Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER TWELVE

That night, Madeleine wished she could have attended anything but Lady Leynham's ball. The woman was a notorious skinflint and the refreshments were dreadful - the ham was even thinner than at Vauxhall, if that was possible, and the lemonade tasted as though it had made only the briefest acquaintance with the rind of one fruit before being delivered to the ballroom.

Her stomach rumbled under her blue and cream striped ball gown. She sighed and eyed the buffet, but the footmen must have been trained to handle people of her hungry ilk. She had already eaten four sandwiches, and they avoided her gaze so that they would not have to offer her another one.

If her reputation survived the month, the reducing diet she feigned to throw Aunt Augusta off the scent might still kill her.

She scanned the ballroom, realizing after her eyes were already moving that she was searching for a particular shade of burnished hair amongst all the blondes and brunettes. Ferguson would never attend a ball such as this. Even if he did attend, he would not express more than passing interest in her when she was in her spinster garb.

But she still wanted to see him. And she still had enough sense to be scared by the impulse to find him.

Alex strode up to her, catching her as she surveyed the trays again. "There's no harm in having a sandwich," he remarked as he joined her. "Those little things look like they've been reduced themselves."

Madeleine laughed as she saw one of the footmen bite back a grin. "Don't you have better things to do than keep us poor females company?"

"It does Mother good to see me at these functions occasionally. If she thinks I might stumble into wedlock on my own, she only mentions it once a week instead of once a day. The same would be true for you if you weren't avoiding the ton so assiduously."

His tone was still light, but his dark eyes were serious. "The ton does not amuse me as it used to."

"I can't say I blame you. But is anything else amiss? You haven't dropped by my study in weeks."

She read there occasionally, a habit she had continued since childhood, when Uncle Edward's presence was sometimes enough to keep her nightmares at bay. But she couldn't do it now, not when she was deceiving Alex so thoroughly.

"Everything is fine," she said. "I just feel less eager to play the social games this season."

"If anything is wrong, promise you'll tell me?"

She nodded, unable to say the lie aloud.

"Then if you'll forgive my desertion, I think I shall escape to White's. I will think of you with pity while I take my supper there."

His remark merited a swift retort, but she froze when she saw the man who appeared behind him. Ferguson leaned against a pillar, wearing cool, unrelenting black, with his arms crossed like an impatient warrior. He stared directly at her, a man who didn't care that the gossips tracked his every glance.

Madeleine regained her senses just enough to laugh at Alex's jest, but her eyes were still locked on Ferguson's. Everything else fell away - the music faded, the bright silk and velvet gowns dimmed in the candlelight, the hum of conversation disappeared, and even the feel of Alex's lips brushing against her gloved hand in parting failed to register.

Alex pulled her back into reality with a shake of her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't need to eat something? You are as pale as a sheet."

She waved a hand. "No, go to White's. I shall survive another hour."

"Let me take you to Amelia," he said, turning to take her arm. It was only then that he saw Ferguson still leaning against the pillar.

"Surely you aren't in such a state over him?" he asked, his voice dropping into an incredulous whisper.