Heiress Without a Cause (36 page)

But it would be worse for Amelia. While Madeleine had wanted to act for her own sake, and was ready to give up the acclaim that went with it, Amelia wanted her work to be recognized. When her first books were published, she was pleased to sell them, but she still chafed under the requirement of publishing with a pseudonym.

If this book became a sensation, would she be able to watch the success without saying anything? Or would she ruin herself to gain the fame she wanted?

For now, at least, Amelia took the safe course. She bit back her smile and said, “It could come to nothing, of course. Only two of my other partners have mentioned it, and neither of them are arbiters of taste.”

Madeleine almost demanded to know what she was thinking, but they could not talk openly here. And anyway, the conversation could wait. Not enough people had read it to make it an utter success, and no one would find her out unless Amelia wanted them to.

Besides, Ferguson was striding toward them through the crowd — and unlike their first ball, Madeleine knew which of them he sought.

She hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more handsome than he did during their first meeting. His dress was similar, with a perfectly cut midnight blue jacket accentuating his muscled shoulders and his tight breeches showing no need for the padding other men used to round out their calves. It wasn’t his clothes or his well-toned body that entranced her, though.

It was his eyes, the love and humor in them, and the genuine smile on his lips. The cold arrogance — and the wounded boy who hid behind it — were gone, at least with her.

“You are the luckiest woman in England,” Prudence muttered beside her.

“You never know — he may still be mad,” Amelia mused, staring up at him as he came to a stop in front of them.

“If it is insanity to take Madeleine when I know this circle comes with her, then I am guilty,” Ferguson retorted. Amelia laughed in response, the high pleasure of the dance still threading through her smile. Madeleine forced herself to stop worrying about her cousin, at least for tonight. She was just glad Ferguson and Amelia had reached some sort of unspoken truce, even if they did not yet know each other well enough for affection.

“You could order me to abandon them — you might murder me if I refuse, after all,” Madeleine teased. It was safe to make the joke now; “Marguerite’s” appearance at Westbrook’s masquerade was all anyone had discussed for days, and talk of putting Ferguson on trial for her disappearance had ended entirely.

Ferguson gave her his most menacing glare. “I will certainly consider such drastic measures if you do not dance with me now, Lady Mad.”

She placed her hand in his, felt the strength of his fingers around hers, and wondered if she would ever tire of his touch. Looking at the mischievous gleam in his eyes, she doubted it.

He pulled her into the circle forming for the supper dance. “I should have known you would pick a waltz for this, your grace,” she said.

“I cannot waste my opportunities with you,” he said, his tone serious. “How I am to last another three weeks until the wedding, I have no idea.”

“I wish we didn’t have to wait either,” Madeleine said, shivering slightly as his hand came to rest on the curve of her hip.

“We could always run off to Gretna Green like Westbrook and Caro,” Ferguson said. He sounded amused, but Madeleine suspected he would toss her in the nearest carriage and drive north immediately if she gave him any hint that she was willing.

“It’s easy enough for them — the ton expects scandals from both of them, and may look fondly on their sudden love match. But if I married you so hastily, without the kind of grand affair they all expect...”

Ferguson smiled down at her. “We’ll give them the grand affair. And then, my love, it will just be us.”

“And your sisters. And your aunt Sophronia,” Madeleine reminded him.

He grimaced. “That reminds me — Ellie said she would be happy to move back into Rothwell House to look after the twins while we are on our honeymoon. She didn’t say why, and I thought she would never want to leave Folkestone’s townhouse. But I wonder if the marquess is finally returning to England to claim his title.”

Madeleine looked across the room and saw Ellie deep in conversation with Lord Norbury, her usual companion at these types of affairs. The woman’s eyes were stark in her pale face, made even paler by the glorious fire of her hair. If anything, the strain somehow made her more beautiful. Madeleine hoped Ferguson was wrong — or, if he was right, that Folkestone’s return would not cause Ellie any more grief.

“Ellie is welcome, of course. It would be nice to have a sympathetic audience while I try to learn how to be a duchess.”

“You already know everything you need to be a duchess,” Ferguson said.

“Really? I hardly think...”

Ferguson cut her off. “You know how to dress — and how to undress,” he said, his voice dropping low so that only she could hear him. “You know how to converse, and you know more pleasurable things to do with those lips. You know how to arrange flowers — and if I recall from our interlude in a certain garden, you know how to leave them disarrayed.”

Madeleine was blushing furiously at this point, but she was laughing too. After they had left Westbrook’s study the previous week, Ferguson led her into the garden — and she finally, fully understood the “dangers” waiting for a young woman in a moonlit grotto. “I do not think your aunt Sophronia would approve of my method of flower arrangement.”

“The old bird probably did the same thing herself when she was young. The garden of Eden must have had flowers, after all.”

She laughed again at his deadpan tone. Then, she looked out over the sea of dancers. Ferguson, with his calm self-assurance and utter confidence, seemed so foreign compared to the dilettantes of the ton — but it had taken her years to find those same qualities within herself. It wasn’t until that night in Westbrook’s study that she realized she wasn’t merely leaning on Ferguson’s strength — they were strong together, like two pieces of an ancient rock that had been broken in two and finally pieced back together.

She turned her gaze back to him, and he smiled down at her as though he could look at her for decades and never tire of the view. They may have been strong together, but that didn’t mean her heart couldn’t melt when she saw him smile. “Well, if that’s what I have to look forward to as a duchess, perhaps it won’t be so bad.”

“I rather think it will be wonderful,” he said.

THE END

Muses of Mayfair series

Heiress Without A Cause

Scotsmen Prefer Blondes
– Winter 2012

The Marquess Who Loved Me
– Spring 2012

A Note From The Author:

I am neither an actress nor a French orphan, and I am certainly not a duchess (despite my fervent wishes otherwise – Prince Harry, call me). While I have always loved the fantasy of Regency romances, I didn’t need to employ the subterfuge used by the Muses of Mayfair to write my books. For that, I feel supremely thankful.

I must thank everyone who believed that my writing was a worthwhile endeavor. Their support started long before I sold a single copy, when it was all mad dreams and the occasional scribbled sentence. My parents always let me choose my own path, even when it took me to different continents and strange professions. My brother and sister have also supported me through everything, while always reminding me of my roots. Those roots now extend from my childhood home in Iowa to my adulthood home in California, and my friends mean more to me than I can express without sounding maudlin. I am grateful beyond words that my family and friends have treated my writing as a serious endeavor instead of a pleasurable hobby, and I hope to live up to that support.

On the business side, thank you to my agent, Jennifer Schober of Spencerhill Associates, for working her derriere off to help get my stories out into the world. I am also grateful to the Romance Writers of America ® for connecting me with some amazingly savvy authors, including my fellow 2009 and 2011 Golden Heart ® finalists and all the wonderful members of the San Francisco RWA chapter.

Finally, I want to thank you for reading
Heiress Without A Cause
. I’m thrilled that you chose to spend your time with my book. Whether you loved or loathed it, I do hope you’ll leave a review at your favorite online book site. And you are always welcome to write me directly at
[email protected]

Thank you again! Amelia’s story is up next, and I hope you’ll join me for it.

Sara Ramsey

San Francisco, California

January 2012

Photo by Misti Layne

Sara Ramsey writes fun, feisty Regency historical romances. She won the prestigious 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award with her first book,
Scotsmen Prefer Blondes
(formerly titled
An Inconvenient Marriage
). The prequel,
Heiress Without A Cause
(formerly titled
One Night to Scandal
), was a 2011 Golden Heart finalist.

Sara grew up in a small town in Iowa, and her obsession with fashion, shoes, and all things British is clearly a rebellion against her hopelessly uncool youth. She graduated from Stanford University in 2003 with a degree in Symbolic Systems (also known as cognitive science) and a minor in history. Sara subsequently worked at Google for seven years in a variety of sales, management, and communications roles. She left Google in 2010 to pursue her writing career full time. Read all about her Regency obsessions and upcoming works at
www.SaraRamsey.com
.