by Sara Ramsey
“They would have a use for you if they knew you weren’t a murderer,” Ellie said urgently, refusing to back down even though he tried to give her his most quelling look. “If Marguerite would only return...”
She trailed off, mindful of the servants, and gave a sidelong glance at the twins. They were barely breathing, as though hoping to be taken into their older siblings’ confidences but expecting to be sent off at any moment.
Then Ellie whispered, “I have an idea, if you would consider it?”
She held her breath too, but he saw no hope in her eyes — she steeled herself against the likelihood that he would choose to carry on without them.
He stared at the door above her head and remembered walking out of it in disgrace ten years earlier. It hadn’t felt like disgrace, of course — it had felt like freedom. He actually whistled as he walked toward the carriage waiting to carry him to Scotland — a merry drinking tune that would have given his father fits if the old man had bothered to see him off.
But freedom wasn’t all he imagined it to be. And if the twins would be out of place in Scotland, how would Madeleine — the real Madeleine, the lively, laughing temptress beneath her prim society façade — manage to survive the boredom?
He sighed. Ellie heard something in that sound that made her slump against the door in relief. “Very well. Into the library, all of you. I would rather not spend the whole morning here, if it pleases you.”
It did please them — particularly the twins, who looked like they had been told they might accompany him to the moon. As he followed them to the library, he looked at his watch and sighed again. He needed to see Madeleine.
He didn’t want to run. But could he let Madeleine risk herself for him when all he had to offer in return was a life she didn’t seem to want?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I expected Ferguson to arrive by now,” Madeleine said, striding back and forth in front of Alex’s desk like a councilor urging a lord to war.
“He will come,” Alex said. “But if you do not stop pacing, I will think you have turned into Amelia.”
She eyed her usual chair with distaste and kept walking. What if Ferguson didn’t come? She knew he still loved her, and she didn’t doubt his heart. But she did doubt his autocratic tendencies and the fate they might lead him to. If he still thought her safety overwhelmed all other priorities, he could break the engagement and go to Scotland alone.
And she would be “safe” — if it was possible to be safe without a heart.
“You don’t have to marry the bounder if you’ve changed your mind,” Alex said in the same mild tone as his observation about her pacing. “I doubt the ton will consider you a jilt. You could hardly be expected to marry a presumed murderer, after all.”
That stopped her pacing. She turned on him with a frown, one hand on her hip as the other grasped the back of a chair for support. “You know he’s not a murderer. If anything, it is my fault he is in this mess. I cannot abandon him so easily.”
Alex drummed his fingers on his desk, his brow furrowed as though confronted with an artifact of dubious provenance. “I don’t deny that, Maddie. But if all else fails, you can always come back here.”
“I thought I was destined for exile in Bermuda?”
“As long as you don’t get caught as Marguerite, you can stay here forever. But even if it comes to that, we could smuggle you back in a few years if you live quietly enough.”
“It does not matter,” she said, the fire of battle escaping her. She sank into her chair, ready now for whatever bad news might come next. She just hoped it would come quickly — with every moment Ferguson delayed, she grew more uncertain, more afraid that her ultimatum the previous night had driven him away.
By the time Chilton opened the door half an hour later, Madeleine was nearly ready to crawl to Scotland herself if it meant keeping him. It was so unlike her, the mad desire to possess someone at all costs, forgoing pride, intelligence, even self-preservation in order to win them.
If that madness was what drove Ferguson’s need to protect her, she finally understood why he would choose to run.
“His grace the duke of Rothwell. Lady Catherine and Lady Maria,” Chilton announced, ushering them in and closing the door as he left.
Alex rose when the ladies were announced, and Madeleine stood to exchange kisses with the twins. Ferguson hung back, but when she saw the fierce look in his haggard face, her heart leapt. He had slept just as badly as she had — but he also looked ready to fight.
Kate curtsied to Alex, then turned back to Madeleine. “Ferguson says we must wait elsewhere while you conduct your business. But Maria and I wanted to say we are delighted to have someone with your talents in our family.”
Ferguson shrugged when Madeleine turned her incredulous gaze on him. “The twins were present when Ellie offered advice on our problem. It did seem expeditious to prove to them that I am not a murderer.”
“Pshaw,” Kate declared. “You’ve never had that look about you that Richard used to have. But your secret is safe. We’ve no one to tell, after all.”
Their brother sighed. “All right, girls — perhaps Lord Salford would be so good as to show you to a salon while Lady Madeleine and I converse?”
Alex joined them by the door, but he raised an eyebrow at Rothwell’s suggestion. “Leave you alone with my cousin while you send me off unchaperoned with your sisters? Rather bad form, Rothwell, and you can’t force me to marry both of them.”
Kate giggled and Maria blushed. Madeleine had never thought of Alex as anything more than a cousin, but he was young, handsome and titled — an easy infatuation for two girls who had been raised like nuns. “No teasing my charges,” Madeleine said sternly.
Alex bowed to them, and their blue eyes lit up with identical pleasure. “My apologies, ladies. I shall summon Amelia to entertain you. I must have a word with your brother as well.”
The twins looked disappointed, but their smiles quickly returned. While Alex went to find Amelia, Kate and Maria told Madeleine about all the items they still wished to purchase before their debuts. They had not left off their mourning colors yet — most of their new dresses weren’t ready, and as Maria said, they didn’t want to jinx themselves by ending their mourning before their first ball — but they were excited. Madeleine was exhausted just thinking of all the shopping to be done, and Ferguson drily joked that he would deduct their wardrobes from their dowries. But it was good to see the girls in such high spirits. Now that they smiled at Madeleine rather than wishing her dead, she found them quite charming.
Alex returned with Amelia, who greeted the twins and Ferguson with pleasant grace. She nodded tightly to Madeleine, but neither spoke. Madeleine would have to do something to repair the breach, but the pain of betrayal was still there, and she had more pressing threats to remedy.
Amelia collected the twins and offered to show them Alex’s sculpture gallery, which delighted them both. But just as they were leaving, Kate turned to Madeleine. “Ellie says that if Ferguson does not mention the masquerade within five minutes, you are to shake him until he does so.”
Ferguson scowled as he ushered them out the door. She heard one of the twins giggle as he closed the door behind them. “Do they wish to have a fancy dress ball?” Madeleine asked.
He shook his head. That haggard look was back on his face, with a tightness about the eyes so unlike his typical sang froid. “Let us hear what Salford has to say before we discuss the masquerade.”
Madeleine sat on the settee this time, leaving her usual chair for Ferguson. Alex leaned back in his own chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he chose his words. The sun beyond the windows was glorious, warming the white marble artifacts and giving the room a serenity she did not feel.
Finally, Alex spoke. “I’m sure you both wish me to the devil so you may have a moment in private, and I’ll give it to you whether it’s proper or not. But Rothwell, you must know that certain members of the House of Lord
s are pressing for an inquiry. There is little hope of stopping this unless you are both prepared for drastic action.”
“Can you not speak for Ferguson in the Lords?” Madeleine asked.
“They would merely think I was protecting you,” Alex said, with the gentle tone of one bringing bad news to an invalid.
“What drastic measures are you suggesting, Salford?” Ferguson demanded. “If you want me to free Madeleine from our engagement...”
“No, of course not — although if I could call you out for it, I would enjoy it,” Alex said, relishing the thought. “I will not tell you what to do. But please know that regardless of what either of you must do to prove Rothwell’s innocence, you have my support.”
“Do you mean that?” Madeleine said, searching his face for conditions and boundaries.
He nodded. “I do hope you will stop seeing me as an overbearing monster, Maddie. I only want what is best for you. And I must admit — I was more than a little envious of the time you spent doing something you loved, even if it was a reckless, stupid risk.”
Alex smiled at her, surrounded by the artifacts of places he would never visit as long as he stayed where he was supposed to. Her heart stuttered — it was little wonder Alex reacted so badly when he discovered that she had stepped out of her traditional role.
“Thank you,” she whispered. It was impossible to say anything else, not with the evidence of all he had sacrificed staring at her from the walls. Finally, she managed to grate out, “We will not be caught.”
“I believe you. Rothwell’s name for you isn’t so inaccurate, even if I hated it at first. You have the courage to find a path, Mad. And if you do not, I will gut your fiancé.”
His bloodthirsty look was back, and Ferguson grinned. “Careful, Salford, or you will have the Lords believing you are a murderer as well.”
“No doubt they will assume that anyone I killed deserved it,” Alex said. “But enough — I shall leave you be so you may make your decision while I evade our sisters.”
His lopsided grin told Madeleine he had planned this, but she couldn’t fault him for wanting to avoid the hopeful debutantes. After he left, she counted to ten, waiting for Ferguson to speak. He sat silent, eyes focused somewhere between Alex’s chair and the lovely light of the window beyond.
“Will you tell me about the masquerade, or shall I shake you?” she asked.
“I would choose the shaking if I could kiss you afterward.”
She laughed. “Perhaps you may kiss me anyway after you tell me your thoughts.”
He frowned, shifting his gaze to the shelves above her, and she wondered what was so awful that he could not say it. She whispered, “You aren’t leaving me behind, are you?”
Ferguson snorted. “As if I could. I would sooner cut off my arm. And even if I did, you and my sisters would track me down before I ever reached the border.”
It wasn’t a romantic way of stating his intentions. But her heart blossomed even though his heel tapped a nervous beat against the carpet.
“You must understand, Mad — if I thought any good would come of it, I would toss you in my carriage right now, whether you willed it or not, and beg your forgiveness later.”
“I believe you,” she said ruefully. “There’s no need for a demonstration.”
That earned a temporary smile. “There won’t be one. I couldn’t admit it last night, but I know that going to Scotland won’t save us. There’s no society there to cut you for marrying me, but if I lost you from boredom, or from anger at the turn I served you by burdening you with my reputation...”
He broke off just as she came off the settee to kneel beside his chair. “You won’t lose me for that,” she vowed fiercely, clasping his hand. “I knew your reputation from the first, but as long as the man beneath is as honorable as I know you are, you’ve nothing to fear.”
He put his other hand on top of hers, squeezing as though it was a lifeline. “It wouldn’t be honorable of me to leave my sisters, would it? Or to set you up in a drafty manor miles from anywhere, when you are meant to light up ballrooms and set the ton on its ear?”
“It’s Marguerite who does that, not Madeleine.”
“But it could be Madeleine, if you are my duchess and choose to show your real self to the ton. Not as an actress, of course. But you could be the darling of the highest circles if you chose.”
It was so foreign to her, so unimaginable — and yet so tantalizing, particularly after her run on the stage. But she brushed the vision aside. “I want to be your darling, not the ton’s. But I would like to clear your name so I may have the option.”
His foot stopped tapping, and he squeezed her hand again. “You were right last night, Mad. The only way to prove my innocence is for Marguerite to reappear.”
She sat back on her heels, not knowing until he said the words how much she had hoped to hear them. “I will send word to Madame Legrand. We can stage an encore performance of Hamlet.”
He shook his head. “I already spoke to her — it was why I was so late reaching you this morning. That was my preference too, but some of the actors are already gone to other productions, and it would be a week or more before she could find replacements. We must move fast if we’ve any hope of stopping the rumors before the Lords start looking into Marguerite’s identity.”
Madeleine gasped. Until that moment, she hadn’t thought of what an investigation would really turn up. If Marguerite was found to have never existed, the rumors would only grow — and would consume her whole family if anyone pieced together the clues. “What else can we do? I could go to the Lords, but I’ve never tested my disguise in daylight before.”
“No. It’s too dangerous, and they may ask questions you cannot answer. If you are serious about resurrecting Marguerite, though — you could attend Westbrook’s masquerade tomorrow night. If your costume is appropriate, people would see enough to believe it is Marguerite without guessing who you really are.”
The masquerade wouldn’t be safe either. She would have to converse, walk amongst the crowd — stand closer to people than she ever had onstage. Other than Ferguson, Westbrook, and a few admirers in the darkened alley behind the theatre, no one else had gotten close enough to really threaten recognition. A masquerade was the best possible option, but she might see people who knew her as Madeleine too well to be fooled by her disguise.
“Will no one raise an objection to Marguerite’s presence?” she asked.
“I’ve been to similar parties before. When a rake like Westbrook hosts the party, the men will be peers, but the women are usually demimondaines or ladies whose husbands no longer demand fidelity. None of the patronesses of Almack’s will be there, if that’s what worries you. I wager you will know some of the guests by reputation, but they will not overlap with your aunt’s circles.”
“But why Westbrook? Lady Greville is not one I wish to see as either Marguerite or Madeleine.”
She had received another note from the woman that morning, offering insincere condolences for the rumors circulating about Ferguson. When she told Ferguson, he swore under his breath. “If we see Caro, I will handle her. Unfortunately, I can’t call on her to end this — she’s so mad for revenge that she might claim I compromised her just to ensure that I couldn’t marry you. We can’t wait for a better event, though. Westbrook will have invited every fashionable man and woman in London, so your exposure will be broad. There isn’t another masquerade with a similar list of guests for at least a fortnight.”
She didn’t like the thought of attending a party where Caro would hold court, but she agreed that delay was impossible. The Lords could open an investigation well before another opportunity arose. “Very well, we shall attend. But I haven’t the least idea of how to prepare for such an event.”
“Ellie offered to help you. I can’t say I approve of her attending such parties, but at least she can tell you what you need to know.”
“She is old enough to decide her own mind,” Madeleine said,
amused by the protective tone of Ferguson’s voice. “She hasn’t gone beyond the line — she could still attend proper events if she chose.”
Ferguson stroked her hair, an unconscious gesture that soothed her fears. “Let us see you through this before attempting to rehabilitate my sister. Are you sure you wish to do this?”
“There is no other choice. If nothing else, it will be fascinating to attend a disreputable party before I become your very proper duchess.”
“There’s nothing proper about you, love,” he said, his blue eyes sparking with a sudden need that demanded fulfillment.
He gripped her wrist and pulled her up into his lap. She tumbled into his arms with a muffled laugh, and as he angled in to kiss her, she was ready for him. Now that they had a plan — even if it was dangerous — she felt like they could conquer anything. All the heat and fear and excitement coalesced into hunger — and his kiss set it all ablaze. His lips slanted over hers and she opened for him, reveling in the moment when his tongue claimed hers.
She wasn’t satisfied with kisses. It had been several days since she’d last had him inside her, and might be several weeks before she could have him again — the price of feigning propriety before the wedding. He must have felt the same. His hands were already kneading into her derriere, angling her away from him so that he could break off their kiss and nibble at the side of her neck before forging a path toward her bosom.
She inhaled sharply as his hand forced her bodice down and freed a breast from her stays. He smelled just how she loved him to — riding leather, starch, and just a hint of sweat, but missing the usual scent of shaving lather. As she felt the stubble of his day-old beard graze her skin, she smiled — he had been so desperate to see her that he hadn’t bothered with niceties.
He wasn’t bothering with niceties now either. While his mouth sucked wickedly at her breast, his hand bent one of her legs to improve his access, then delved up under her skirts. He traced her stocking, skimmed lightly over the joint of her knee, and lingered on the ribbon holding her stocking in place. From there, it was just bare skin for him to conquer.
