Free Heiress Without a Cause by Sara Ramsey Page A

like you haven’t a care in the world.”
    She glared at him. “I was not born yesterday, Ferguson. If anyone gives us away, it will not be me.”
    He grinned. “You may be the most vexing mistress I’ve ever had.”
    Madeleine sucked in a breath as her fury renewed itself, but they were out of the theatre and into the alley. Several men, all vague acquaintances from the ton, loitered as the glowering doorman watched them. Someone had given him a cudgel, and no one else appeared eager to storm the theatre.
    “Madame Guerrier!” they cried with one voice. In the darkened alleyway, she should have been afraid — but there remained that fascinating feeling that she was in control, not them. She suddenly understood the Caesars of the world, perhaps better than any woman of her station could.
    “You are all too late, gentlemen,” Ferguson said.
    Their acclaim turned to disappointment. “Rothwell?” one man said. “I see you’ve lost no time in finding a new mistress.”
    He shrugged. “I must keep up appearances.”
    “Damned expensive bauble,” another observed. “You could have just bought a new horse and been done with it.”
    Madeleine couldn’t keep herself quiet. They discussed her like she was a commodity, and seeing how men spoke about women when there were no ladies present annoyed her. “I am worth more than a horse, I assure you,” Madeleine said, slipping back into her French accent for the crowd.
    “And much more fun to ride,” Ferguson drawled, pulling her closer to him.
    The men roared. Madeleine blushed, wishing she could have controlled her surprise, but Ferguson’s ribald comment caught her unawares. Was this what it was to be a courtesan — an object for entertainment?
    The crowd was still laughing, some of them shouting suggestions for Ferguson’s future happiness with his new mistress. She may have liked their adoration from the safety of the stage, but in the alley, their desires felt dangerous. She was glad she couldn’t remember any of their names. It would be bad enough seeing them in the ton, let alone knowing which wives or fiancées they were ignoring in favor of her.
    “When he tires of you, Madame Guerrier, I wouldn’t mind taking you for a ride myself!” yelled one of the men, sounding drunker than the rest.
    Three offers of carte blanche in one night — it must be a record for a spinster of her status. She waved a hand. “Rothwell will not cast me off yet, will you, cher ?”
    He started to speak, but she brushed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t tell me here,” she said with a wink. “You can tell me in the carriage.”
    Ferguson scowled at her, displeased by her mimicry, and pulled her fingers away from his mouth to thread them through his. He tugged her away from the crowd, guided her around the corner to his waiting coach, and lifted her in before settling across from her. The coach lurched forward without him giving a direction. Where in all of London could he take her while she looked like this?
    And what would he do with her when they reached their destination?
    But before she could ask, he exploded.

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