Mistress (21 page)

“Why not?” he said, as if he had read her mind. He drew his thumb slowly along the line of her jaw. “I had thought to wait until we had returned to the privacy of your bedchamber, but some things cannot be put off.”

He bent his head and kissed the curve of her shoulder. She shivered in his arms and thrust her hands beneath the edges of his shirt. Deliberately she flattened her palms against the strong, sleek muscles of his chest.

“You feel wondrously fine, my lord,” she breathed, awed by the feel of him. “Altogether magnificent. You remind me of a statue of Hercules that I once viewed in Venice.”

Marcus gave a muffled laugh that quickly turned into a groan. “Be warned, I am no statue, madam, although at the moment a certain part of me is certainly as hard as stone.”

“I am aware of that,” she whispered. She could feel the bulge of his manhood pressing against her. It both intrigued and alarmed her.

He released her reluctantly to shrug off his coat. He spread the garment out on the floor of the ruin. Iphiginia glanced and then raised her eyes to meet Marcus’s gleaming gaze. She knew without being told that he was going to lower her down onto the coat and make love to her.

All the great mysteries of the cosmos were about to be explained. She knew that if she wanted to stop this from going any further, she must speak up now.

She smiled at Marcus and said nothing at all.

Marcus appeared momentarily mesmerized by her smile. For an instant he did not move.

Then, with a hoarse exclamation, he caught her up in his arms and lowered her to the coat.

Iphiginia reached for him as he came down on top of her. She drew him to her, holding him tightly as if she could keep him with her always.

“Iphiginia”

Marcus’s touch was no longer deliberate or restrained. He rained rough, urgent kisses across her breasts. His powerful hands trembled as they moved over her body. He caught one of her nipples between his teeth and bit gently as he pushed his hands up beneath her skirts.

A thrilling sense of anticipation poured through her when she felt his fingers on her inner thigh. He was going to touch her again the way he had in Lartmore’s statuary hall. She could barely wait for the fascinating sensations to sweep through her.

“You’re ready for me, aren’t you?” Marcus sounded as though he were running a great race. “You turn to liquid starlight when I touch you like this.”

“Oh”
Iphiginia squeezed her eyes shut. Her legs closed tightly around his hand.

Marcus probed gently, penetrating just enough to make her tremble with eagerness.

“Marcus. Oh, my God,
Marcus.”
She wanted more from him. She had to have more. But she did not know how to describe what she needed. She lifted her hips, arching against him instead.

“Hotter than the sun itself.” Marcus opened her gently.

Iphiginia cried out. Her fingers sank into the fabric of his shirt, biting into the muscles of his shoulders.

She was dimly aware of him removing his hand from between her legs. She realized he was fumbling with the fastening of his breeches.

She knew what would follow. After all, she had seen those statues in Lartmore’s hall. Iphiginia tried to prepare herself. The problem was that she did not know quite what to expect.

“Kiss me,” Marcus ordered against her mouth.

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” She clutched at him eagerly. This part was easy. She knew exactly how to kiss him, how to hold him close.

“My God,” Marcus muttered into her mouth. “You take my breath away.”

She felt him move between her legs and then she felt an object that was far larger than his finger start to enter her. She could tell at once that it would never fit.

“Marcus, I fear something is amiss here.”

“You are so amazingly tight.” He sounded half-strangled.

“Sir, you seem to be somewhat larger than the statues in Lartmore’s hall,” Iphiginia said desperately.

“This is no time to make me laugh.” Marcus withdrew slightly.

Iphiginia started to draw a sigh of relief. But without any warning he refitted himself to her soft passage and forged back into her in one long, powerful movement.

“Marcus”
Iphiginia’s eyes flew open in stunned shock. She went absolutely still. She could not breathe.

But her reaction was nothing compared to Marcus’s. Buried to the hilt inside her, he went rigid.

“Bloody hell.
Bloody damn hell”

A terrible silence gripped the Temple of Vesta.

“Is it always like this?” Iphiginia finally managed to inquire. “I had rather hoped it would feel the way it did the other night when you touched me.”

Marcus raised his head and looked down at her with glittering, accusing eyes. “You’re a virgin.”

Too late Iphiginia recalled her carefully crafted tale of widowhood.

“Oh, no. No, indeed.” Iphiginia licked her lips. “It’s just that it’s been a very long time since Mr. Bright passed on. And even when he was alive he was not what you’d call enthusiastic about his husbandly privileges. And he was not nearly so, ah, well-proportioned as yourself, my lord, if you take my meaning.”

“You’re a damned virgin. You lied to me.”

With a sinking heart, Iphiginia realized that he was furious.

Despair shot through her. She was not sure what to say next. Obviously he had guessed the truth. She sought for a way to moderate his anger.

“But no one knows that except you, my lord. Surely it does not signify? In the eyes of the world I am a widow.”

“How many roles are you playing, Iphiginia?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I am not playing any role at the moment.”

“For God’s sake, do not cry.” He braced his elbows on either side of her and caught her face between his palms. “I will not tolerate tears. Not after what you have done.”

Anger and outrage stormed through her. “I am not crying.” She sniffed. “And if you are going to use that tone of voice with me, sir, you can bloody well get off and let me up. I do not have to lie here and listen to you make nasty, hateful comments.”

“Iphiginia—”

“I said, get off me.” She braced her hands against his shoulders and shoved as hard as she could. It was like pushing against a mountain.

“The damage is done, you little fool.”

“I do not consider myself to have been damaged, my lord.” She glowered up at him. “I wanted you to make love to me. At least, I thought I did.”

“Why? Tell me why, damn it. Was this to be another of your grand adventures? Something akin to a tour of the ruins of Pompeii, perhaps?”

“Yes, it was,” she flung back furiously. She tried once again to shove him off of her. “But you have ruined it.”

“Why did you have to choose me?” Marcus’s voice was raw. “Why didn’t you pick Hoyt or Lartmore or someone else to take you on this particular tour for the first time?”

“Because I chose you, you great, half-witted idiot.
Get off me”

Marcus looked thunderstruck. “Iphiginia—”

“Off, I said.”

He flinched as though she had struck him. In the moonlight, Iphiginia saw the sheen of sweat on his forehead. His dark hair was damp with it. His jaw was locked. Every muscle in his body was as hard as though it had been carved from marble.

Marcus gritted his teeth and slowly began to withdraw from her body. Iphiginia wriggled impatiently.

“Hold still,” Marcus said urgently.
“Damnation.”
He wrenched himself free of her with shocking suddenness.

“Ouch.” Iphiginia yelped in dismay. “That hurt.”

Marcus did not pay any attention. His features were contorted in an expression of what appeared to be unbearable anguish. He sucked in his breath, shuddered heavily, and collapsed, facedown, alongside her. A terrible groan shuddered through him and then he lay absolutely still.

“Oh, my God.
Marcus
, are you all right?” Iphiginia forgot about her own discomfort. She levered herself up onto her elbow, horrified by Marcus’s sudden and mysterious collapse.

A terrible, soul-destroying fear shook her to the core.
Marcus was dead and it was all her fault
.

Iphiginia scrambled to her knees. Frantically she shook his shoulder. He did not stir.

She leaned over him to see his face, which was turned away from her. His eyes were closed.

She recalled the expression of agony that had twisted his features.

“Dear heaven, what have I done? My lord, are you alive? Speak to me, please speak to me.”

She struggled to pull him into her lap. It was not easy. He was impossibly heavy. She managed to get his face onto her knee. She stroked his hair back from his forehead.

“I am so very sorry, Marcus.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I never meant to hurt you. That is the last thing I
would ever do. Please, Marcus, you must not die. Not now after I have finally found you. I could not bear it. I love you, Marcus.”

Bloody hell.

He’d lost his self-control for the first time since his wedding night.

He’d spilled his seed like some clumsy, untried youth with his first woman, just as he had that first time with Nora. Somewhere in the darkest reaches of his memory he thought he heard her angry, jeering words.

You’ve got the hands of a farmer, you great oaf
.

“Marcus, Marcus, please forgive me. Open your eyes. You cannot die.”

Marcus opened one eye.

“You’re alive.” Iphiginia’s face glowed with hope and relief. “Thank God.” She started to ease his head off of her lap. “Wait right here, my lord. Do not move. I shall go back to the house and fetch help.”

Marcus opened his other eye, reached out, and caught her wrist. “No.”

“But it is obvious that you need a doctor. You have suffered some sort of seizure.”

“For better or worse, I do believe that I am going to survive. My compliments,
Miss
Bright.” Marcus grimaced with self-disgust. “You have the ability to make a thirty-six-year-old man feel like a young blade of twenty again.”

She peered at him anxiously. Her fingertips were astonishingly gentle on his cheek. “Are you quite certain that you are not in need of a doctor?”

“Absolutely certain. I may, however, be requiring a new coat.” He thought of how he had pumped himself ignominiously into the expensive superfine of one of his tailor’s more expensive creations. “I do not know if my valet will be able to salvage this one.”

“I shall pay for a new coat for you,” Iphiginia said
very earnestly. “This is all my fault. I am very much aware of that, my lord.”

Marcus swallowed an oath. “I should have guessed that you would prove to be as much of an Original in the role of the outraged innocent as you were in the part of the notorious widow.”

“But Marcus, I am not outraged. Nor am I a green chit fresh out of the schoolroom. I am quite old enough to make my own decisions.”

“You were a virgin.” Marcus sat up wearily. “I never get involved with virgins. I have a rule against it. I have never broken that rule until tonight.”

“You must look on the positive side, my lord.” Iphiginia smiled brightly. “I am no longer a virgin, therefore you are no longer in violation of your own rule.”

Rage flickered through him. “Damnation, woman, this is not a jest. I vow, there are times when your mouth would drive any sane man to the edge. If I had not already just taken your virginity, I would be strongly tempted to put you over my knee for that stupid remark.”

Iphiginia’s smile vanished. “Sir, I comprehend that you are angry because you have broken one of your precious rules. But truly, you must not blame yourself.”

Marcus concentrated on refastening the front of his breeches. “A virgin masquerading as a widow.” He felt as if his fine intellect had turned to mush. “I should have known.”

“That is ridiculous. How could you possibly have known?”

Marcus got to his feet and stood looking down at her. For a moment he was transfixed by the sight of Iphiginia sitting in the center of the ruin, bathed in moonlight. Her white skirts frothed around her as she clutched the bodice of her gown to her graceful breasts. Her hair was in disarray and one of her small white shoes had come off. The aura of innocence still enveloped her, just as it had done the very first time he had seen her.

“I think that I did know,” he said quietly. “But I
refused to acknowledge the truth because I did not want to see it.”

Iphiginia scowled. “Are you always this hard on yourself when you break one of your own rules, sir?”

“I don’t know.” Marcus reached down to pull her to her feet. “This is the first time that I have ever broken one. Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the house.” Marcus helped Iphiginia adjust the tapes of her dress. “We must take care that no one sees us.”

“Why must we be careful, my lord?” Iphiginia gave him a thoroughly exasperated look. “In the eyes of the world nothing has changed. Everyone is convinced that I am a widow and they all believe that I am your mistress. There is no way that anyone in the house can know the truth.”

“I know the truth.” The truth was that he’d broken his own rules and he would pay the price.

Well, at least marriage to Iphiginia would make a change, he thought wryly. His first wife had been a woman of experience who had pretended to be an innocent. This time he would marry an innocent who had masqueraded as a woman of experience.

He ought to take Iphiginia’s advice and look on the bright side, Marcus told himself. This time he would be marrying his own mistress rather than one who had belonged to another man.

Marcus scooped up his coat and eyed it glumly. He’d ruined several expensive coats during the past few weeks, thanks to his experiments with his new hydraulic reservoir pen. This was the first one he’d soiled in this particular fashion, however.

He’d completely lost his self-control.

He had not even remembered to employ the specially designed sheep-gut condom he had brought along in his pocket.

Marcus ignored Iphiginia’s searching gaze. He took
her hand and led her out of the ruin of the Temple of Vesta.

The night fell softly around them as Marcus walked Iphiginia back to the great house. The stars appeared clear and bright in the sky.