Mistress

CHAPTER THREE

SHOCK LANCED THROUGH IPHIGINLA WITH THE FORCE OF lightning shooting through a cloud. She could not have been more startled if the marble centurion had suddenly sprung to life and taken her into his arms.

She was so astonished by the feel of Marcus's mouth on her own that she went absolutely rigid for a few disbelieving seconds.

Marcus was kissing her. His strong, powerful hands rested on the naked skin of her shoulders, sending small shivers of excitement down her spine.

This notorious man whom she had come to know so intimately and whom she admired so much, this man who had stridden through her dreams every night for nearly a month, was making love to her right here in her own library.

Marcus had occupied her every waking moment since she had returned to London. She had spent her days studying him so that she could turn herself into a believable illusion of a woman to whom he might conceivably make love.

She had garnered rumors, tales, and a few real facts from every available source. She had read everything that he had written that she was able to find. She had spent hours contemplating the smallest details that she had learned about him in an effort to comprehend him and make him seem more real.

In the process she had created a very private fantasy for herself, one she had not shared with anyone, not even Amelia or Aunt Zoe.

Late at night, after a long, tension-filled evening of playing her role, she had lain awake imagining how it would feel to actually he Marcus's mistress, to be the woman he took to his bed, to he the woman he loved.

The woman he loved. A long time ago she had quietly concluded that she was not the sort of female who could experience great passion or inspire it in a man. She had come to terms with that knowledge, accepted it. She had told herself that she was too level headed, too practical, too intellectual to fall in love.

Nevertheless, in spite of her own self-knowledge, she had woven a web of fantasies around Marcus.

It had all seemed harmless enough because the man was safely dead.

But tonight he had walked out of her dreams straight into her life. And he was far more fascinating in the flesh than he had ever been in her dreams.

"You are most unusual, Iphiginia. Not at all what I expected." Marcus's voice was dark and shadowed with heavy sensuality. "Yet you are exactly what I seem to want tonight.»

She could not answer, not only because he captured her mouth again, but because she was quivering from head to toe. His arms tightened around her as he nibbled gently at first, then persuasively, and then more insistently. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

She gasped, parting her lips. He responded by invading her mouth with his tongue.

The momentary stiffness created by her initial surprise evaporated, leaving Iphiginia feeling incredibly warm and pliant. Heat pooled in her lower body. It was an extraordinary sensation.

She gave a muffled moan which seemed to please Marcus. His fingers flexed on her skin. Another wave of delicious shivers went through her.

She lifted her hands and gripped the dangling ends of his long, white cravat. "This is really most astounding, my lord."

"Yes, it is, is it not?" He kissed her jaw and the tip of her nose. "And I promise you that you are no more astonished than I."

"My lord." "My name is Marcus." "Oh, Marcus." Consumed in the fires of her excitement, she released his cravat and wound her arms snugly around his neck.

The movement instantly brought her body into closer contact with his. She was pressed tightly against him now. Her breasts were crushed against the wall of his broad chest. She could feel the shockingly hard bulge of his manhood straining beneath his breeches.

His long fingers brushed against the nape of her neck. She cried out softly in response. The place between

her legs began to grow damp. Her head tipped back against his arm, and his lips found her throat.

"Marcus. Dear heaven." She clenched her fingers in his hair. Her senses were whirling now. She could not seem to think.

"I believe you will make me a most excellent mistress, my sweet." Marcus took a step back toward the wide green and gold Grecian sofa. He tugged Iphiginia with him.

She beard a dull thud as his boot came up against one of the broken chunks of marble.

"Bloody hell." "Oh, dear." Iphiginia started to pull back. "Do he careful, my lord. You'll do yourself an injury."

"No doubt, but I trust it will he worth it." Marcus sidestepped the stone and fell back onto the sofa.

He kept one foot on the floor and tumbled Iphiginia swiftly down on top of him. She spilled across his hard, muscled body and lay captive between his thighs. Her airy skirts fluttered delicately for a moment or two as if in protest. Then they settled across Marcus's legs with a soft whisper of surrender.

The heat that poured from Marcus threatened to bum Iphiginia. She had never felt anything so intense.

He caught her face between his hands and brought her mouth to his.

The spell was broken by a horrified exclamation from the vicinity of the door. "Iphiginia. What is going on in here?"

Dazed from Marcus's lovemaking, Iphiginia started to raise her head. "Amelia?"

"Damnation," Marcus growled. "What in the bloody hell?"

"Let her go at once, you damnable man. Do you bear me? In the name of heaven, release her."

"Amelia, wait. Stop." Iphiginia pushed herself up on her hands and turned her head toward the shadowed doorway. She saw Amelia, dressed in a chintz wrapper, her dark hair unbound, racing forward through the maze of statuary and furniture.

"Amelia, it's all right." Iphiginia struggled to sit up. Amelia paused, but only long enough to grab a poker

from the hearth. She hoisted it in a threatening fashion and glared at Marcus. "Let her go this instant, you bastard, or I'D brain you. I swear I will."

In one swift, startlingly efficient movement, Marcus pushed Iphiginia out of the way, rolled off the edge of the sofa, and got to his feet. He reached out and jerked the poker from Amelia's hand before she had even realized what he was about.

Amelia's shriek of dismay was a high, keening wad. "Amelia, calm yourself." Iphiginia stumbled to her feet, slipped past Marcus, and ran to her cousin. She put her arms around the distraught woman. "Calm yourself, cousin. I am all right. He was not hurting me, I promise you.

Amelia raised her head and looked at Iphiginia uncomprehendingly. Then she turned to stare at Marcus. "Who is he? What is he doing here? I knew this plan of yours was dangerous. I knew that sooner or later some man would seek to take advantage of you."

Iphiginia patted her soothingly. "Amelia, allow me to present the Earl of Masters. My lord, this is my cousin, Miss Amelia Farley."

Marcus raised one brow as he set the poker aside. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

Amelia gazed at him, slack-jawed. "But you're supposed to be dead."

"So I have been told." His mouth quirked slightly at the corner. "But evidence to the contrary continues to crop up.

Amelia swung around to confront Iphiginia. "The blackmailer did not murder him, after all?"

"Apparently not." Iphiginia blushed and hastily straightened her gown. She noticed that one of her plumes was lying on the floor next to Marcus's boot. "It is a great relief to know that we are not dealing with a murderer, is it not?"

Amelia narrowed her gaze suspiciously at Marcus. "I'm not so sure of that. What, precisely, are we dealing with here?"

"An excellent question. Certainly not a ghost." Marcus reached down and scooped up the white plume. He held it out to Iphiginia. "I shall enjoy helping you answer the question in greater detail, Mrs. Bright. But as it grows late and the mood of the evening has been dispelled by the events of the last few minutes, I believe I shall take my leave."

"Yes, of course, my lord." Iphiginia snatched the plume from his hand. "But you did mean it when you said that you would allow me to continue to masquerade as your paramour, did you not?"

"I meant every word, my dear Mrs. Bright." Marcus's eyes gleamed in the lamplight. "I shall do everything in my power to help you create a deception that is so true to life that one cannot distinguish it from the real thing."

"That is very kind of you, sir." Iphiginia felt a rush of gratitude. "Is it your intellectual curiosity that persuades you to indulge me, my lord, or your natural gallantry?"

"I strongly suspect that it is not gallantry which persuades me to assist you, madam."

"lien it must he your intellectual nature," she said complacently.,

He gave her an amused glance as he made his way toward the door. "You know me so well."

"She should." Amelia glowered at him. "She has made an extremely thorough study of you my lord."

"I am honored." Marcus walked out into the hall. He paused, his eyes resting thoughtfully on Iphiginia. "Be sure to lock your door after I leave."

Iphiginia smiled. "Of course, my lord." Marcus. stepped out into the night and closed the door very quietly behind him.

There was a short, taut silence in the library. A moment later the wheels of the earl's black carriage rumbled on the paying stones.

Amelia swung around to face Iphiginia. She had herself under control, but her soft brown eyes were still haunted with traces of the old fear.

She was twenty-six years old, a year younger than Iphiginia. In many ways she was far prettier, with her finely wrought features, glossy dark brown hair, and expressive eyes. But there was a starkly remote quality to her that made her seem austere and unapproachable.

"I thought he was forcing himself on you," Amelia whispered.

"I know you did. I understand your concern. But, in truth, he merely kissed me, Amelia."

Iphiginia was the only person in whom Amelia had ever confided the details of the hellish experience that she had endured eight years earlier as an eighteen-year-old governess.

Amelia's mother had died giving birth to her daughter. Amelia had been raised by her scholarly but poor father, who had given her the one thing he had in abundance, an education. When he had died, the small stipend on which he and Amelia had depended abruptly ceased.

Faced with the task of making her own way in. the world, Amelia had done what countless other young women possessed of a good background but no funds did: She had applied for a post as a governess.

She had been raped by her employer's houseguest, a man named Dodgson.

The lady of the house had walked in on the scene only moments after Dodgson had finished the assault. The,woman had been scandalized. Her immediate response had been to dismiss Amelia.

The rape had not only cost the penniless Amelia her much needed position, it had made it impossible for her to secure another one. The agency which had sent her into the household where she had been attacked had refused to find her another post.

The head of the agency had informed her that she was no longer sufficiently respectable to work for a firm which prided itself on its exclusive clients and the unblemished character of the governesses and companions it supplied to the best families.

Iphiginia knew that deep inside Amelia the deep scars of that terrible night had faded but had never entirely healed.

"You allowed him to kiss you?" Amelia shook her head in wonder. "But he is a stranger. Indeed, by rights, he is supposed to he a dead stranger."

"I know." Iphiginia sank down slowly onto a Roman style chair. She gazed at the plume in her hand. "But he does not feel as though he were a stranger. Do you know what my first thought was tonight when I saw him in the Fenwicks' ballroom?"

"What was that?" Amelia asked awkwardly.

Iphiginia smiled. "I thought that he looked exactly as he was supposed to look."

"Rubbish. You have spent far too much time dwelling on what you suppose to he his nature."

"Very likely."

Amelia scowled. "He just appeared at the Fenwicks' ball?"

"Yes. He knows nothing about the blackmail situation, by the way. He says that he is definitely not a victim."

"Good lord. And he did not give you away?"

"No' He obviously had heard A the rumors that we have contrived to put about. You could say that he and I patched up our quarrel in front of the entire ton."

"I wonder why he went along with the thing," Amelia mused.

"Masters is a very intelligent man with a keen sense of curiosity and a marvelously open mind. Obviously he made the very sensible decision not to unmask me until he discovered what I was about."

Amelia snorted. "Hmm."

"A man of his wide-ranging intellect would naturally possess a rational, coolheaded nature. He is not the sort to jump to conclusions."

"It makes no sense," Amelia snapped. "I do not like this business. I'H wager he's got another reason for being so cooperative."

"What reason would that be?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he has decided that it would he amusing to turn you into his real mistress."

Iphiginia caught her breath. "Oh, I really don't think-"

"Precisely." Amelia gave her a grim look. "You have not been thinking properly since this affair started. Bah.

Why the devil isn't the man dead as he was purported to be?"

"He has been away at one of his country estates and only returned to Town because he heard about me."

"So the note Aunt Zoe received claiming that Masters had been murdered because he would not pay blackmail was merely a ploy to frighten her."

"Apparently. This is all very odd, Amelia."

"This entire plan has struck me as decidedly odd from the beginning."

"I know you have not approved," Iphiginia said. "But I thought it was working rather well."

"Until Masters came back from the dead. Some people have no consideration. What are you going to do now?"

"I have no choice but to continue posing as Masters's mistress." Iphiginia tapped her gloved forefinger against her pursed lips. "My original plan is still the only one we have and I believe that it is still a good one. If my true identity is revealed, I will lose my entree into Masters's social circle."

"No great loss, if you ask me," Amelia grumbled.

"I disagree. As the mysterious Mrs. Bright, paramour of the Earl of Masters, I can go anywhere and talk to anyone.

"But as Miss Bright, spinster, bluestocking, and former proprietor of Miss Bright's Academy for Young Ladies, you will be confined to a much more mundane circle of acquaintances. Is that it?"

Iphiginia made a face. "I'm afraid so. It's true that I now have ample funds, thanks to our very good fortune with our property investments-"

"You mean thanks to your very shrewd knowledge of architecture and Mr. Manwaring's talents as a businessman," Amelia corrected.

"And your skills in financial matters," Iphiginia added. "Do not forget your contribution."

"Yes, well, that is not the point."

Iphiginia smiled wryly. "As I started to say, regardless of the status of my finances, as Miss Iphiginia Bright, I lack the social contacts and the cachet I need to move in Masters's circles."

"And you are still convinced that whoever is behind the blackmail threat moves in Masters's world as well as your aunt's."

Iphiginia stroked the white plume. "I am certain of it. It is clear that whoever he is, he knew a great deal about the earl's plans for the Season. He was able to time the delivery of his threat to Aunt Zoe very precisely."

"Yes, I know, but-" "And he knows the secret from, Zoe's past. The only connection between Masters and Aunt Zoe is those men who played cards with Guthrie and who now play occasionally with Masters."

"But Guthrie, himself, never knew Zoe's secret. "Guthrie was so drunk most of the time that he couldn't even win at cards, let alone perceive what was happening right beneath his nose. But someone who was close to him might well have guessed what was going on between Zoe and Lord Otis and put two and two together when Maryanne was horn."

"And tried to blackmail her with the facts eighteen years later?"

"Yes. Do not forget that the news that Maryanne is actually Lord Otis's daughter, not Guthrie's, was not worth much until the Earl of Sheffield asked for her hand in marriage a few months ago."

Iphiginia did not have to go into the details. They both knew that if there was a scandal connected to Maryanne's name, Sheffield would no doubt retract his offer.

The Sheffield family was notoriously high in the instep. They very likely already had doubts about the wisdom of the heir marrying someone such as Maryanne. True, she had a respectable portion to recommend her, but it was not a great fortune. And she was quite lovely, but there was no denying that her family was somewhat undistinguished.

Sheffield could have looked much higher and everyone knew it. Its alliance with Maryanne was a love match and love was considered a frivolous reason for marriage in the ton.

"I don't know, Iphiginia," Amelia said after a moment. "This whole scheme was dangerous enough when we thought the earl was dead. But now that he is alive, I have a feeling that matters could get considerably more complicated."

"Yes." Iphiginia glanced at the nude centurion. "But I must tell you that I am very glad that he is alive, Amelia."

"I can see that." Amelia's mouth thinned as she rose to her feet. "It comes as no surprise. You have been falling in love with him for weeks."

Iphiginia felt her face turn very warm. "You exaggerate."

"I know you better than anyone. Even better I believe, than your sister or your Aunt Zoe. I have never seen you react like this to any man. Not even Richard Hampton."

Iphiginia grimaced at the mention of her sister's new husband. "I assure you. I never found Richard as…" She strove for the appropriate word, "as interesting as Lord Masters."

"Not even when he was courting you?" Amelia asked gently.

"Richard never actually courted me," Iphiginia said briskly. "I completely misread his intentions for a time. It was all a terrible misunderstanding. The mistake was soon sorted out."

To Iphiginia's acute chagrin it had been her sister, Corina, whom Richard had really loved.

"You were not the only one who misread his frequent visits," Amelia said. "We all did. I am still convinced that he did fix on you in the beginning, if you want to know the truth. And then changed his mind as he watched Corina bloom into a great beauty."

"That is unfair, Amelia. Richard is not shallow." "Don't he too certain of that. And I'll tell you something else. He would never have offered for Corina, either, if you had not settled a large portion on her. His parents would never have given their approval if they had not believed that she could bring some money into the family."

"You are right on that point." Iphiginia wrinkled her nose in disdain. She had never liked Richard's parents.

Iphiginia had known Richard most of her life. They were the same age. The Hamptons and the Brights had been neighbors in the small Devon village of Deepford.

Squire Hampton and his wife had never fully approved of Iphiginia's parents. People with uninhibited, artistic natures were always suspect in small villages dominated by unspoken rules of decorum and behavior.

Iphiginia had always liked Richard, however, and he had always been kind to her, especially during the difficult time after her parents had been lost at sea.

When she recovered from the impact of the first dreadful shock of their deaths, Iphiginia had found herself left with her nine-year-old sister and herself to support.

Unfortunately, the Brights had left very little in the way of an inheritance. Iphiginia's mother had never made much money from her paintings. Her father, a gifted architect, had lacked the business acumen to turn his elegant, classical designs into reality.

The unexpected hidden costs of construction, a poor talent for selecting his business associates, and the myriad problems inherent in building houses on speculation had combined to make most of Bright's profits evaporate.

In any event, both of Iphiginia's parents had been far more interested in renewing their artistic spirits with frequent trips to the ruins of Egypt, Italy, and Greece than they had been with making money.

The Brights had traveled widely, with little concern for the shifting theaters of the war that had raged at various points on the Continent for years. Iphiginia and her sister had usually accompanied them on their travels.

But Iphiginia and Corina had been left behind when the indomitable Brights had set out on their last journey. News of their deaths at sea had come as a devastating blow to their beloved daughters.

Faced with the responsibility of providing for herself and Corina, Iphiginia had taken a hold step. She had scraped together every available penny she could get from the sale of her mother's paintings and a pattern book that her father had created.

She had used the small sum to open her academy for young ladies. It had been an immediate success.

Richard had assisted Iphiginia by persuading his father to rent her a suitable house for her academy. He had made certain that the rent was reasonable. He had gone out of his way to perform other small acts of kindness as well. He had even convinced his mother to recommend Iphiginia's academy to her friends.

She would always be grateful to Richard, Iphiginia thought. And she would always feel a certain fondness for him. He was a handsome, amiable man with a likable manner.

But she knew now that she would not have been the best choice for a wife for him. He, apparently, had comprehended that better than she had at the time.

The truth was, she would have been quite miserable if she had been forced to spend the remainder of her life in Deepford. She had not realized just how much she had been obliged to repress her naturally exuberant, independent, adventurous, intellectual nature until she had left the village last year.

She had felt as though she had shed a cocoon and become a creature with wings.

Iphiginia had discovered this past year that she had inherited a full measure of her parents' unconventional, artistic sensibilities. She would have had a very hard time behaving in a manner suited to the wife of a staid country squire.

Her sister, on the other hand, was entirely comfortable with the strictures of life back in Deepford. Corina even seemed to like her new in-laws.

"Iphiginia?"

Iphiginia surfaced from her brief reverie. "Yes?"

"I am very concerned about this new development." "Whatever do you mean?"

"This situation is dangerous."

"Nonsense. We shall find the blackmailer and all will be well."

"I am not talking about the blackmail situation." Amelia gave her a searching glance. "I am talking about your personal situation. This business of masquerading as a notorious widow entails far too much risk. Look at what happened in here tonight."

Iphiginia's cheeks burned. "Really, Amelia. It was just a kiss."

Amelia watched her with worried eyes. "For your own sake, I pray you will take great care not to indulge in any more such reckless embraces. Masters is not some harmless country squire whom you can control with a word or a frown. He is a powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wants."

"He is a gentleman," Iphiginia protested.

"Men of his stamp seize what they desire and do not care whom they hurt in the process."

Iphiginia could think of nothing to say in response. She was only too well aware that Amelia spoke from painful experience.

In the perilous days ahead, she must bear in mind that she was not really Mrs. Bright, the exciting, exotic widow, mysterious paramour of the most notorious earl in the ton.

She was Miss Bright, spinster, scholar, student of classical design.

And she had a blackmailer to catch.

She was fascinating, Marcus thought as he walked up the front steps of his town house. Intelligent, passionate, and so delightfully different from the usual run of females. She would snake him a most interesting mistress for the remainder of the Season. Perhaps longer, if he was fortunate.

Marcus experienced a surge of what could only have been hope. It would he an enormous relief to settle into a comfortable, Stable, long-term affair with an intelligent woman.

One who accepted his rules and did not pester him for marriage or subject him to childish tantrums and irritating emotional scenes.

One who understood the demands of his assorted intellectual interests.

One who did not constantly seek to divert his attention from whatever book he was studying or. whatever project he was working on at the moment.

One with whom he could actually converse after the demands of passion had been temporarily satisfied.

Lovelace opened the door just as Marcus reached the top step. "Good evening, sir. A pleasant night, I trust."

"An interesting evening, Lovelace." Marcus stripped off his coat and handed it to his butler along with his hat.

Lovelace's expression, usually as impassive as an Egyptian sepulchral mask, registered momentary surprise. "I am pleased to hear that, sir. You do not usually return from an evening's round of social affairs with such, ah, enthusiasm."

"I am well aware of that, Lovelace. Tonight's affairs were of a somewhat unusual nature." Marcus crossed to the library. His boots rang on the gold-veined black marble floor. "You may go to bed. I shall see to the lamps."

"Thank you, sir." Lovelace paused delicately. "There is one item of news to relate."

"And that is?" "Your brother arrived here earlier this evening. He left an hour ago. I believe he went out to his club."

"Bennet is here in London?" Marcus frowned "lie is supposed to be visiting friends in Scotland."

"Yes, m'lord. I know." "Well, I shall talk to him in the morning." Marcus went into the library. "Good night, Lovelace."

"Good night, sir." Lovelace quietly closed the door. Marcus crossed the room to the small table in the

corner. The rich French brandy inside the crystal decanter glowed a mellow shade of amber.

Marcus poured himself a glass of the brandy and settled into the large, comfortable wingback chair. He absently inhaled the heady fumes that emanated from his glass as he contemplated the fact that he was about to become involved in another liaison.

The astounding thing was that he was Idled with a deep sense of anticipation this time.

Most unusual. He had always disliked the customary unpleasantness that accompanied the inevitable ending of an affair. Lately, however, he had actually found himself resenting the investment of time and effort that it took to form a new connection.

It was difficult to work up enthusiasm for the project when one knew precisely how it was all going to end. He had even gotten very good at predicting exactly when it would all terminate.

He had been allowing the periods between affairs to stretch out longer and longer, until the pressure of his physical needs grew too strong to ignore.

The difficulty was that he was burdened with a full complement of the usual masculine desires. When he was in a particularly melancholy frame of mind, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to he freed of his passions. He would then he able to abandon the murky world of romantic entanglements in favor of devoting himself to the satisfactions of his intellectual endeavors.

The thought made him grin briefly. If there was one thing he had discovered tonight, it was that there was no immediate likelihood that his body would allow him to ignore his lust. The talons of unsatisfied desire still gripped his loins.

But the most interesting aspect of the situation was that he was — not dreading the work of seduction that lay ahead. In truth, for the first time in a long, long while, he was looking forward to it.

All his instincts told him that with Iphiginia things were going to he new and different.

For starters, he could not see the inevitable conclusion to the affair.

For once he would be going into a liaison without knowing when and how it would end. That alone was enough to whet his appetite.

Marcus sipped the brandy and contemplated the pleasures of a passionate attachment that held the promise of surprise and unpredictability.

He wondered how long she would stick to her outrageous tale of a plan to catch a blackmailer.

He gave the lady high marks for creativity. She had hit upon a brilliant way to thrust herself into Society at the highest levels.

She had no doubt expected him to remain away from London for the full month, which would have given her time to entice a wealthy paramour. Or perhaps she had been out to capture his attention all along.

That last was an intriguing notion. And rather flattering.

Marcus turned the brandy glass lazily in his hands. He would allow her to continue her pretense of hunting a blackmailer as long as she pleased. It did no harm and it would he amusing to see how long she could keep up the charade.

But in the meantime he had other, more interesting games to play with Iphiginia Bright.

An unpleasant sensation of dampness made Marcus glance down at the front of his coat. He groaned when he saw the dark, spreading stain that marred the expensive fabric.

He got to his feet, removed his coat, and reached into the inside pocket. He withdrew the metal object there and regarded it with some dismay.

Clearly his latest design for a reliable hydraulic reservoir pen that contained its own supply of ink and could be carried about in one's pocket needed more work.

This was the third coat that he had ruined in the past two weeks.

But in the meantime he had other, more interesting games to play with Iphiginia Bright.

An unpleasant sensation of dampness made Marcus glance down at the front of his coat. He groaned when he saw the dark, spreading stain that marred the expensive fabric.

He got to his feet, removed his coat, and reached into the inside pocket. He withdrew the metal object there and regarded it with some dismay.

Clearly his latest design for a reliable hydraulic reservoir pen that contained its own supply of ink and could be carried about in one's pocket needed more work.

This was the third coat that he had ruined in the past two weeks.