Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER NINE

"What in the devil were you doing?" he yelled.

"What in the devil was I doing?" she asked, her temper flaring to match his. "I was merely making the best of the situation you forced me into. You, on the other hand, have gone mad! And now I'm trapped in a carriage with you, bound for an unknown destination, and you ask what I was doing?"

He leaned forward until his face was mere inches from hers. In the flickering lamplight of the coach, he looked grim but determined. "If I had not intervened tonight, you could be in a coach with Westbrook right now - and you would like that much less, I assure you."

"I could have dealt with Westbrook," Madeleine said.

"Bollocks," Ferguson retorted, leaning back into the red velvet seat. "He would have had you out of those breeches before you launched a protest."

His comment reminded her of her costume - and his lingering caresses in her dressing room. She crossed her legs uncomfortably. "You paint such a picture of my honor. Do you think that because I am an actress, and not the paragon of virtue chaperoning your sisters, I must be ripe for the taking?"

It was Ferguson's turn to shift. "Not at all. I just know how rakes like Westbrook act when presented with a challenge."

"Because you act the same?" she asked sweetly.

She had backed him into a corner. He scowled in response. "This isn't about me. This is about you, and the ruin from which I am trying to save you. Which, let me remind you, I must save you from - you are associated with my sisters, and I cannot let you be ruined."

"And your brilliant plot to save me from ruin is to make me your mistress?"

"It is the only way. I saw the men in the theatre. If your actress does not have a protector, half the men there are willing to do the honors."

"So in the time you spent sending away Josephine, bribing the doorman, and arranging whatever else it took to make this plan, you couldn't have just hired a dozen men from the nearest pub to guard the door?"

His mouth opened and shut several times, as though he thought better of every defense he might have offered. Finally, he recovered his resolve. "This is still the better plan," he said. "Even when I am not at the theatre, you needn't worry about another man backstage if they know you belong to me. But it is my fault you are so close to being discovered by the ton - and I intend to guard you until the last performance."

"Why should I not just ask Alex to guard me?"

"Given how well you've kept this secret so far, I suspect he does not know. Do you really want to tell him?" Ferguson asked.

She paused, then gave the tiniest shake of her head.

Ferguson smiled, looking just as predatory as Westbrook. She wondered if the two of them were really so different - if Ferguson had lived in London for the past decade, would he be as hardened as the earl?

He leaned in again. "As far as I am concerned, your reputation is my responsibility now. The sooner you accept that, the easier a time we will have of it."

Madeleine arched a brow. "That is quite a bold statement."

"You either accept my protection, or I will take you to the Stauntons right now and demand they send you away."

Her eyes widened. "You would really tell Alex? He will kill you when he finds out your role in this."

Ferguson shrugged. "If I died, at least I would be rid of this bloody title. And anyway, I think you would rather accept my help. The Stauntons would smother you in their attempts to protect your reputation, but I'm not ready to give up on you just yet."