Heiress Without a Cause Read Online Free Page A

Marsham exhaled. “Isn’t she a sight?”
    Ferguson did not say anything — could not say anything. He was too distracted by the sudden, furious rush of blood to his cock. It had been months since his last encounter, years since he had taken a proper mistress. He had sacrificed the physical pleasures of London, knowing that building a life free of his father was worth the cost — but this was the kind of woman who could make a man forget everything but her.
    They all sat enraptured, even though they knew what would happen — Ophelia’s funeral, the duel with Laertes, Hamlet killing his traitorous uncle Claudius before succumbing to Laertes’s poisoned sword. As she fell to the stage, her death speech ringing out over the crowd, not a single person spoke. Ferguson heard women sobbing behind him, and even Marsham coughed.
    When the curtain fell, the audience erupted into ecstatic applause. Ferguson joined them despite himself. Madame Guerrier truly was a talent to be admired. He did not intend to stay in London long enough to need a mistress, but if he did take one, he wanted one just like her. She was composed but wild — the same qualities that drew him to Lady Madeleine — and it was safer to seduce an actress than a spinster. If she was as beautiful in a dress as she was in a pair of breeches, having her in his bed might make his stay in London bearable.
    She returned to take her bows, embracing the applause like parched soil soaking up rain. He willed her to look in his direction, but her gaze flickered over the crowd like she was trying to blink away tears, and she never met his eyes. She finally left before the applause died, with one last, longing glance at the audience. There was something sad about her, something at odds with the attitude one expected from a star performer.
    His companions stood, no longer complaining about his choice of venue but still eager to seek out the nearest gaming table. He hung back as they picked up their walking sticks, surprised by the strength of his desire but unwilling to fight it. “Go along without me, friends. I trust you can find a fourth at the club.”
    Marsham laughed. “Have an eye for the French chit, eh?”
    Ferguson gave the cocky, conquering grin they expected. They clapped him on the back and wished him luck with the chase. He watched them go, glad to be rid of them. Only an evening in their company made him wonder how he could survive the time it would take to marry off the twins.
    Unless his sisters deigned to talk to him, he would be relegated to seeking out drinking companions like Marsham — or, he could embrace his new title and watch as people began currying his favor. He remembered when his father had inherited the dukedom years ago; the change was quick and irreversible.
    Alternatively, he could take a mistress — a soft, willing woman who excited him without fawning over him. He didn’t just want sex, though. He wanted a companion.
    And something about the way Madame Guerrier said farewell to the stage told him she could be what he needed — either on his arm or in his bed.

CHAPTER THREE
    Madeleine strode to the front of the stage at the end of the play, maintaining Hamlet’s mad, wounded air to the end. As she bowed, she reveled in the thunderous applause and hoots of appreciation from the crowd beyond the lights. The theatre was a glorious cacophony of sound, and she let it pour into her, filling the empty spaces she usually tried so hard to ignore.
    Aunt Augusta would be outraged to see her before such an audience — but the bigger outrage was that this was her last performance. She knew she should make her exit, but she lingered in adoration of the crowd. Their roars, the uncouth stamping of feet, even the smell of hundreds of warm bodies undisguised by expensive perfumes — it was all so intoxicating. She finally knew why so many lower class girls gave in to the lure of the stage.
    She waved a final time. The stage crew shot her dark