Heiress Without a Cause

by Sara Ramsey

  Madeleine gasped. “Is that rumor true? I am very sorry, Ferguson. I should have thought before I spoke.”

  “No need to apologize. I am not insulted by the truth. But is that why you won’t marry me?”

  “No,” she said, snatching at the excuse closest to the surface. “I won’t marry you because I’ve no desire to trap myself into being a duchess.”

  He laughed, louder than normal, but at least his stiffness subsided. “What woman doesn’t want to be a duchess?”

  They turned into Hyde Park, making for the driving path along Rotten Row. It was too early for the crush of carriages that would arrive later in the afternoon, but they should not have gone somewhere so public — it would draw attention their relationship, which Madeleine did not want. But if the choice was between being examined by the grandes dames and sitting at home with the Stauntons, she knew where she preferred to be.

  Then again, with Ferguson’s increasingly persistent questions, perhaps she should have stayed locked in her room. “You do not want to be a duke. Why do you assume I would want to be a duchess?”

  “Fair enough. I should remind you, though, that being a duchess would be far more exciting than staying on as Salford’s dependent.”

  “Who says I must stay on in Alex’s household forever?” she asked, bristling despite the inevitability of that choice. “If I do not marry you, it does not mean I cannot marry someone else.”

  He colored slightly, and she congratulated herself on winning the point. But then his voice dropped as he said, “If you do marry another, you might wish it over — I doubt any man could equal the pleasure I gave you last night.”

  He sounded so smug that she wanted to swat him with her reticule. But they were in public, so she plastered her best false smile on her face. “Someone must have drawn all those engravings I’ve seen. It may be I just need to move to Italy? Or the Orient?”

  She won another point, watching his cocky smirk turn into a scowl. “You’ll move nowhere until we’ve settled what’s between us, Mad.”

  She had awoken the autocrat within, and she shivered at the dark note of promise in his voice. Still, she held her chin up, pretending not to be affected by the way his sideways gaze raked across her. “And you wonder why I would not wish to be duchess. Why should I marry an all-powerful duke who has demonstrated such little regard for his family?”

  He turned off Rotten Row abruptly, following a smaller lane toward the Serpentine. He didn’t say a word, and while his silence didn’t frighten her, Madeleine had enough sense not to provoke him further. While he kept his hands loose on the reins, his shoulders were tense, and he was taut with something he could barely keep in check.

  Finally he pulled them to a halt near a small copse of trees. They were still in plain view if anyone happened across them, but not noticeable from the more frequently used paths. Setting the brake, he turned to her — and she nearly recoiled from the blaze of anger in his blue eyes.

  “Is that why you won’t have me? Because I am turning into my father?”

  “You aren’t turning into your father,” she said, trying to soothe him. “But you must understand how I feel about family. My parents sent me away and stayed in France because they felt they had a duty to their country and their estate. Aunt Augusta and Alex have made it clear that they will also place duty over my happiness if my acting threatens our family. In our class, everything — duty, money, honor, status — trumps love. And I am not prepared to love a duke. Even if you love me, your duties will eventually win.”

  “No,” he said flatly. “Come with me to Scotland. My managers can oversee the duchy, and we can be as free as we please in the Highlands.”

  She knew that what she wanted was a contradiction even as she said it, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You would respect yourself less for leaving your responsibilities again. And if you didn’t, I would respect you less, after the pain it caused your sisters before. Perhaps your duty didn’t trump your love for them, but something did.”

  He laughed harshly. “You can’t have it both ways, Mad. The only way I can meet this fantasy of yours is if you trust that I can be the duke I am supposed to be without ever leaving you. But it’s clear you won’t be satisfied with one if I cannot provide the other.”

  “I’m sorry, Ferguson,” she said. “It may be possible — but it seems just as likely you will either become an autocrat or run away again.”

  His voice turned to chipped ice. “When I was ten, my mother died. I believe my father loved her — I saw him kiss her whenever he could get away with it. I never understood why he turned so cold after she died, why he sent Ellie and me away, why he could never bear to look at me. I thought I must have done something wrong, upset him somehow.”

  She made a soft sound of distress, but he ignored her. “Now I know how much it must have pained him to see us, when we looked so much like her. I can’t forgive him for leaving us — he should have been stronger, should have loved us despite his loss. And I did the same thing to my sisters, leaving them to preserve myself. It’s something I can’t forgive, and I can’t expect you to either. But if I lost you, Mad...”

  His voice trailed off. She felt tears gathering in her eyes — not at the thought of her future with or without Ferguson, but of the little boy he must have been, just as confused as she was when she lost her parents.

  “If I lost you, I would become the man he was. So I can’t let you go,” he said, force and despair mingling in his voice — a tone she never thought to hear from him. “I will never run away from you, unless you beg me to. And the only way I will turn into an autocrat is if you disappear from my life.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  She stared at him in shock, her gorgeous green eyes lit up by a sunbeam and shining with unshed tears. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have been so open. She had been a virgin the night before, and he realized too late that she did not know how to cope with the depth of his demands. Hell, even the most experienced Cyprian would have been scared off by how much he claimed to need her.

  He clamped his lips shut. He vowed he would not make the moment any worse. After all, he had his answer now — she was afraid of who he might become, and he had as good as confirmed that he was already on that path.

  So even though she didn’t give him the answer he wanted, he was supremely relieved when she finally spoke. “I cannot trust you yet,” she said, the misery in her voice mollifying just a bit of his wounded pride. “But I would not want to lose you either.”

  She hadn’t accepted his proposal — but at least she had not written him off as a lunatic after his last speech. He could live with her answer. And he would use every moment she gave him to win her over.

  He raised her gloved hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. He wanted to strip the glove off her hand, kiss each finger with the attention it deserved, nuzzle her wrist before moving up her arm to claim her mouth. But they were still in Hyde Park, and he was with Madeleine, not Marguerite.

  So he dropped her hand and said, “I hope you shall trust me someday, and I will prove to you that I am worthy of it. At least we have two more weeks at the theatre — it would kill me to only see you at rout-parties and musicales.”

  He could surely convince her by the time the play ended. With her passion and his desire to give her pleasure, he did not think she could outlast his efforts to seduce her. But she sighed at his words. “We cannot be alone after the theatre anymore. Alex caught me when I returned to Salford House last night, and he is furious at us.”

  She shared what had happened in a quick, nearly toneless monologue, as though she could not stand to tell him without stripping the emotion out first. He could not imagine going straight from their bed to an inquisition in front of her relatives. When she finished the retelling, he did not know who he wished to skewer first — Amelia for betraying her, Augusta for planning to exile her to Bermuda, or Salford for threatening to force her into marriage.

&n
bsp; “I told you Amelia was a harpy,” he said when she finished.

  “She did what she thought best. I cannot fault her intentions, even if her actions lacked finesse.”

  He knew better than to pursue that thread — even if she felt betrayed by her cousin, she would not tolerate someone else’s criticism. He also decided to leave the subject of Salford alone. It wasn’t a nice thought, but the knowledge that Salford might force an engagement suited Ferguson’s desires even if he preferred Madeleine’s consent.

  Instead, he said, “We have to ensure that you are not forced to move to Bermuda. It would be harder for me to court you there, after all.”

  She grinned, and he was glad to see she could still be amused. “Moving to Bermuda may have its benefits.”

  He laughed. “If Bermuda is good enough for Lady Mad, it is good enough for me. Still, I believe we can survive the next two weeks without incident. Unless you decided to end the play early?”

  Madeleine hesitated, looking away from him to survey the field beyond. He realized she was hiding something — something that affected them both. “What is it, Mad?”

  “I cannot quit,” she said, looking back at him with equal parts resignation and determination. “It should have ended the first night you attended, but Madame Legrand threatened to sell my identity to the Gazette if I did not agree to extend the run.”

  “What? I thought you wanted to be on stage.”

  “I do!” she said. “I’ve wanted to act since Amelia and I put on our first plays in the nursery.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have convinced Madame Legrand to reconsider.”

  “Unless you intend to kill her, I don’t see how you can help,” Madeleine said. “And regardless — I did not tell Alex, but I wasn’t opposed to staying on. I do love the stage. And you and I would not have had so much time together without it.”

  He felt another rush of desire — no one else had ever risked so much to be with him.

  “So you must understand, Ferguson, I’m not sure I would stop now even if I could. As long as Madame Legrand frees me in two weeks as promised, I am enjoying myself too much to retire.”

  It was risky, and daring, and dangerous — everything that had attracted him to her, even before he recognized her humor and kindness. Every time she stepped on stage, there was a chance someone would recognize her. The risk was small, he knew; no one had identified her yet, and he never would have guessed if he had not followed her coach.

  But still, it was a risk — one he could remove, since he owned the theatre.

  He stayed quiet, though. Madeleine feared he would turn into an autocrat. If he gave into his urge to shut down the theatre against her wishes to save her, he would prove her right — and lose her forever.

  So he merely offered his continued support, ruthlessly suppressed the desire to kiss her, and turned the horses back toward Salford House. He would listen for any hint of danger and pull her out if he sensed trouble — or if Caro made any threats too direct to ignore. Otherwise, he would let her keep acting and ensure that no one else tracked her to the Stauntons.

  They drove back in companionable silence, too spent from their conversation to think about pleasantries. He felt the same flutter of peace that he had felt in Madeleine’s bed, thought briefly that the haven he had with her was even more attractive than her passion — and promptly ordered himself to stop thinking. He would not erupt in another mooncalf plea for her hand, not when she had just survived his last one.

  So when they arrived at her cousin’s house, he accompanied her to the door, acted like a perfect gentleman as he took his leave — and promptly fled before he said anything stupid. How he could convince her to say that she loved him, he didn’t know. But he wouldn’t give up, not until he heard those words.

  * * *

  Madeleine would have run up the stairs to her room if she could do so without drawing attention. She didn’t want to see Augusta, or Amelia, or anyone else — she wanted to lock herself in her room and consider all the hope and fear and love and despair swirling within her after her ride with Ferguson.

  But Chilton stopped her before she could even reach the staircase. “Lord Salford requests that you please attend him in his study, Lady Madeleine.”

  She hesitated, tempted to ignore the demand. Chilton saw her pause and said, “His lordship suggested that I emphasize the ‘please,’ my lady.”

  He somehow maintained his proper bearing, but his eyes gleamed. She grinned at him despite herself. “Then I couldn’t possibly refuse his lordship, right?”

  He bowed. “Shall I bring you a cup of tea as well?”

  She wouldn’t be there long enough to sit, let alone take a convivial beverage with her overbearing cousin. “No need, Chilton, but thank you.”

  She squared her shoulders as she walked down the hall to Alex’s study. She thought it was preferable to walk there under her own power, rather than having Alex drag her as he did the previous night. But this was almost worse — willingly walking toward an interview she knew she didn’t want.

  It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to talk to Alex. She would have to talk to him eventually, and his control of the purse strings meant he could force the issue if she waited too long. She wanted time, though — time to consider everything her family had done to her, and the escape Ferguson offered. He seemed genuine in his love, eager to help her at the theatre without planning how to dispose of her when she was caught.

  But she didn’t have time. She was already at the door to the study, knocking before she could debate it any longer. Alex bade her to enter and she stepped through the door, closing it behind her.

  He wasn’t behind his desk, where she expected him to be. He stood against the far wall, looking out the French door to the garden beyond. Usually, he was at home in this room, which he had made his own in the decade since his father’s death. While the desk was littered with all the papers that buried a man in his position, it wasn’t all dedicated to the Salford estate. Some shelves were cleared to display urns, medallions, small statues — the ephemera of the ancient world, which he would have devoted his life to if his inheritance had not come first.

  But today, he looked pensive, more like the scholar he used to be than the powerful earl he had become. “Thank you for joining me,” he said quietly, turning to greet her as she stood uncertainly by her usual chair.

  “Did I have a choice?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t meant to wound — it was straightforward, a statement of fact rather than an accusation.

  He winced anyway. “Last night I had to be your guardian. I hope today we may talk as cousins?”

  She walked across the room to join him, unwilling to give ground by sitting in the chair he had so recently chastised her in. “What do you want to say, Alex? I’ll listen, but I cannot stay forever — I must go to the theatre in a few hours.”

  He briefly compressed his lips into a thin line, not liking the reminder of where she spent her evenings. But he didn’t touch on the subject again. “Shall we take a turn in the gardens while we talk?”

  She nodded. It was better than sitting in this room with him. He unlatched the door and escorted her outside. The gardens were small, as most townhouse gardens were, just large enough for a couple of paths around the flowerbeds and a fountain in the center, gurgling happily in the spring sunshine. The door she used to sneak between this house and Marguerite’s house was cut into the back wall, surrounded by climbing vines just beginning to bud. It was a peaceful, serene retreat in the heart of London, but she found no peace in it today.

  They walked slowly around the perimeter, Madeleine not wanting to say anything and Alex choking back his words before they could leave his mouth. On their second circuit, he finally cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology for what I said last night.”

  She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “Is that the apology?” she asked.

  He laughed, a startled sound so at odds with their usual comfort together.
“I am sorry, Maddie. I’ve wished for years that you would do something more than what was expected of you, and now that you’ve finally done it, I threatened to turn you into a pariah. Please know that I won’t send you away unless there is no other option left — I’ll do anything to help you now that I know what you’re doing.”

  They paused near the fountain. Madeleine sat on the lip of the marble structure, staring down at the floating twigs that had fallen during an earlier spring gale. “Why would you wish for me to do something else? Shouldn’t you want me to be a proper spinster?”

  He stood beside her, refusing her gestured offer of a seat next to her. “You’ve always had a spark of rebellion, something more than the proper miss you forced yourself to be. Amelia excels at doing whatever she wishes, but you were always so cautious that I feared you might never do anything interesting. The only shame is that your rebellion might ruin you — but part of me is glad you’ve finally done something.”

  She scowled at Amelia’s name. “If you would have me follow Amelia’s lead, you are mistaken.”

  “I didn’t say you should follow her lead — if anything, you’ve followed it too much in the past, ignoring society like she did even though your personality is more suited to people than to pen and paper.”

  Madeleine stood abruptly. She didn’t want to hear his comparisons, not when he had made it all too clear the night before that he would sacrifice her to save his sister. “There’s no need to apologize now, Alex. You can apologize later, after you send me to Bermuda or force me to marry Ferguson.”

  She tried to sweep past him, her temper high. He caught her arm, gentler than he was the previous night but still unavoidable. “Do you know why I was so angry last night?”

  “I put your reputation at risk.”

  “No. If it weren’t for all the people who depend upon me, my reputation could go hang. I was angry because you lied to me. After all these years, you still felt you couldn’t take me into your confidences.”