Mistress (6 page)

“I see.” An almost overpowering restlessness came over Marcus. In a vain attempt to alleviate it, he untied his cravat and inhaled deeply to clear his head.

He promptly caught a whiff of Iphiginia’s rose-scented
perfume and his senses became more clouded than ever.

“So much of what passes for accurate archaeological design these days is quite misguided and frequently wrong,” she said.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you?” She gave him a pleased look.

“Yes.” His gaze slid over the gentle swell of Iphiginia’s thigh where it fit warmly against the cold marble of the statue. He had not been pushed this close to the edge of his control in years.

“My pattern book of classical designs will be inspired directly from actual observations and sketches of genuine ruins such as these.” Iphiginia waved a graceful hand to indicate the jumble of artifacts around the room. “That way fashionable people who wish to decorate in the antique manner will be assured that their architects and decorators adhere to the original version of whichever classical style they choose, whether it be Greek or Roman, Egyptian or Etruscan.”

“It sounds an ambitious project, Mrs. Bright.”

“Yes, it is. But I am quite looking forward to it. I have spent the past year collecting these items and as you can imagine, I am very eager to get to work on my pattern book.”

“Naturally.” He studied the creamy color of her skin in the lamplight and wondered how it would taste. He started toward her.

“But first things first.” Iphiginia straightened away from the centurion. “I must deal with my aunt’s blackmail problem before I can begin my project. You’re quite certain that my impersonation will not cause you any undue problems?”

“On the contrary. I’m certain it will cause me no end of trouble.” Marcus reached out and took hold of her bare shoulders. Her skin was incredibly warm and soft beneath his hard, callused hands. She did not flinch from his touch. Indeed, she seemed momentarily mesmerized.

“Marcus? I mean, my lord?” She touched her lower lip with the tip of her small tongue. “I do not wish to cause trouble for you, sir.” She sounded breathless again. Her eyes were deep and enticing whirlpools in a bottomless sea.

“I stand ready to put myself at your disposal, Mrs. Bright.”

“That is very kind of you, sir. May I ask why you are willing to be so helpful if you do not entirely believe my explanations about the blackmailer?”

“As it happens, I am in need of a mistress.”

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her as he had been aching to kiss her since he had first seen her in the Fenwicks’ ballroom.

S
HOCK LANCED THROUGH
I
PHIGINIA 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 be Marcus’s mistress, to be the woman he took to his bed, to be 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 levelheaded, 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 heard 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 be careful, my lord. You’ll do yourself an injury.”

“No doubt, but I trust it will be 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 burn 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 hear 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’ll 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 wail.

“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 un-comprehendingly. 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.”

“Then it must be 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 paving 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 excellent 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.