deception forever.

She said as much to Ferguson as he escorted her into "her" house after yet another standing ovation and no hint of recognition from anyone. "Wouldn't it be lovely to always live like this?" she asked as Bristow took their coats, hats and gloves.

Ferguson stalked over to the solitary card on the console table and ripped it in half without opening it. "If Caro doesn't stop writing to you with dire warnings about my character, I don't know what I shall do."

"At least she's confining her warnings to Marguerite. She must know that the mistress is in danger where the spinster is not."

He paused in front of her, opened his mouth - then clamped it shut as though he had thought better of his statement. Finally, he said, "Do not doubt that my intentions toward you are honorable, Mad."

She had no idea what he meant. Did he simply mean that he would not touch her again? He had behaved like a proper gentleman over the past week, even though she wanted him to kiss her again. But as the nights progressed, he grew increasingly agitated, seeking her out at every ball, talking with her as long as he could in their secret house before sending her back to the Stauntons.

They had talked of all manner of things - books, art, the gossip he missed during his absence. And he listened too, as though her opinions were all he cared to know. She had even told him everything she felt when she was on stage, how the act of performing excited her in a way that nothing else in her life ever had.

But even though she loved their conversations, she thought Ferguson's interest had cooled. From what she had heard, a rake never talked to a woman when he could have her in his bed. She started to think that their first carriage ride, when he kissed her breathless, had been just a bit of fun to him - but his talk of "intentions" brought all those feelings rushing back.

She wanted to know what he meant, but he pulled her forward and they climbed the stairs in silence. If they succeeded in their masquerade, both of them would be free to return to their old lives. A discreet conclusion to her acting career should be her sole goal, particularly since any further liaison with Ferguson would be impossible.

In all their conversations, the one topic he never discussed was the future - and he avoided all mention of Scotland. After talking to his sisters, she'd wanted to ask him whether he was staying in London. But she had no claim over him, and she wouldn't risk revealing the feelings slowly growing in her heart. The thought of a lifetime without ever seeing Ferguson again saddened her more than she cared to admit. And when he inevitably left, she would lose her chance to experience everything Ferguson's touch had awakened in her.

It might be worse to know, to ache for those feelings for the rest of her life - but once their month together was over, she might never have the opportunity again.

So when he swung open the door to her chamber and released her arm, she reached out to him. "Won't you come in? I have heard it is all the rage for mistresses to allow men to watch their toilettes."