Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER FOUR

He had looked notorious the night before, striding through the ballroom with his devil-may-care smile.

Tonight, dressed in stark black and holding her against him, he looked powerful and notorious. His icy blue eyes saw straight through her makeup and his sculpted jaw clenched as he looked her over.

But where a gentleman would have apologized profusely to a lady of her birth and set her on her feet, he kept his grip on her arms. "Madame Guerrier, it was an honor to see you perform."

His silky voice stole her breath away. He hadn't recognized her - unless he was toying with her. "Merci, your grace," she said, keeping her voice low and heightening the French accent she used at the theatre.

He arched a single brow. "I did not know we were acquainted. Surely I would remember being introduced to one such as you."

It was a fatal slip. If she was the actress she claimed to be, she would never have seen him before. "Of course not, your grace. Madame Legrand said a red-haired duke was in attendance. I merely guessed you to be the duke."

He still looked at her with those disturbingly perceptive eyes. "I do hope I haven't inconvenienced you, but I must ask you a question of a rather... delicate nature. Shall I accompany you to your carriage?"

This was the second time in twenty-four hours that he wanted to ask her a question, but she had no illusions this time. He knew who she was. She was certain he knew - the way he looked at her, as though assessing a target; how his hands gripped her, as though she might run. She would be ruined, and by a man whose own reputation was hardly spotless. The only question was whether he would ruin her with a clean cut direct - or demand something to buy his silence. The shiver that went through her on that thought didn't feel much like fear, but she refused to consider what it might be instead.

She dug deep, ready to brazen it out. "You may not escort me to my carriage. My mother does not permit me to associate with strange men." She nodded in the direction of Josephine, who closed her mouth and attempted to look dignified.

"Your mother?" Ferguson asked. He was understandably skeptical, since Josephine was nearly six inches shorter than Madeleine and dressed in plain, serviceable grey. "And what of Monsieur Guerrier?"

"Sadly, he left me alone in the world," she said, sniffing as though the memory of her nonexistent husband still caused her pain.

"A pity, I am sure," he said, a predatory smile playing on his lips.

She swatted his arm and tried again to pull away. "It was a tragedy. Now if you will excuse me, I really must be home before the hour grows any later."

He smoothly turned her, taking her arm as though they were a couple on promenade. She could feel the taut muscles trapping her against him - and was reminded that this was not a weak lordling, but a man used to having his way. "My dear Madame Guerrier... what is your Christian name?"

The question caught her off guard. "Marguerite," she said, maintaining her fake identity despite the slamming of her heart against her ribs.

"Marguerite," he said, the word rolling over his tongue as though he could seduce her just with the sound of it. "Marguerite, I can hardly hope you will give me the answer I want to hear - but tell me, have you taken a protector?"

She stopped in her tracks. Of all the questions she thought he might ask her - why she was in disguise, how she could act in such a place, what she would do to stop him from ruining her - she didn't expect this. "How can you ask such a thing?"

"This is surely not the first time a man has asked you?"

She waved a hand in the air, pretending she had been offered for many times before. "The ton would expect you to do better than an unknown actress from Seven Dials."