Three nights later, at Lady Andover's ball, Madeleine felt a brief burst of her old panic. Not that her feelings for Ferguson were different - but her position in the ton was.

Outwardly, little had changed - she was still the same Madeleine, safe and dull as ever. But the addition of the enormous emerald on her right hand attracted the scrutiny of everyone in the ton.

It had taken two days before Alex was satisfied with the marriage settlements. Ferguson raised no objections to Alex's demands, and she suspected Alex enjoyed stalling the negotiations more than he should have. But word had spread as Madeleine was seen wearing Ferguson's ring, and by nightfall, everyone was buzzing.

Some were quite happy for her; Lady Jersey, for instance, was very kind in her usual chatty way. And Ferguson's aunt Sophronia, the duchess of Harwich, was thrilled, even if she looked a bit grim about the eyes as she watched Madeleine being accosted by well wishers.

But not all who came to her were pleasant. Oh, they were kind - but almost pitying, too, as though they were sorry that she had been so long on the shelf that she would settle for a man of dubious morals, even if he was a duke.

"I do hope his temper has improved," said one matron doubtfully.

"A splendid match, I'm sure, although I told Lady Sefton that I would not have leapt so soon after his father's unfortunate demise," remarked another.

"You'll be wanting a stout lock on your door in case he goes mad like his brother," a third lady said, no doubt thinking her advanced age excused her bluntness.

The rumors about his brother - and the possibility that Ferguson might also be tainted - surprised her. She knew he wasn't mad, but she didn't expect others to view him with such suspicion. Would it always be like this for her, spending the rest of her life watching the ton scrutinize Ferguson for any hint of encroaching insanity?

But when he emerged from the crowd to stand beside her, her doubts vanished. It might almost be amusing to hear the ton's gossip if he was beside her to enjoy it.

And if it wasn't amusing, at least he could make it up to her when they were alone.

"How are you this evening, my love?" he asked.

As he greeted her, he picked up her hand and kissed the ring he had given her. She smiled at the gesture, feeling warmth spread through all the places tonight's foray into society had frozen. "I shall be better when we are married, I believe."

His thumb slid down to caress the pulse point in her wrist - a gesture she never would have guessed as erotic, but all the more of a tease since she could not kiss him that night, let alone take him into her bed.

"It is only a month away - surely we can survive," he said, not sounding sure at all.

Madeleine would have married him within the week, but her aunt refused to plan a wedding with such unseemly haste. Augusta was thrilled with their match, already shopping for Madeleine's trousseau - but she still insisted on Madeleine being chaperoned when he called, even though the twinkle in her eyes said she knew it was already too late for that. Augusta had never minded the girls' unconventional pursuits as long as they were discreet; now that Madeleine was safe from scandal, she had returned to the calm understanding she always displayed.

So unless some miracle occurred, they would only have stolen moments at parties such as these for the next month - and it felt like being sent to a nunnery, after all she had experienced at Ferguson's hands.

He pulled her onto the dance floor, claiming one of the waltzes she now always saved for him. In the only act that betrayed his autocratic tendencies, Ferguson demanded that she only waltz with him - a promise she kept eagerly, since no other partner would satisfy her.

"The twins said you went on a shopping excursion today?" Ferguson asked as they settled into the rhythm of the dance.

"Yes, and they were eager to bankrupt you," Madeleine said. "Not that I can fault them - they've dressed only in mourning for nearly four years."

"Just remember they will soon be spending you into Fleet Prison too," Ferguson laughed.

She thought the laugh sounded forced. There was a tightness to his jaw that worried her. Perhaps he felt the additional eyes upon him tonight as well - they were being given an oddly wide berth by their fellow dancers.

She didn't remark on it, though. She kept her tone light and fixed a smile on her face.

"I will tire of the shopping long before we are paupered. They could have finished hours earlier, but you should have seen them - like little girls in a sweet shop. I do not believe they had been to a modiste's salon before. Kate said your father had dressmakers come to them."

"Father tried beating Henry and Richard, and verbally flaying me and Ellie. By the time the twins grew older, he must have thought it easier to just keep them penned up."

He said it so matter of factly, still staring slightly over her head to survey the crowd, that her heart broke a little for him. "They are improving, though - they were civil to me today. And they are thrilled that you are marrying and staying in England. It will be good for them to have us to help them navigate the ton."

The sudden frost in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but she heard it in his voice. "Where did they hear that we are staying in England?"

She faltered slightly, but his grip was too tight to let her fall. "I assured them of it. They are so lonely, after all, and you did say you would stay in England."

"You forget that my remaining in England was contingent on finding a reason to stay."

She sucked in a breath. "I thought I was a reason."

His face was impassive, his voice dispassionate, almost bored. "If you wish to stay in London, we shall discuss it. But I'm sure you will love Scotland, given enough time."

The autocrat slipped out from under his mask and stared her in the face. She had expected it to make an appearance someday, though, and she refused to back down. "We most certainly will discuss it. You've never said a pleasant word about your life in Scotland, other than that it is where your father wasn't. Now that he is dead, what are you still running from?"

For the briefest moment, the autocrat looked almost tortured, twisted into a display of guilt and grief, before all of his emotions disappeared again behind a careful, expressionless façade. "This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation, Lady Madeleine," he said, the formal title cutting into her just as it always wounded him. "But I will thank you for not filling my sisters' heads with more promises until we discuss our arrangements."

She couldn't give in to the desire to scream at him, to shake him and demand to know why he had turned so cold. She also couldn't leave him, not when everyone would see and assume the worst. So she forced herself to watch her steps, instead of his eyes, and to count off the minutes until he would release her.

He maintained his silence too, and while his grip on her never wavered, it also never veered into the sensual realm she was used to with him. He conducted their waltz with military precision, like she was an objective to be conquered.

When the waltz finally ended, he ushered her out of the dancers and deposited her at the side of the room. As the last strains of music faded, he stared hard at her, meeting her gaze for the first time. The guilt and grief was back.

He paused, considering her face, and finally leaned in to say, "Avoid the gaming tables tonight, love. Lady Greville is holding court there, and you would not find her conversation pleasant."

She only had time for a startled nod before he stalked away into the crowd. She stood adrift, twisting her ring on her finger as she watched him pass through the crowd. No one stopped to converse with him, and she wondered if he felt just as alone in the ton as she always had.

But why was he considering Scotland? Had Caro finally found a threat that could sway him? The only secret that could ruin him was Madeleine's - and bile rose in her throat as she speculated about what Caro might have learned.

"My dear, are you alright?" Lady Harcastle asked. Ferguson had accidentally led her directly to Prudence's mother. Madeleine rarely wished to see her in most circumstances, and she did not want to see her now.

"Perfectly well, Lady Harcastle," Madeleine said, swallowing hard to combat her nausea. "The duke has some business to attend to."

Lady Harcastle raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Did you believe that? Or, worse, do you think I believe that? You are usually more astute, despite your ancestry."

Madeleine bit her tongue. Lady Harcastle's family had been devastated by the Peninsular War, and unlike most of the ton she absolutely loathed the French. It would do no good to mention that her mother was English - and she couldn't have interjected it anyway, since Lady Harcastle continued to speak.

"I must say I am pleased to see you. I've heard something that cannot wait for my next call at your house."

She looked both grim and sympathetic - a look Madeleine had never received from her before. Madeleine felt her stomach drop, the color fleeing her cheeks as dread replaced it.

Caro must have found her out.

It was the only rumor that would cause this reaction. Ferguson's other exploits were all known and tolerated, and Madeleine had no other secrets.

They had been so close - safe, in fact, with the playhouse shuttered and Marguerite's retirement announced to the world. But apparently they weren't safe enough.

"What do you wish to say?" Madeleine asked, feigning innocent curiosity as though it could change whatever Lady Harcastle had heard.

But it wasn't what she expected. "You have heard the rumors about the previous duke's death?"

"The carriage accident?" Madeleine asked blankly, too stunned by the unexpected turn in the conversation to follow Lady Harcastle's thoughts.

"Don't say you believe that too," she said with an ugly, barking laugh. "Everyone knows Richard shot him."

"Why are you telling me this?" Madeleine asked, exhaling as she felt some of her fear evaporate - she wasn't discovered after all.

Lady Harcastle lowered her voice. "They say such madness runs in families."

"Ferguson isn't mad," Madeleine said impatiently.

"Do you know for sure?" Lady Harcastle countered.

"No more than I can be sure of your sanity."

"Don't be pert. It's unbecoming even if you are to be a duchess," Lady Harcastle snapped. "Mind you, I don't say I believe a word of this, but you need to know what the ton is saying, preferably before you are stuck with him. And if no one else will tell you, it is my duty to."

"Tell me what?" Madeleine asked, wanting to shake the woman and see the ridiculous toque she was wearing shed its feathers on the floor.

"You do remember that he took a mistress - that actress in Seven Dials?"

Her stomach dropped again, this time feeling like it had fled entirely. "It isn't proper for me to discuss such things."

"I've never known you to be missish - but it's worse than that. She hasn't been seen anywhere in days."

"I heard she retired," Madeleine said carefully. "Perhaps she left town."

"Likely that's all it is. But with his brother's madness, and witnesses claiming he forced her into his carriage after her last play - people are talking. And the prevailing rumor is that he murdered her."