Mistress

CHAPTER SEVEN

JUST TWO-DAYS LATER IPHIGINIA SAT AT THE DESK IN THE LIBRARY and studied a sketch of a design she was creating for the first level of a house. It was one of a series of designs that she was completing for the new construction project that she and Amelia were organizing.

The square of town houses was to he known as Bright Place in honor of her parents. The name of the project was still a secret known only to those in Iphiginia's small circle of relatives and to her trusty man of affairs, Adam Manwaring. Until her masquerade was concluded, Iphiginia did not want the name of the square to become widely known. She feared the rumors. At the very least, she would be hounded to death at parties by potential investors. At worst, questions might he raised which could, in turn, invite inquiries into her past.

The houses in Bright Place would he unlike so many of those being built in English towns these days. She had not set out to re-create any one particular classical design. Rather, Iphiginia wanted to produce a harmonious blend of the best of ancient and modern designs.

She was concerned with both exterior and interior elements. Her efforts took into account such factors as the English temperament and the climate. Quality of the building materials would be excellent. In terms of technical design, she planned to incorporate some of the things that she had learned from her perusal of Marcus's theories on budding foundations.

She would not he a slave to the classic tradition the way her father had been, she vowed. But neither would she make a mockery of it by allowing the extremely daring artistic impulses that she had inherited from her mother to run wild.

The trick was to create a graceful synthesis. She called upon the skills her father had taught her, of course: perspective, architectural detail, and a knowledge of classical elements. But she also utilized some of the bold style her mother had bequeathed to her.

The secret of her success with Morning Rose Square, she knew, was that she had never allowed herself to forget that everything she created had to work against an English landscape. She was determined not to make the mistake so many architects made. She would not try to impose buildings designed for the hot, dry climates of Greece and Rome onto the English countryside. Potential purchasers needed homes that could withstand the damp weather and the chill of cold winters.

She eyed her newest design with a critical eye. All of her rooms had high ceilings and stately, well-proportioned windows. Those elements were a legacy from her father. He had been much enamored of the Palladian tradition.

Her new design incorporated classical features as well as graceful staircases and a light, airy feeling which owed nothing to the weighty antique tradition. Iphiginia's artistic instincts told her that the mixture of effects blended well together.

She put down her pen and glanced out the window into the street.

Usually when she concentrated on her designs her thoughts became clear and organized. She often resorted to sketching a library or a drawing room whenever she needed to think about some other, unrelated matter. But this morning the technique was not working.

Her thoughts were in a jumble. It had been the same yesterday morning. In fact, it irritated her to realize that she had been suffering from this inability to concentrate properly since Marcus had stridden into the Fenwicks' ballroom and carried her off into the night.

She propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her palm. She had dealt with a great many problems in her life, from those related to raising Corina to the difficulties she and Amelia had encountered on their journeys. But she had never been obliged to deal with anyone quite like Marcus.

She still burned deep inside whenever she recalled the intimate way he had touched her in Lartmore's hall of erotic statuary. Iphiginia wondered if Marcus thought about that encounter at all or if it was such a normal event for him that he had already forgotten about it.

He certainly had not mentioned it during the past two days. Indeed, he had been a paragon of gentlemanly behavior since he had reduced her to that quivering, boneless creature who had gone limp in his arms.

Perhaps he'd had second thoughts about making love to a woman he did not trust.

She scowled at a vegetable seller's cart that was running down the street. She had absolutely no intention of allowing Marcus to touch her in that shatteringly intimate manner ever again.

Not unless he developed true trust, respect, and, yes, some degree of affection for her.

She did not think that she was asking for too much. After all, she was in love with the man. The least he could do was demonstrate some warmth of feeling.

Unfortunately, she did not think that Marcus recognized love when he saw it.

His experience of life had obviously made him too wary, too cynical, too self-controlled to enable him to surrender easily to love. He would be extremely cautious about opening himself to any emotion that he feared would render him vulnerable.

Thus far she had not discovered the precise events in his past which had influenced his temperament, but she could not deny the facts. Marcus had been badly scarred.

She was willing to be sympathetic and understanding up to a point. She was even willing to make a few allowances. But if he thought that she would accept him as a paramour when he had made it plain that he did not even trust her, let alone love her, he was very much mistaken.

Iphiginia wondered if he recognized her determination on that point. He was a very intelligent man, after all. Perhaps that was the reason he had not attempted to press his attentions on her since the other night.

He was the sort of man who would think matters through carefully before making his next move.

The library door opened. "Iphiginia?" Amelia, dressed in a gray high-necked gown that made her look considerably older than her twenty-six years, came into the room. "Mrs. Shaw is bringing tea."

"I could use a cup. I need to collect my thoughts before Mr. Manwaring arrives."

"He will be here shortly." Amelia glanced at the clock. "He is a punctual person. By the bye, I have made a preliminary list of widows and spinsters who might be interested in participating in our new venture."

"Are they all from the investment pool we formed for Morning Rose Square?"

"Most of them are, but two of them are new. A Miss Sanders and a Miss Crest. I met them at the museum last week. They are both paid companions who have managed to set aside a small amount to invest."

"Excellent." A thought struck Iphiginia. "That reminds me, I ran into Mrs. Osworth in Pall Mall the other day. She mentioned that she was interviewing a new companion. The woman was from the Wycherley Agency."

Amelia grimaced. "I'm not surprised. The Wycherly Agency caters to families such as the Osworths. Very exclusive."

"I thought the name rang a bell. That was the agency which employed you, was it not?"

"Yes." Amelia's mouth tightened. "It's been in business for years."

A discreet knock sounded on the library door. Iphiginia glanced at it. "Mat is it, Mrs. Shaw?"

Mrs. Shaw, as solidly built and very nearly as stately as a classical ruin, opened the door. "Mr. Manwaring to see you, Mrs. Bright."

"Please send him in." Mrs. Shaw stepped aside to usher the visitor into the library. Iphiginia and Amelia greeted him with welcoming smiles.

"I did not hear your carriage, Mr. Manwaring," Iphiginia said.

"It's such a fine day that I chose to walk." Adam Manwaring smiled at both women. His eyes lingered warmly on Amelia, who appeared to he oblivious.

Adam was an earnest, sober-minded man of twenty-seven years. He was the youngest son of a country squire who owned lands in the north. With no hope of inheriting his father's property, Adam had been obliged to forge a path for himself in the world. He had an excellent head for numbers and details and it had led him to his present career as a secretary and man of affairs.

Three years ago Iphiginia and Amelia had become his exclusive employers. He was devoted to them. His allegiance had been based initially on the fact that the two had hired him after he had begun to despair of ever finding a good position. His youth and lack of connections had made it difficult for him to secure clients.

Adam's unwavering loyalty 'to Iphiginia and Amelia was now cemented by considerably more than gratitude. It was also based on a solid financial interest. He had scraped together every penny he could put his hands on to join them in the Morning Rose Square venture. A year ago Adam had taken his hefty profits together with the widows and spinsters who had formed the investment pool.

Although Iphiginia had complete trust in Adam' she had not told him about her scheme to catch a blackmailer. He had been instructed to he absolutely discreet concerning her identity. Adam assumed she merely wished to remain anonymous and to keep her connection to the investment pool a secret so that she would not he pestered by interested parties.

Adam did not move in social circles and had little interest in gossip. He was very aware of who was who in the ton, however, and, more important, he knew a great deal concerning their financial affairs.

"Please have a scat, Mr. Manwaring." Iphiginia pretended not to notice the tinge of red in Adam's cheeks as he fixed his wistful attention on Amelia.

Iphiginia wanted to give her cousin a shake. Could not Amelia see that she and Adam were perfect for each other? she wondered.

Iphiginia had recognized instantly that the two were well suited a few weeks ago, directly after she and Amelia had met Adam in person for the first time. Until then, their transactions with him had been conducted through the post.

Adam's honest, open countenance made it easy to read his reactions. There was no doubt that he had developed a tendre for Amelia, although he had not yet worked up the courage to make an overture.

"How are things progressing with Bright Place?" Iphiginia asked as Adam sat down on the other side of her desk.

"I am happy to say that the initial plans are almost complete." Adam's expression became very intent. He leaned forward to spread out his neatly penned papers on Iphiginia's desk. "Final arrangements have been made to secure the property. I have also drawn up an agreement with the same builder that we used on Morning Rose Square. It remains only to complete our list of investors."

"I have drawn up a preliminary list of interested people," Amelia said.

"Excellent." Adam's cheeks became slightly more ruddy. "The usual names, I presume?"

"Yes, and two new ones." Adam glowed with admiration. "Very good. By the bye, rumors are abounding now that we have secured the property. I have had some inquiries from wealthy gentlemen who have heard about the profits that were made by the investors in Morning Rose Square. They have expressed an interest in our new venture."

Iphiginia gave him a sharp look. "They do not know that Miss Farley and I are the principals in the venture, do they?"

"No, no, of course not," Adam assured her swiftly. "You know that I would never abuse your confidence in that regard. Whenever I have had inquiries on the subject, I have always explained that the two people who organize the ventures prefer to remain anonymous."

Iphiginia relaxed. "Good. I do not want to he hounded by potential investors at various social affairs. Most unpleasant."

"I quite understand," Adam said. Amelia tapped a quill pen against the sheet of foolscap that she held. "Who are the gentlemen who wish to invest in our new project?"

"I have the names with me." Adam picked up a sheet of paper from the pole he had put down on Iphiginia's desk. "Let me see. Matthews, Conklin, Jenerette, Dodgson

Amelia froze. Iphiginia stared at Adam. "Dodgson, did you say?" Adam glanced up with a puzzled frown. "Yes. Mr. Anthony Dodgson. Rumor has it that he's got his finances in something of a muddle and is anxious to repair them through some profitable investments. Do you know him?"

"No." Iphiginia was careful not to look at Amelia's white face. "I have never met him. But I have heard of him. He is not the sort of person with whom we wish to associate ourselves, is he, Miss Farley?"

"No." Amelia's voice was almost inaudible. She swallowed visibly and tried again. "No, indeed not."

Iphiginia gave Adam a direct look. "You may inform Mr. Dodgson that he is not welcome to invest in our venture. We shall give some consideration to the other names on your list, but, personally, I prefer to keep wealthy and influential men out of the pool. That type has a tendency to try to take charge. We do very nicely on our own."

"Very well." Adam glanced at Amelia's stricken face and then he turned back to Iphiginia with a worried expression. "May I ask why Dodgson is to be excluded? He will surely ask for an explanation."

Iphiginia centered one of the pages containing architectural elevations for Bright Place in front of her. "You may inform Mr. Dodgson that the majority of investors involved in the project are widows and spinsters."

"Yes, I have already told him as much," Adam said. "You may also remind Dodgson that many widows and spinsters have been obliged to work as paid companions and governesses. As Mr. Dodgson has a reputation for treating such female employees in a thoroughly unprincipled manner, they do not wish to do business with him."

"I see." Adam's clear eyes narrowed. "I had not realized that the man was a cad. I shall take great pleasure in telling him that the members of the investment pool do not want him in their number."

Amelia sagged slightly with evident relief. The paper she was holding trembled in her fingers.

"That is settled, then." Iphiginia bent over her drawing. "Let us get down to work."

Marcus drew the sleek black phaeton to a halt in front of Iphiginia's town house with a stylish flourish. He tossed the reins to his groom and leaped down onto the pavement.

"I shall return in a few minutes." "Aye, m'lord." The groom steadied the fresh, eager stallions.

The door of the town house opened just as Marcus started up the steps. A soberly dressed, serious-faced man emerged.

"I beg your pardon." The man paused when he saw Marcus. He blinked once or twice in the sunlight. Then his gaze went briefly to the crest etched in gold on the black phaeton. "My lord." He inclined his head politely and then hurried down the steps.

Marcus paused with one booted foot on the top step. He turned to watch the other man hurry off down the street. His jaw tightened.

Damnation, he thought. This was not jealousy he was experiencing. He never allowed himself to feel jealous. He was merely annoyed to find himself tripping over another man on Iphiginia's front steps.

It was a perfectly normal reaction, Marcus assured himself. Any male in his situation would feel irritated in such circumstances. Assuming, of course that there was any other male in Town who found himself in such a unique situation.

Highly unlikely. The odds were that he was the only man in the whole of England who possessed a mistress-in-name-only.

Marcus absently stripped off his York tan driving gloves. The only time he ever wore gloves was when he rode or drove. Otherwise he ignored the fashion. He supposed that it was a perverse streak in his nature that made him refuse to conceal his very unfashionable, work-roughened hands from the eyes of polite society.

"May I help you, sir?" the housekeeper inquired from the open doorway.

Marcus turned slowly around to face her. "Please inform Mrs. Bright that Masters has come for her."

"Yes, m'lord. Please come in. Mrs. Bright is in the library."

Marcus glanced at the closed door to the left of the hall. "On second thought, don't bother to announce me. I'll take care of it."

"But yer Lordships" Marcus ignored the fluttering housekeeper. He opened the library door himself and strode into the room. Iphiginia was seated at her desk, a vision in white muslin and a little white lace ca. Her cousin sat across from her.

Both women glanced up in surprise.

"Masters." Iphiginia's eyes lit briefly with a warm welcome. A second later, her expression altered to one of sudden alarm. She hastily thrust several sheets of foolscap that were lying on her desk beneath a large pattern book. "I beard a carriage in the street, but I did not realize it was yours. I was not expecting you until one."

"Good day, ladies." Marcus shut the door and walked straight to the desk. Unfortunately, he was too late to get a look at the papers Iphiginia had hidden under the pattern book. "I thought it would be a good idea to get an early start so that we will have plenty of time at the museum.

"Yes, of course." Iphiginia looked at Amelia. "Would you mind entertaining his lordship while I go upstairs to fetch my pelisse and bonnet?"

"Not at all," Amelia murmured.

Iphiginia rose and hastened out of the room.

Marcus and Amelia exchanged assessing looks. There was no point being subtle, Marcus decided. The woman already disliked him.

"Who was that gentleman who was leaving just as I arrived?"

"Mr. Manwaring."

"I see. I don't believe I know him."

"I doubt that he moves in your circles, my lord."

Amelia gave him a repressive look. "Would you care for tea while you wait?"

"No, thank you. He seemed in something of a hurry.

"Who?"

"Mr. Manwaring." "Oh, did he?" Amelia picked up a sheaf of papers and straightened them. "Perhaps he had a business appointment."

"He had the look of a secretary or a man of affairs." Amelia hesitated. "No doubt that is because he is a man of affairs. Are you certain you won't have some tea, my lord?"

"No, thank you." Marcus peruse 'd the titles of some of the volumes on the library shelves. Such respected and oft-reprinted works on classical architecture as Desgodetz's Les Edifices Antiques de Rome and Langley's Ancient Architecture Restored & Improved sat side by side with Hope's Household Furniture and Decoration and Halfpenny's The Art of Sound Building. "How long have you lived with your cousin, Miss Farley?"

"Nearly five years." Amelia spoke cautiously, as if weighing every word.

"You lived with her while her husband was alive, then?" Marcus said easily. "Ah, yes. Yes, I did," "I have a vague recollection of having known a Bright family at one time." Marcus paused briefly as though reflecting on a very distant memory. "From the Lake District, I believe."

Amelia scowled. "I doubt if there is any connection. Mrs. Bright's husband had no relatives in the Lake District."

"Then he must have been connected to the Yorkshire Brights," Marcus said smoothly.

"No," Amelia said swiftly. "They were a Devon family."

"I see. I knew some Devon Brights. They lived near Plymouth."

"There is no connection, then," Amelia assured him. "Mr. Bright's people were from the northern part."

" Barnstable, then."

"No, Deepford," Amelia said quickly. "A very tiny village."

"I do not believe I know it."

Amelia looked relieved to hear that. "The Deepford Brights were a very small family," she said in a determinedly chatty manner. "Mr. Bright was the last of his line.

"How unfortunate. Then there are no heirs?" "No."

"Are you enjoying London, Miss Farley?"

"I find it very interesting." Amelia looked almost pathetically grateful for a change of topic. "Quite educational."

"Very different from the country." "Indeed."

"I take it that you and Mrs. Bright were not able to come to Town very often whole Mr. Bright was alive?"

"Mr. Bright was infirm. He did not care to travel." "I see." This was not getting him anywhere, Marcus

decided. He would have to try a different tack. "Perhaps I'D have some tea, after all."

Amelia jumped to her feet. "I'U ask Mrs. Shaw to bring a fresh pot."

Silence descended on the library as Marcus and Amelia waited for the tea to be brought in.

When it arrived, Marcus accepted a cup, picked it up, and paced to the window beside Iphiginia's desk. He studied the sunny street scene.

"A fine day for an outing." Marcus surreptitiously toted his cup and casually spilled tea on a copy of the Morning Post which was lying on the end of the desk.

"Oh, dear," Amelia gasped.

"Damnation. How very clumsy of me."

Amelia started to her feet. "It will mar the wood." "Fetch your housekeeper," Marcus ordered in the tone of voice he reserved for those occasions when he wanted instant obedience. It always seemed to work and he had grown to expect the results he invariably got. Except with Iphiginia, he reflected wryly. She was not very good at following orders.

"I'll call Mrs. Shaw." Amelia hurried toward the door.

Marcus yanked a large handkerchief out of his pocket and began blotting up the tea. "I do not believe there will be any great harm done if you hurry.»

"I hope not." Amelia threw him a disapproving look over her shoulder. "Iphiginia is very fond of that desk. Her father designed it." She opened the door. "Mrs. Shaw? Please come quickly. Some tea has been spilled."

Marcus casually lifted the edge of the pattern book and glanced at the top sheet of foolscap. He realized that he was looking at what appeared to be an architectural elevation for a row of town houses. The words " Bright Place " were inscribed beneath the picture.

He lowered the pattern book back into place just as Amelia turned around.

"Mrs. Shaw is on her way," Amelia said. "I believe I have blotted up most of the tea. The newspaper has absorbed the rest." Marcus folded his tea stained handkerchief.

Mrs. Shaw bustled into the room. She carried a cloth in one hand. "Here, now, where's the tea spill?"

"Over here." Marcus stepped back from the desk. "My fault entirely, I fear. I think I got most of it, however."

Iphiginia appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a white pelisse over her white muslin gown. She carried a white straw bonnet in one hand and a large apron in the other.

She frowned in concern at the commotion in the library. "What happened?"

Marcus stared at her for a few brief seconds. She looked as pure and chaste as new fallen snow. What a pity that there was nothing so deceiving as innocence.

He quickly recovered himself. "A small disaster. I spilled some tea. There is no damage to your desk."

"I'm relieved to hear that." Iphiginia put on her bonnet and tied the strings. She smiled cheerfully. "Well, then, shall we be off, my lord? I am eager to see the museum's collection of Greek vases."

"By all means," Marcus said. He glanced at the apron she carried. "What is that for?"

Iphiginia grimaced. "White is a very effective color for some purposes, but it has its disadvantages."

Half an hour later Marcus stood with Iphiginia in the gloom of a vast tomblike museum hall. The high-ceilinged chamber was crammed with broken statuary, chunks of stone, and assorted bits and pieces taken from old ruins. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the upper windows. The hush of antiquity blanketed the scene.

Iphiginia, clad in her apron, moved through the sepulchral atmosphere with cheerful disregard for her oppressive surroundings. Her enthusiasm was contagious, Marcus realized.

Although he had once made a superficial study of the more intriguing construction details of the classical style, antiquities had never been a subject of particular interest for him. He was a man of the modern age. Generally speaking, he preferred to devote his attention to such things as astronomy and steam engines.

Today, however, he found himself consumed by a rare fascination with archaeological matters.

He watched as Iphiginia studied the designs on a row of ancient vases. She was beautiful when she was absorbed in intellectual contemplation, he realized. Almost as beautiful as she had been the other night when she had found her release in his arms in Lartmore's statuary hall.

If he had not known better, he would have thought it was, the first time she had ever been brought to such a sensual peak by a man.

Without any warning, desire, hot, sweet, and urgent, whipped through him. It left him shaken and half-aroused. And ruefully annoyed.

These abrupt, fiery rushes of passion were coming upon him with increasing frequency of late. Each time they crashed through him, they seemed stronger. This morning he had awakened at dawn to discover himself as hard as any marble statue.

This afternoon he was growing heavy with arousal just watching Iphiginia in a museum. It would have been ludicrous if it were not so bloody uncomfortable.

The anticipation growing within him was almost unbearable in its intensity. Soon, he thought. Very soon he would have to make love to her.

It had to have her soon or he would become a candidate for Bedlam.

He forced himself to contemplate the large vase that had caught her attention. "Etruscan, do you think?"

"No. Definitely Grecian." Iphiginia glanced up at another row of dust-laden vases. "Quite spectacular, are they not? The forms are so perfect, so exquisitely right. There is such an impressive combination of intellect and art in the designs."

"Most impressive," Marcus agreed, his gaze riveted to the gentle curves of her breasts.

She turned her head and saw him studying her bosom. Her face grew very pink. "Have you learned anything useful yet, my lord?" "About Greek vases?" "Of course. That is what we are discussing, is it not?" Marcus lounged against a rubble of old stones, folded

his arms across his chest, and contemplated a vase. "I have learned a great deal, my dear Mrs. Bright, but not nearly enough."

She smiled with glowing approval, as though he were a precocious student. "It is your nature to constantly thirst for more, my lord. The passions of the intellect are difficult to satisfy, are they not?"

"Indeed. Fortunately not all passions are impossible to assuage, Iphiginia. Some merely require the proper time and place."

Barclay, Marcus's stout, bespectacled man of affairs, hurried into his employer's library shortly before four o'clock that afternoon. He was out of breath. Sweat headed his balding head.

"You sent for me, sir?" "I did." Marcus looked up from the notes he had been making. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Not at all, m'lord." Barclay sat down gratefully, pulled out a handkerchief, and mopped his brow. "You know that I am always pleased to assist you. What do you wish me to do for you?"

"Two things. First, I want you to make inquiries about a property called Bright Place. I do not know much about it, but I believe that it may be a new speculation venture."

"This is a property here in London?" "I'm not certain. I suppose it could he in Bath." Marcus recalled the elevations he had seen on Iphiginia's desk. "One of the two places, most likely, although I suppose the property could be located in some other large town. The drawings I saw were of buildings that were clearly designed for a city, if you know what I mean."

"I see." Barclay stifled a small sigh, adjusted his spectacles, and made a note.

"Second, I want you to discover whatever information you can about a certain Mr. Bright."

Barclay raised suddenly wary eyes. He cleared his throat cautiously. "Ah, would that be the late Mr. Bright?"

"It would."

"The deceased husband of a certain Mrs. Iphiginia Bright of Morning Rose Square?"

Marcus smiled coolly. "One of the things that makes you so invaluable to me, Barclay, is that you are always possessed of the latest gossip and rumor."

Barclay ignored that. He scowled. "You wish me to discover whatever I can about a dead man, m'lord?"

"Precisely." Marcus leaned back in his chair. He picked up his newly modified hydraulic reservoir pen and examined the steel nib with care. There was no sign of a leak. "You will be discreet, naturally."

"Naturally." Barclay mopped his forehead with his handkerchief once again. "Where would you suggest that I start looking for information on the late Mr. Bright?"

"I believe that you will want to begin your quest in Devon."

" Devon is a rather large place, m'lord. Have you any notion of precisely where in Devon I should look?"

"You might try a little town called Deepford."