The heat of his kiss, the firm pressure of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, and the wildfire of fear from the encroaching footsteps threatened to burn her. She tried squirming away from him, but he kept her trapped against him. So she kicked his shin, and she felt him flinch as her foot made gratifying contact with bone.

But just as she thought he might let her go, she heard the door open behind her. The sound of those booted feet coming to a stop froze her in Ferguson's arms.

Holding her like she was a racing trophy, he looked over her head at whoever had entered behind them. "She's a feisty lass, isn't she?"

She tried to turn, but he draped his arms around her shoulders, a prison disguised as affection. Behind her, she heard a man drawl, "Indeed. I do hope you are prepared to give her up, though."

"Give her up? You are better acquainted with me than that, Westbrook."

Madeleine sucked in a breath. The earl of Westbrook's name was whispered in the ton - more often around her now that she was on the shelf - but he did not frequent the debutante-rich circles Madeleine moved in.

She turned around to face him. It was stupid, but they had never spoken, so the chance he would recognize her was small. Westbrook was quite handsome, in a sinister way, with a physique and complexion not yet devastated by drink. He had dark hair that swept back from his face, and grey eyes that would be lovely when warm - but now, as they stared uncompromisingly at Ferguson, they were cold and intimidating.

He was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And what he wanted now was Madeleine as his mistress.

She might have found it funny if her situation weren't so dire. Ferguson, however, was unamused. He took charge again, sitting in her dressing chair and pulling her down onto his lap. She landed with a muffled gasp, her legs falling astride his thigh, her back pressed to his chest, and his arms quite proprietarily encircling her waist.

He kissed the side of her neck, right over the vein, and she was surprised to discover how sensitive she was there. She arched her neck unconsciously, then realized that Westbrook, still watching from the doorway, would think she wanted more.

Westbrook's grey eyes glittered. Madeleine felt utterly out of her depth.

"Madame Guerrier, I assure you that you would be more secure under my protection," he said, with all the calm of a man conducting a business arrangement. "Ferguson - Rothwell now, I suppose - has been out of London for nearly a decade, and I doubt he will remain for any length of time. You should think about which of us is better placed to support you."

He sounded like he had negotiated with mistresses for years. There was a lot about the demimonde she did not know. But she suspected his argument would sway a high-flying courtesan.

Ferguson cut her off before she could answer. "How does the lovely Lady Greville feel about this?" he asked, his lips still grazing over Madeleine's throat.

The earl waved a hand and his onyx signet ring flashed in the candlelight. "Not that I should like to admit this, but it is the lady's decision to end our arrangement. If she no longer wants me in her bed, I see no reason to delay finding a new companion."

Ferguson's lips pulled away from her and she felt his arms tighten. "I do hope you are not leaving Caro out in the cold."

Westbrook laughed bitterly. "My dear Caroline can shift for herself better than any of us. But I forgot all about your connection with her - it was your precipitous flight from her bed that sent you off to Scotland in disgrace, was it not?"

Madeleine's head snapped up at that. Westbrook met her eyes. "I did not intend to offend you with this nonsense, Madame Guerrier," he said silkily. "But you should know what you are signing up for if you choose to align yourself with Rothwell."

"You are no saint yourself, Westbrook," Ferguson said. He sounded calm, but she could feel his legs tense beneath her as though preparing for a fight.

Madeleine was drowning in this conversation, and there was nowhere that offered safe purchase. Ferguson had behaved abominably by kissing her without so much as a by-your-leave, and apparently his illicit connections from ten years earlier still haunted him - but Westbrook had a reputation as a dangerous predator. Worse, he was a wealthy, titled predator, which made him nearly unstoppable. Without Ferguson there, he may have already carried her off. Josephine had disappeared, but neither she nor Madame could have saved Madeleine from Westbrook without giving her name away.

Westbrook turned his gaze back to her. "So, Madame Guerrier, I must ask why you are throwing yourself away on Rothwell. Even leaving aside the rumors about his brothers, the whole ton knows that he has turned his back on London life. If you choose him, you will find yourself out on the streets within the month."

"Did you offer Lady Greville the same security?" Madeleine asked. She had never played the role of a hardened mistress - but in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Caro got what she wanted out of our arrangement, which is more than I can say for what she got from Rothwell."

She wasn't ready to forgive Ferguson for taking command, but she couldn't express interest in Westbrook just to get revenge. And since Ferguson had guessed her true identity, she could not risk offending him. So she murmured, "I am flattered by your offer, my lord, but my understanding with his grace is of longer duration." Ferguson squeezed her, and despite the distracting nuzzling at her neck, she was glad that he was at her back.

Westbrook was shocked for a single second, but he smoothed his face and put his hat back on his head. "You wound me, Madame Guerrier. But I am quite particular in my tastes. No doubt Rothwell will end this soon - or you will end it yourself, if he proves dangerous. If you find yourself wanting a new companion, I am at your service." He kissed her hand, gave a curt nod to Ferguson, and took his leave.

Madeleine leaned back into Ferguson's chest, not knowing how tense she had been until Westbrook left the room. Talking to Westbrook in the ton could have caused a scandal for an unwed almost-spinster. Accepting his kiss while sitting in Ferguson's lap made her feel like she was already ruined.

She listened to him walk away, and her rage rushed back with every step. As soon as she heard the stage door close in the distance, Madeleine sprang to her feet. "Are you mad?" she shrieked. "What in the world are you doing?"

Ferguson put a finger on her lips. But after his autocratic possession of her body in front of Westbrook, she was in no mood for his control.

She opened her mouth and bit him.

"Bloody hell," he swore, jerking his hand back. "What was that for?"

"Don't shush me like a child! I deserve an answer for what just happened."

"And you shall have all the answers you want as soon as we're in my coach," he said, opening the door to check their surroundings. "But unless you want the whole theatre to hear our discussion - and there will be a discussion - I suggest you accept my shushing and come with me."

She wanted to bite him again, but she knew he was right. He took her arm and ushered her out of the dressing room, pulling her toward the back door. "There may be more outside. Act 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.

-----

Note to readers: I loved writing the theatre scenes in this book - a lot of theatre-goers during the Regency period were raucous and misbehaved, since it was as much a social outing as a chance to see a comedy or drama. But hopefully you're also finding enough comedy and drama with Ferguson and Madeleine's budding romance :) Any comments or votes are much appreciated...more chapters to come!