Mistress

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MARCUS FELT AS THOUGH THE GROUND SHIFTED around him, leaving him in a different place than he had been a moment earlier. The light from the stars seemed to come from a slightly different angle. The moon had altered its position in the sky.

Iphiginia had said that she loved him. Again.

Quite clearly. Marcus studied her very closely. She did not appear to be overwrought as she had the other night in the Temple of Vesta when she had thought she'd murdered him.

"Marcus?" Iphiginia frowned in concern. "Are you all right, my lord?"

"No." But he could not explain what was wrong or changed or different. He could not even form a coherent sentence.

He reached out and caught Iphiginia around the waist. He dragged her off the seat and into his arms.

She uttered a small, delicious gasp of surprise and then dropped her fan when he crushed her mouth beneath his own. Her shawl fluttered to the floor of the carriage.

"Marcus." Her arms stole around him. She sighed softly and nestled close.

Without taking his lips from hers, Marcus closed the carriage curtains. The cab was Idled with soft darkness.

He kissed Iphiginia deeply, hungrily, with all the consuming need that he had kept tamped down since the night in the Temple of Vesta.

She did not appear to mind his desperation or his lack of subtlety. She clung to him. Her hands moved in his hair. Her head fell back against his shoulder.

Marcus put his hand on her stocking-clad calf. He slid his palm up to her knee, past her garter, and all the way to the warm, silken flesh above. Her delicate petticoats foamed around his arm and cascaded across his legs.

He found his way to the heated place between her thighs and groaned when he discovered that she was already damp. She smelled of roses and feminine desire. It was the most intoxicating scent he had ever encountered. His whole body clenched with need.

Marcus realized that his hands were trembling. He fought for breath and control. He would not throw himself on her the way he had last time, he vowed. He would not act the rough, clumsy farmer. He would make it good for her.

He wanted to please her. He was desperate to please her. He had to please her.

He eased her to a sitting position until she straddled his thighs. Her white skirts pooled on the black velvet cushions. He reached down to unfasten his breeches.

Iphiginia braced her hands on his shoulders. "Marcus, what are you doing?"

"Making love to you." His erect shaft sprang free. "In your carriage?" A narrow sliver of light from the crack in the curtains revealed her wide-eyed expression.

"It must be either here or on your front doorsteps. I cannot last until we find the comfort of a bed. Touch me."

"Yes. Oh, yes." Tentatively, she removed her hand from his shoulder. She took the tip of one gloved finger between her teeth and tugged. Then she went to the next finger. Slowly she eased the white satin glove off her hand.

Watching her strip the glove from her fingers was one of the most excruciatingly erotic sights Marcus had ever witnessed.

She finished the task. The satin glove that dangled from her teeth gleamed in the strip of fight. She reached down, fumbled a bit, and then gently curled her fingers around him.

"Marcus." The glove dropped from her teeth. For a moment Marcus thought he would disgrace himself just as he had on the last occasion. He sucked in his breath and wondered if he would survive.

"Marcus?" Iphiginia sounded anxious. "Are you all right? You are not about to collapse again, are you?"

Marcus nearly choked on his laughter. He smiled faintly. "No. At least not just yet. I want to he inside you, Iphiginia. But I don't want to rush you. This time you must guide me."

"Very well. But I warn you, all I know of this sort of thing is what I have learned from our last experience together and what I observed during my tour of Lartmore's statuary hall."

"It will be enough, I promise you." He cupped her with his palm and felt the moist beat that awaited him. "More than enough."

"You're certain?" She ran her thumb across the end of his shaft.

Marcus steeled himself. "Quite certain." He moved his fingers through the soft nest of hair between her thighs until he uncovered the swollen bud. He stroked gently.

"Good heavens, Marcus." He felt the tremor that went through her. It was a sweet, powerful signal of her response to him. A fierce joy seized Marcus.

Her fingers tightened convulsively around him. Marcus winced and caught his breath.

"Did I hurt you, my lord?" "You are going to he the death of me, Iphiginia." "Oh, no, I'm so sorry. Are you all right, sir? I did not mean to do you an injury." Alarm briefly doused the sweet intensity of passion in her husky voice. "I warned you that I did not know precisely what to do."

"I was merely jesting," he assured her. He took another deep breath. "I'm nowhere near death." He continued to stroke her carefully, drawing forth the dew until his hand was slick with it. "In truth, I do not know when I have ever felt more alive."

Iphiginia's tentative, experimental caresses threatened to demolish his defenses and scatter his senses to the four winds. He was sweating now, every muscle tensed.

She moved slightly in his lap, adjusting herself. She tightened her legs. Her inner thigh brushed against his engorged shaft. His whole body clenched. Her whispered sighs and quickening breath told him of her increasing' excitement.

Then, when he was beginning to wonder if she would ever finish the business, she guided him awkwardly to the exquisitely soft, hot place between her legs. Cautiously, slowly, carefully, she fitted herself to him.

She was so tight. Marcus wondered if he would, indeed, expire before he got inside.

She eased herself downward, drawing in her breath sharply at one point. Then her passage closed snugly around him. Marcus shuddered and held himself unmoving.

A distant warning bell rang somewhere in his fevered brain. He reminded himself that he must withdraw before he spilled his seed. He was not using one of his specially modified French sheep-gut condoms.

And then Iphiginia began to move on him and all rational thought dissolved in Marcus's fevered brain. More demanding than any goddess from classical times, she clutched at him, whispered his name, pleaded, begged, scolded, demanded.

Marcus teased her gently, tormenting himself in the process. And then quite suddenly she shivered and convulsed in his arms.

«Marcus.»

She collapsed against him with a tiny scream of surprise and pleasure.

The warning bell sounded again somewhere, but Marcus was unable to respond. He gripped Iphiginia's thighs and surged upward. He bit back the exultant shout of satisfaction that threatened to erupt from his throat.

Several moments later he sagged back into the corner of the carriage scat. Iphiginia sprawled on top of him.

There was silence. Marcus listened to it while he inhaled the unique, earthy scent of sexual satisfaction that drifted in the air of the closed cab.

The carriage turned a corner and came to a halt a few minutes later. Marcus stirred reluctantly and lit one of the interior lamps. He allowed himself a few seconds to savor the feel of Iphiginia nestled against him and then reality struck him,

"Iphiginia? We have arrived at your home." She mumbled something indistinct and snuggled closer. Her skirts rustled softly. Marcus realized that she had fallen asleep. He smiled.

"Wake up. Hurry, my dear." He shook her gently, urging her to a sitting position. He heard the footman clamber down from the box to open the carriage door. Marcus hastily reached out to latch it.

Iphiginia. "What is it?" She patted back a charming yawn and blinked with sleepy languor. Her skirts were crumpled around her thighs. One neat coil of hair had come loose. It dangled over her ear. A white plume bobbed at an odd angle. "Is it morning?"

"No, it is not." Marcus quickly set himself to rights. "It's the middle of the night and you look as though you have been tumbled in a carriage."

Iphiginia giggled, "Fancy that, my lord." Marcus paused in the act of shoving his shirttails into his breeches. He gazed at her, riveted by her happiness.

He was responsible for this, he thought with a sense of awed wonder. He had made her happy. It was an infinitely more satisfying achievement than the creation of a clockwork butler or viewing stars through a telescope.

The footman rapped on the carriage door. "M'lord, do you wish to descend?"

"One moment, Jenkins." Marcus shook himself out of his momentary reverie. "Turn around," he muttered to Iphiginia. "The bodice of your gown is twisted and that plume looks as though it's about to fall out of your hair."

"Yes, my lord. I cannot imagine how I came to be in such disarray." Iphiginia obediently turned her back toward him and sat patiently while he fumbled with her gown.

"There, now, let me see you." Marcus turned her about again and surveyed his handiwork with a critical eye. He scowled at the loop of hair that still danced over Iphiginia's right ear, "Give me a pin."

She reached up and removed one from her chignon. "Here you are, sir. Pray do not stick yourself."

"Stop giggling. The footman will think I am tickling you. P,

"Yes, my lord." Mirth bubbled up inside her once more.

Marcus pinned the fallen coil into place. "With any luck that will hold until you get inside."

"I'm certain that it will, sir. You have a talent for mechanical things."

He unmatched the carriage door and shoved it open. Jenkins, waiting patiently outside, turned with an impassive expression and set down the step.

Marcus bid a smile as he watched Iphiginia descend with grand dignity just as though she had been doing nothing more unconventional than conversing about classical antiquities for the past half hour.

When she reached the pavement she gave Jenkins a smile which appeared to temporarily blind the man.

"Thank you," she murmured to the footman.

She would make a perfect countess, Marcus thought. He walked her to her door and saw her safely inside.

It took every ounce of his willpower to stay outside on the front steps. He had an almost overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs to her bedchamber.

"You were quite correct about one thing, my lord," Iphiginia whispered in a soft, dreamy voice as he made to close the door.

He paused on the step. "What was that?" "It was much better this time."

He grinned. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? I actually survived a second encounter. It was not even necessary to summon a doctor to revive me afterward."

Iphiginia smiled with smug satisfaction' "Obviously you are possessed of a very strong constitution, my lord."

"Obviously."

Marcus closed the door and went down the steps to where his carriage waited. He whistled softly and took a deep breath of the midnight air.

"A fine night, m'lord," Jenkins said as he opened the carriage door.

"It is indeed. Tell Dinks to take us home." "Yes, m'lord."

Marcus vaulted up into the carriage and settled onto the scat where he and Iphiginia had made love. Pale white satin gleamed against the ebony velvet.

He picked up Iphiginia's glove. It lay as soft as a swath of starlight across his broad, muscled palm. He closed his hand very tightly around it.

Marcus went straight to the library the moment he got home. He had a long time to contemplate his decision while he waited for his brother to return from his night on the town. It was nearly three in the morning before Bennet's carriage rumbled to a halt in front. of the town house.

Marcus cradled his brandy glass in his hands and waited for the door of the library to slam open.

He did not have to wait long. Bennet stormed into the room. "Lovelace says you wish to speak to me."

"Yes." Bennet stalked to the hearth, flung one arm out along the marble mantel, and took up a stance of sullen defiance. "Yes, what is it, then? I cannot imagine what more we have to say to each other, brother."

Marcus gazed into the fire. "I regret my attempt to interfere in your plans for marriage to Miss Dorchester."

Bennet stared at him. "What did you say?" "You heard me." Marcus took a sip of his brandy. "I should not have tried to scare off the Dorchesters. I had no right to threaten to cut you off from the family fortune, especially since I never had any intention of following through on the threat. It was a bluff."

"Marcus, what are you saying? Is this some sort of cruel jest?"

"If you choose to wed Juliana Dorchester, rest assured that you will he able to keep her in suitable style. You will continue to have full access to your income. Tomorrow I shall have my man of affairs draw up papers that will protect your inheritance."

Bennet looked completely nonplussed. "I don't understand. Are you telling me that you will give your approval to my betrothal to Juliana?"

"Yes." Marcus paused. "On the morrow I shall make it clear to Dorchester that I have no objection to the announcement of an engagement."

"But earlier this evening you implied that you would never tolerate it."

"I said a great many things earlier this evening. I regret all of them. You have my apologies."

"Your apologies." Bennet sounded thunderstruck. Marcus raised his eyes to meet Bennet's. "My only excuse is that I believed that I was protecting you from suffering a fate similar to my own." "Juliana is not Nora, damn it." "You are correct," Marcus said. "She is not Nora." Bennet shook his head as though to clear it. "I do not know what to say."

"You are my brother, the only family I have. I would no more cut you off than I would cut off my right arm. In truth, I would sooner lose my arm than your affection and trust.»

"I do believe you really mean what you are saying." Marcus turned his glass in his hand and watched the

firelight dance through the facets. "You may instruct Dorchester to have his man of affairs call upon mine to begin work on the marriage settlements. This sort of thing takes a great deal of time, you know. Several months is not unusual when there is so much money involved."

"Uh, Marcus, I haven't actually asked for Juliana's hand yet."

"No?" Marcus shrugged. "Well, I expect there is no great rush now that you know that there will he no objection from me."

"I shall speak to her at once," Bennet said eagerly. "She will no doubt wish to send the announcement to the papers before the end of the Season."

"No doubt." Marcus took another swallow of brandy. The end of the Season was a month and a half away.

"Marcus, I don't know what to say." Bennet ran his fingers through his carefully tousled curls. "I was not expecting this change of heart from you."

"Neither was I," Marcus said under his breath. Bennet frowned. "What was that?"

"I acted in haste and I have since had time to evaluate my actions. I pray you will forgive me."

"Yes, of course." Bennet hesitated. "Thank you. I cannot tell you how much this means to me. You will see that Juliana is a fine, gracious lady. She will make me an excellent wife."

"I expect you will want to set the wedding date sometime in the spring of next year?"

'.'Next year?" Bennet looked disconcerted. "That is a long time off."

"We might he able to manage with a six-month engagement, but a year is a more acceptable period, I'm told."

"Well, as to that, I had not really considered a proper engagement period. To be perfectly frank, Marcus, I was looking into hiring a carriage to take Juliana and myself to Gretna Green."

Marcus nearly strangled on his brandy. "I see." "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Marcus recovered, took a breath, and then another swallow of the brandy. " Gretna is out. I'm sure Mrs. Dorchester will want to plan a fashionable wedding,for her only daughter."

"No doubt. And Juliana does try to be a dutiful daughter. It is one of her many virtues."

"Indeed."

"Well, then." Bennet grinned. He looked as though a tremendous weight had been removed from his shoulders. "I shall discuss the engagement with Juliana and let you know what length of time we wish to choose."

"Of course. Your decision entirely. just he certain to allow Dorchester 's man of affairs sufficient time to confer with Barclay."

"Marcus, I don't mind telling you that I find myself amazed by this turn of events."

"Do you?"

"You must admit that it is not like you to change your mind, especially on a matter such as this. You have a rule against altering a decision once it's made."

"Perhaps I am mellowing as I age."

"It is even less like you to apologize."

Another rule broken, thanks to Iphiginia. "I am aware of that."

"Would you mind telling me what brought about this sudden transformation?"

"I have had time to reflect and upon reflection, I feel I was mistaken."

Bennet eyed him closely. "What about the other business?"

"What other business?"

"Juliana said that you not only threatened to cut me off if I married without your approval, you also announced your own intention to wed." Bennet toted his head curiously. "Was that a bluff, too?"

"No."

Bennet smiled. "I am pleased to learn that." "Are you?"

"Of course I am. I've been telling you for an age that it is high time you remarried. I warned you that if you were to continue along your present path you would be in imminent danger of turning into one of your own clockwork automatons."

"I trust I shall avoid such an end."

"So?" Bennet gave him an inquiring look. "Who is she?"

"I am not prepared to make a formal announcement yet. There are, ah, certain details to he worked out."

"Yes, yes, I know." Bennet made an impatient movement with his hand. "if there is a great deal of business to be gotten out of the way in my marriage, I can envision how much there will be in your situation. After all, you've got the future of the title to consider."

"Yes."

"But surely you can confide in me, Marcus. I'm your brother." Bennet chuckled. "Is it the Chumley chit?"

"No."

"Elizabeth Anderson, perhaps?" "No."

"Let me see." Bennet tapped his finger on the mantel. "I know, Henderson 's daughter. What's her name? Charlotte?"

"I am going to marry Iphiginia Bright."

Bennet's mouth fell open. "The devil you are." Marcus frowned. "You are not to say a word about

this until I tell 'you that you may do so. Is that understood? This must remain a secret for now."

Bennet opened and closed his mouth twice before he managed to speak. "Damnation, Marcus. You cannot possibly be serious about marrying Mrs. Bright."

"But I am serious."

"She's your mistress, for God's sake."

"She is the lady I intend to wed. I told you that I will not tolerate any disrespect."

"But you're the Earl of Masters." Bennet slammed his hand against the mantel. "It's one thing to conduct a liaison with a woman such as Mrs. Bright. It is quite another thing to marry her."

"Give me one good reason why I should not marry her," Marcus challenged.

"One? I can give you a dozen. A man in your position is expected to marry a young lady, not a mature woman. Someone from a good family. Fresh out of the schoolroom. Unstained. Untouched. Your bride should be a respectable innocent-a virgin, to be perfectly blunt-not a notorious widow with whom you have been having an affair.»

"Iphiginia Bright is just the right age for me." Marcus propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. "She is from a good family. She is respectable. You may put the word about that anyone who disagrees with me is free to do so over a pair of dueling pistols."

"Damn it to hell, Marcus, you cannot mean that."

door. "I shall pray that you come to your senses before You do anything so rash as to send word to the papers."

"I would not hold my breath if I were you." "Damn it, this is abominable." Bennet yanked open the door. He turned to glance over his shoulder. "She has done something to your brain, that's what it is. I can only hope that you will recover from this strange fever before it is too late."

"You were the one who feared I might become an automaton if I did not marry soon."

"Mrs. Bright was definitely not what I had in mind as a bride for you." Bennet stomped out into the hall and slammed the door.

Marcus sat quietly for a while. lien he got to his feet and crossed the room to the brandy table. He poured himself another glass and went to stand at the window.

He had done it, he thought. He had taken Iphiginia's advice and violated several of his own rules in the process. Never explain, never discuss the past, never alter a decision or retreat from an objective.

So many rides broken in one night. Perhaps Bennet was right. Iphiginia did seem to have inspired a sort of fever within his brain.

On the other hand, Marcus thought, he no longer felt as though he were turning into a clockwork man.