Mistress by Amanda Quick
AN
EXPLOSIVE PASSION
Marcus took a single step closer. His face was ruthless in the shadowy lamplight. “It was your choice to go about London disguised as my paramour, was it not?”
Iphiginia took a wary step back. “Well, yes, initially, I suppose one could say it was my idea. However—”
“Let me make something plain to you. If you expect me to allow you to continue playing this part, you will follow my advice to the letter.”
She lifted her chin. “Sir, I shall play this part as I see fit.”
“No, madam, you will not.” Marcus reached out and grasped the statue behind her, effectively caging her between his arms. “I am the authority on this role. I created the role. Therefore I shall direct you in it.”
He brought his mouth down on hers, pinning her against the stone.
She heard him groan. It was a rough, dark sound that came from deep in his chest. He leaned closer, his body as hard as the statue’s but infinitely warmer.
She was supposed to be acting out a role, Iphiginia reminded herself But everything suddenly felt very real….
Bantam Books by Amanda Quick
Ask your bookseller for
the books you have missed
AFFAIR
DANGEROUS
DECEPTION
DESIRE
MISCHIEF
MYSTIQUE
RAVISHED
RECKLESS
RENDEZVOUS
SCANDAL
SEDUCTION
SURRENDER
WITH THIS RING
I THEE WED
WICKED WIDOW
SLIGHTLY SHADY
And coming in summer 2002
DON’T LOOK BACK
TO ALBERTA CASTLE,
MOTHER AND FRIEND,
WITH LOVE FROM A GRATEFUL
DAUGHTER
a cognizant original v5 release october 18 2010
PROLOGUE
YOUR LATEST MISTRESS IS CREATING A SENSATION BACK IN London, Masters. Society finds her vastly entertaining.” Charles Trescott, seated before the fireplace, downed a swallow of brandy and eyed his host with a sly expression. “As you’ve taken a notion to rusticate here in the country at the height of the Season for some odd reason, I thought you’d better know what’s going on back in Town.”
“Very thoughtful of you to go out of your way to give me the latest gossip.”
“Least I could do, especially since it’s your name that is on everyone’s lips at the moment. I know how that sort of thing annoys you.” Trescott, bored and dissolute at thirty, paused with a barely concealed air of anticipation.
“You are mistaken, Trescott. I do not give a bloody damn what the ton chooses to gossip about over tea.”
Trescott was disappointed but undaunted. In the manner of a willful child intent on provoking a lion in a cage, he made another stab at eliciting a reaction. “Must admit, I’m as curious as everyone else to know why you’re letting her get away with her outrageous conduct. Whole world knows that you always insist on discretion from your paramours. Thought that requirement was one of your infamous rules.”
Marcus Valerius Cloud, Earl of Masters, turned the crystal brandy glass slowly between his large, callused hands. He studied the reflected glow of the flames imprisoned within the heavily cut glass.
Several months ago he had grown interested in the curious properties of light and glass. He had undertaken extensive experiments with prisms and mirrors.
Those studies had led him to his current passion for telescopes. Astronomy had proven so fascinating that he had left London at the height of the Season this year in order to pursue his experiments at one of his more remote estates. The night skies here in Yorkshire were pristine and clear, unlike the smoke-filled air of the city which impeded the view through his new telescope.
It had always been thus for him. Ever since he had been a lad growing up on his family’s farm in Yorkshire, he had been endlessly enthralled with matters of a mechanical, technical, or scientific nature.
From carriage springs to clocks, from music boxes to the stars, he had a passion for discovery, invention, and a need to comprehend the rules and laws that dictated the way things worked.
Marcus liked rules, especially his own. He had a personal set which he had formulated several years ago and from which he never deviated. They were simple and straightforward:
Never remarry.
Never discuss the past.
Never explain his actions to others.
Never retreat from an objective or alter a
decision. Never get involved with virgins or other men’s wives.
Marcus looked up from his contemplation of the brandy glass. He had never particularly cared for Trescott. The man was typical of so many of the self-indulgent, licentious rakes of the ton, men whose own personal rules allowed them to prey on the innocent and those whose social ranking was lower than their own.
“Tell me what the lady has been doing to cause such comment,” Marcus said in a deliberately disinterested tone.
Trescott’s gaze glittered with malice. “Rumor has it that she has dismissed you and is trolling for a new lover. All of London is agog.”
“Indeed.”
“Mrs. Bright descended on the ton a fortnight ago and has taken it by storm. No one can believe that you have actually allowed your mistress to hand you your congé. Really quite extraordinary, given your, shall we say, notorious reputation?”
Marcus smiled slightly but said nothing.
Unsatisfied with that reaction, Trescott recklessly tried another sort of prod. “You know very well that you are considered to be the most mysterious and quite possibly the most dangerous man in all of London.”
“As is the case with beauty, Trescott, mystery and danger are in the eyes of the beholder.”
“The rumors about your past guarantee that you qualify as a full-fledged legend, Masters. Naturally any woman who has the nerve to throw you over is bound to excite comment and speculation.”
“Naturally.”
Trescott narrowed his eyes. “I will allow that the lady is unusual, even for you, sir. Where did you ever discover such a charming widow?”
“You have seen her?”
“Of course.” Trescott chuckled. “Mrs. Bright is seen everywhere. No soiree or ball is a success without her. Your mistress is by far the most fascinating creature Society has viewed in years.”
“Do you find her fascinating, Trescott?”
“Certainly. Everyone does. They call her Lady Starlight, you know.”
“Do they?”
Trescott shrugged. “Not that she’s a great beauty, of course. But then, you would know that better than anyone. Still, there’s something about her that draws the eye, is there not? Expect her nickname was derived from her choice of attire.”
“Ah, yes. Her gowns.”
Trescott grinned malevolently. “Imagine, the recent paramour of the most notorious lord of the ton going about in purest white as though she were a bloody virgin. Utterly outrageous.”
Marcus stopped rotating the brandy glass in his hands. He looked at Trescott. “She still favors white?”
“Never wears anything else,” Trescott assured him. “A genuine Original. By the bye, that ridiculous little white and gilt carriage of hers is the envy of every woman in town. I’ll wager it cost you a packet. Mind if I ask how much of the ready you put out for it?”
“I do not seem to recall at the moment.” Marcus glanced into the fire.
“I expect you bought her so many expensive trinkets and baubles that the white carriage and those excellent white mares that go with it went unnoticed, hmm?”
“I pay very little attention to such matters.”
Trescott groaned. “Must be pleasant to
“Widows frequently inherit vast sums from their late husbands.”
“Word is that the late Mr. Bright was quite elderly and lived a reclusive life somewhere in Devon.” Trescott gave Marcus a shrewd glance. “He may have left her some money, but the whole world suspects that she did very well out of you, Masters.”
“You know how these things are. A man must pay for his pleasures.”
Trescott smiled thinly and then boldly stuck his hand all the way into the lion’s cage. “How does it feel to have been well and truly fleeced by a scheming mistress who is now determined to find another man to replace you in her bed?”
“The sensation I am experiencing at the moment is somewhat difficult to describe, Trescott.”
“I vow, there’s scarcely a man in Society who would not give a fortune to take your place in her boudoir.”
“Indeed.”
“Certainly all of your acquaintances, especially those with whom you occasionally play cards, are seen in her vicinity on a nightly basis,” Trescott continued. “Lartmore, Darrow, Ellis, and Judson are usually clustered around her. And there are several fops and dandies such as Hoyt, who contrive to amuse her so as to be seen in her company.”
“Some men will go to any length to be in fashion.”
“Speaking of fashion,” Trescott added, “her knowledge of classical antiquities has drawn a number of ladies into her circle of associates. You know how it is these days. Every female in Society is anxious to redecorate her house in the classical style. Each wants her decor to be more authentic than anyone else’s.”
“Antiquities,” Marcus repeated softly.
“All the rage right now and your Mrs. Bright seems to know a remarkable amount about the subject. Apparently she spent a year touring antiquities in Italy.” Trescott shook his head. “Must admit, I’m not overly fond of females endowed with intellectual natures.”
“Understandable, given your own nature.”
Trescott did not notice the insult. “Does her outrageous behavior mean nothing to you?”
“I find it …” Marcus paused, searching for the right word, “interesting.”
“Interesting. Is that all you can say? Devil take it, man, at this very moment you’re being humiliated by a former mistress in some of the best drawing rooms in London.”
“It may not be all I can say, but it is most certainly all that I intend to say. Have you finished delivering your news, Trescott?”
Trescott scowled. “Yes. Should think it would be enough.”
“It is. Quite enough. You will no doubt wish to be on your way.” Marcus glanced at the clock. “It will be growing dark soon and the nearest inn is some distance from here.”
Trescott’s mouth tightened. If he had expected an invitation to spend the night at Cloud Hall, he was sorely disappointed. He got to his feet.
“Good evening to you, Masters. I trust you will have a great deal to mull over tonight. Rather glad I’m not in your place just now. Damned embarrassing to have one’s mistress make a fool of one.”
Trescott turned and strode out of the library.
Marcus waited until the door had closed behind his visitor. Then he rose and crossed the room to stand at the window.
The sky was clear and cloudless, aglow with gold and peach, the fading hues of a spring day. It would be a good night for viewing the stars through his new telescope.
He had intended to spend the rest of the month here in Yorkshire. But now it appeared he would have to make arrangements to return to London earlier than he had anticipated.
His curiosity, a force that in him was as powerful as sexual desire, was deeply aroused.
In truth, in spite of what the London gossips believed, he did not have a current mistress.
He had not been involved with a woman for over four months. He and his last paramour, a strikingly beautiful widow in her late twenties, had gone their separate ways some time ago. The break had occurred after the lady had finally accepted the fact that Marcus did not intend to violate his rule against remarriage. The lovely widow had decided to pursue less elusive game.
Marcus could not help but wonder who the mysterious Mrs. Bright was. But he was even more intrigued by her daring.
Any woman who possessed the breathtaking courage to masquerade as his mistress at the highest levels of the ton promised to be interesting, indeed. Almost as interesting as the stars.
ONE
THE EARL OF MASTERS WAS ALIVE.
Iphiginia Bright nearly fainted for the first time in her life when the earl entered the glittering ballroom. Her surroundings went into a slow spin as she struggled with the staggering shock.
The last thing she had expected to discover that night or any other night was that Masters was not dead after all.
He was alive.
The shock receded as a dizzying sense of joy soared through her. Although she had never met him, she had spent a feverish fortnight learning everything she possibly could about the earl before she had gone into Society to masquerade as his mistress.
The most shattering thing that she had discovered during the course of her study was that he was the man of her dreams; a man she could have loved as she had never loved anyone else; the right man for her.
She had fully expected him to remain a figure of her most intimate fantasies forever. But here he was, a living, breathing reality.
And when he learned who she was and what she had done, he would surely despise her.
“Good God, I don’t believe it,” Lord Ellis muttered. “Masters is here.”
Iphiginia gazed, speechless, at the tall, powerfully built man who was descending the blue-carpeted staircase with such casual arrogance. A part of her was stunned to realize that he was just as she had imagined him to be: dark-haired, coldly proud, a man who lived by his own rules. She could not believe her eyes.
Neither could anyone else, apparently.
The scene in the ballroom froze into absolute stillness for a single heartbeat. A stunned hush fell upon the crowd.
It seemed to Iphiginia as though the brilliantly gowned ladies and elegantly dressed men were all caught in a drop of liquid amber that hardened instantly, imprisoning them. Even the flames of the massed candles in the huge crystal chandeliers appeared to still for an instant.
In the next heartbeat the amber turned to liquid once more and released its captives.
Freed from their frozen state, the sparkling creatures began to flutter like so many brilliant insects. Shimmers of excitement ruffled their gaudy wings. Greedy anticipation lit their hard, faceted eyes.
Iphiginia knew what prompted the anticipation in those around her. A scene was expected—a scene that would generate gossip for days.
She also knew that the astonishment of the crowd stemmed from the fact that Masters had not been expected to put in an appearance tonight. He was presumed to be out of Town on a lengthy visit to one of his estates. Certainly no one had thought that he would show up here to confront his former mistress.
Only Iphiginia and those closest to her had believed him dead. They had been told as much in the blackmailer’s horrid note. That missive had made it clear that Iphiginia’s Aunt Zoe, Lady Guthrie, would be next to die if she did not meet the villain’s demands.
But here was Masters in the flesh and there was no denying that he was not only alive, he appeared quite fit. He radiated the dangerous vitality of a large beast of prey.
Obviously the blackmailer had lied. He had cleverly taken advantage of Masters’s disappearance from London in order to terrify Zoe.
Torn between euphoria and despair, Iphiginia watched Masters’s relentless approach and realized that all her carefully laid plans had suddenly been plunged into utter chaos.
An entirely new sort of disaster threatened, one that would affect her and those near and dear to h
He would surely make quick work of the trappings of her masquerade, she thought. He would shred them to ribbons, leaving her exposed to Society as the fraud she was.
Iphiginia’s heart raced as she listened to the low-voiced conversation that broke out among the group of gentlemen standing nearby.
“Masters always did have incredible nerve” Lord Lartmore, specter-faced and cadaverously thin, jerked his champagne glass toward his mouth and emptied it in a single swallow. “Never thought he’d show up in any ballroom where Lady Starlight was holding court, though. Too bloody humiliating.”
“By Jove, this should prove interesting.” Darrow, a middle-aged man whose paunch was not well concealed by the poor cut of his coat, cast a speculative eye at Iphiginia.
Herbert Hoyt leaned closer to Iphiginia in a touchingly protective manner. His normally cheerful blue eyes were troubled. “I say, this could prove a trifle awkward. The generals did not invent the extremely useful tactic known as strategic retreat without good reason, m’dear. Would you care to employ it? I stand ready to assist you, as always.”
Iphiginia fought to compose herself. It was difficult to draw a complete breath. This could not be happening. There must be some mistake.
Her fingers, which were lightly resting on Herbert’s sleeve, trembled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Hoyt. Masters is not about to create a scene for the entertainment of the ton.”
“Wouldn’t count on it.” Herbert studied the rippling wake in the crowd that marked Masters’s progress across the room. “One never knows what he’ll do. Man’s an enigma.”
Iphiginia flushed. In spite of her own desperate situation, she felt the urge to defend the earl. “He’s not an enigma. He happens to prefer to maintain his privacy, that’s all. Perfectly reasonable.”
“Well, you’ve gone and made a spectacle of him and robbed him of his precious privacy, haven’t you, m’dear? He won’t appreciate it, that’s for certain.”