Mistress (3 page)

From what she had learned about him, she was almost certain he would not allow his emotions to govern his actions during the next few minutes.

Almost certain
.

Iphiginia saw Herbert’s brow furrow with uneasiness as he watched the crowd. She heard a sharp, distinct crack. She glanced down and saw that she had accidentally snapped the delicate spokes of her fan.

At that moment the knot of people directly in front of her unraveled. A woman’s nervous laugh rang out and then was cut off abruptly. Men edged out of the way. Even Herbert stepped back a pace or two.

Iphiginia suddenly found herself standing quite alone in the middle of the crowded ballroom.

Marcus, Earl of Masters, came to a halt directly in front of Iphiginia. Because she had been looking down at her broken fan, the first thing she noticed about him was his hands.

He was the only man in the room not wearing gloves.

In a world where soft, elegant, graceful hands were much admired in a man, Marcus had the hands of a seasoned warrior. Large and powerful, they were the hands of a man who had made his own way in the world.

Iphiginia suddenly recalled that he had come into his tide a mere five years earlier. It had been a bankrupt inheritance. He had not been born into wealth and power. He had created those attributes for himself.

Iphiginia tore her gaze away from the riveting sight of his muscular hands and looked up quickly. Marcus possessed a face that could have been etched on an ancient
gold coin. Strong, relentless and bold to the point of being harsh, it was the face of an ancient conqueror.

He watched her with amber eyes that glittered with a fierce intelligence. His hair was very dark, almost black. There was a flash of silver in the curving swath that was brushed back from his high forehead.

Iphiginia met his brilliant eyes. A shock of deep awareness and recognition flashed through her. Something that had been smoldering deep inside her for weeks suddenly leaped into full flame.

This was the man she had fallen in love with, never dreaming that she might one day meet him. He was exactly as she had imagined.

Iphiginia knew that the crowd was waiting breathlessly for her reaction.

“My lord,” Iphiginia whispered so sofdy that only he could hear. “I am so very glad to see that you are alive.”

With a heartfelt prayer that she was correct in her assumption that the earl’s curiosity would govern his reaction, she closed her eyes and sank gracefully into a mock swoon.

Marcus caught her before she reached the floor. “Very clever, Mrs. Bright,” he muttered for her ears alone. “I wondered how you would extricate yourself from this tangle.”

Iphiginia did not dare to open her eyes. She felt herself swept up high against Marcus’s chest. His arms were strong and firm. She felt oddly secure and safe in his grasp. The scent of him aroused a curious sensation within her. She was startled by the unexpected, deeply sensual pleasure she felt.

She had never known anything quite like the feelings that were thrumming through her at this moment. She raised her lashes just far enough to see that the frothy skirts of her white silk gown cascaded over the black sleeve of his coat.

Marcus carried her effortlessly across the ballroom floor toward the door.

“Step aside, if you please,” he ordered to those in his path. “My very good friend needs fresh air.”

The crowd melted away in front of him.

Murmurs of astonishment and speculation followed Iphiginia’s grand exit from the crowded ball.

Marcus carried her out of the large mansion. Without pausing, he strode down the wide front steps to where a gleaming black carriage horsed with two black stallions waited.

The door of the carriage was opened by a footman garbed in black livery. Marcus carried Iphiginia into the cab. The door was closed.

The black carriage set off into the midnight streets of London.

I
EXPECT YOU HAVE A FEW QUESTIONS, MY LORD.
”

“Several, as a matter of fact.” Marcus settled into his seat. He watched Iphiginia sit briskly upright, straighten a white plume in her hair, and shake out her skirts.

“Only to be expected and I shall be pleased to answer them,” she said. “But first I want to thank you for not giving away the game a moment ago. I am well aware that you must have found the entire performance a bit awkward.”

“Not in the least, Mrs. Bright. I assure you, I found it quite fascinating.”

She gave him a glorious smile. Marcus was momentarily transfixed. He suddenly realized how she had managed to captivate the majority of his acquaintances.

“I knew you would play along with me until you discovered precisely what was afoot.” Iphiginia’s vivid hazel eyes held more than a hint of satisfaction. “I was certain of it. I knew you would be too clever, too perceptive, too coolheaded, too intelligent to do anything rash until you had investigated the matter thoroughly.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me. I assure you, however, that I also possess enough wit not to be completely
distracted from the matter at hand by your very charming flattery.”

She blinked in surprise. “But I was not flattering you, sir. I meant every word. I have made an intense study of your nature and I have concluded that you have a very fine brain.”

Marcus gazed at her, briefly at a loss for words. “You admire my brain?”

“Yes, indeed,” she said with what was, to all appearances, genuine enthusiasm. “I have read all of your papers in
The Technical and Scientific Repository
and I was most impressed. The one on the potential of the steam engine was particularly inspiring. Not that your proposal for a mechanical threshing machine was not also extremely exciting.”

“Bloody hell.”

She blushed. “I confess I am not well versed in technical and mechanical matters. Personally, I am a student of classical antiquities. Most of my time has been spent in that field.”

“I see.”

“But I am pleased to say that I was able to comprehend most of the mechanical principles you discussed in your articles. You write quite clearly, my lord.”

“Thank you.” He had spoken too quickly when he had told her that he possessed too much wit to fall victim to flattery, Marcus thought wryly. He was momentarily enthralled. He had never had a woman compliment him on his scientific and technical writings, let alone on his intelligence.

“You also wrote a quite instructive piece on building construction techniques which was of considerable interest to me,” Iphiginia continued. She launched into a recital of the significant points of the article.

Marcus listened with a sense of dazed wonder. He lounged back into the corner of the black velvet seat cushion, crossed his arms, and studied Iphiginia’s face in the glow of the carriage lamp.
Whatever it was he had expected to find when he finally cornered his new “mistress” in the Fenwicks’ ballroom, he reflected, Iphiginia Bright was not it.

Charles Trescott had been wrong when he’d implied that the adventurous widow made a mockery of chastity and purity with her choice of virginal white attire.

Iphiginia Bright somehow managed to
give
the impression of being the real thing, a lady of pristine, unstained virtue. It was really quite astonishing.

The effect was not achieved solely by her angelic white gown, gloves, and shoes. It seemed to emanate from the very depths of the woman herself.

There was something about her clear, intelligent, forthright gaze, arresting nose, and soft, gentle mouth that spoke of virtue. Her hair was the color of dark honey. She was striking in some ways, subtle in others. Although she was no great beauty, she was the most interesting female Marcus had ever encountered.

There was also an alluring air of very feminine sensuality about her, yet she had not chosen to emphasize it with her clothing. The cut of her gown was surprisingly demure. Another clever touch, Marcus conceded privately. A man’s imagination was a powerful tool and she knew how to employ it.

The curves of Iphiginia’s small, high, delicately rounded breasts did not overflow the bodice of her dress. They were discreetly covered by white silk ruffles. Such breasts were not meant to be crudely fondled, Marcus thought. They had been fashioned for a connoisseur of fine things, a lover endowed with an artist’s slender, sensitive fingers.

He absently flexed his own sturdy, callused fingers. The fact that he possessed the hands of a farmer did not mean that he did not enjoy touching fine, soft things.

Iphiginia was small and slender. The skirts of her high-waisted gown drifted airily down over what was clearly a very narrow waist. The wispy silk barely hinted at the enticing shape of womanly hips and rounded thighs.

No wonder she had captured the fancy of the
ton
, Marcus thought. She certainly had his full attention.

He was intrigued by the mysterious Mrs. Bright, more so than he had been with any other woman for longer than he cared to recall.

He was also half-aroused, he realized abruptly.

He could feel the dull ache of awakening desire in his loins. Perhaps it was not so surprising. It had been four months since he had last been intimate with a woman and Iphiginia had been on his mind constantly for the past two days. He had speculated on nothing else except his unknown paramour during the entire journey back to London.

It occurred to Marcus that if he had deliberately set out to find an interesting new mistress, he could not have done better than Iphiginia Bright.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Iphiginia said, obviously embarrassed by her lengthy commentary on his journal article. “I expect I am boring you. It is not as though you are not perfectly familiar with your own theories on the use of timber pilings in foundations.”

“Perhaps we should get back to the main topic,” Marcus said smoothly. “But first you must give me your address so that I can convey it to my coachman.”

Iphiginia cleared her throat. “My address?”

“It would be useful, considering the fact that I am attempting to escort you home at the moment.”

“You are?”

“Given the role you have led everyone to believe that I play in your life,” Marcus said, “it is only natural that I take you home after the ball.”

“But—”

“It is expected,” Marcus emphasized. “People will wonder if I do not claim the privilege.”

“You’re quite certain that is the normal thing to do?”

“Quite certain.”

“Oh.” Iphiginia caught her soft lower lip between her very white teeth, apparently contemplating the matter.
She came to a decision. “Very well. I have a town house in Morning Rose Square. Number Five.”

Marcus was briefly interested in that bit of news. “Morning Rose Square was only recently completed, was it not? The architect did a superb job of combining classical elements with a design that is comfortable and suited to the English climate. The houses were well constructed and sold quickly, as I recall.”

Iphiginia looked surprised. “You seem to know a great deal about it.”

“The project aroused my curiosity because it made money.” Marcus rose and knocked on the trapdoor of the carriage. “A great many speculation investments of that sort do not. I have known any number of people involved in such financial arrangements to go bankrupt.”

The trapdoor opened. “Aye, m’lord?” the coachman called.

“Morning Rose Square, Dinks. Number Five.”

“Very good, m’lord.” Dinks allowed the trap to fall back into place.

Marcus dropped back into his seat. “Perhaps we should get on with your explanations, Mrs. Bright.”

“Yes, of course.” Iphiginia straightened her shoulders. “Where to begin? First, let me tell you how excessively relieved I am to discover that you are alive, my lord.”

He considered her through half-closed eyes. “You mentioned something to that effect back in the Fen wicks’ ballroom. There was some doubt in your mind?”

“Oh, yes. A great deal of doubt. We assumed you had been murdered, you see.”

“Murdered?”
He wondered if he had gotten involved with a madwoman.

“Yes, my lord, murdered. It was the reason why I decided to take the desperate measure of masquerading as your mistress.”

“And just who did you believe was responsible for my
demise?” Marcus asked coldly. “One of your other
intimate
friends?”

She gave him a shocked look. “Of course not, my lord. Oh, dear, this is all so complicated. I assure you that I do not have the sort of friends who would even dream of resorting to murder.”

“I am relieved to hear that.”

“Aunt Zoe is a bit theatrical by nature and my cousin Amelia can be rather grim at times, but I believe that I can safely say neither of them would ever murder anyone.”

“I shall take your word for it, Mrs. Bright.”

She sighed. “I realize that this must all be extremely confusing to you.”

“I shall do my best to muddle through. Perhaps my excellent brain will assist me.”

She gave him a glowing smile of approval. “You are doing very well under the circumstances, my lord.”

“I had come to the same conclusion.”

She winced at the sarcasm. “Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. Well, then, to get on with it. We thought the blackmailer had done you in, you see.”

“Blackmailer? This grows more absurd by the moment. What blackmailer?”

That gave Iphiginia pause. “You mean to say that you are not being blackmailed, sir?”

The question irritated him. “Do I appear to be the sort of man who would pay blackmail, Mrs. Bright?”

“No, my lord. And that is precisely why we believed you had been murdered. Because you refused to pay, you see.”

“Continue, Mrs. Bright,” Marcus ordered evenly. “You have a long way to go before any of this becomes clear.”

“My aunt received a note from the villain informing us that you had been dispatched as a lesson to others who refused to pay. The note implied that it was only a matter of time before Society realized you were not spending the
month at one of your estates, but had, instead, disappeared for good.”