Mistress by Amanda Quick
Marcus hesitated just as he was about to get back into his carriage. The London streets were choked with vehicles of all descriptions. It was midnight at the height of the Season and everyone who was anyone was in motion, traveling from one soiree to another. It could easily take a good forty minutes for his coachman to forge a path to the Lartmore mansion.
“I’ll go on foot,” Marcus called up to Dinks. “Meet me at the Lartmore house.”
“Aye, my lord,” Dinks muttered from the box. “Watch yer back. All kinds out on a night such as this.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Marcus paced swiftly along the crowded thoroughfare. His path was dimly lit by the gas lamps that had recently been installed in this section of Town.
He moved through clumps of drunken dandies on their way to the gaming hells off St. James, clusters of brightly garbed fops en route to heckle the actors at the theater, and young men consumed with Byronesque ennui who were headed for adventure in the stews. Marcus sincerely hoped that Bennet was not among the last group.
Here and there prostitutes solicited passersby from shadowed doorways. A surly-looking individual dressed in a cap and baggy pants eyed the cut of Marcus’s finely tailored clothes, but he did not attempt to leave the shelter of an alley.
A bare fifteen minutes later Marcus walked up the wide steps of the Lartmore mansion. The footman on duty in the hall bowed and did not ask to see his invitation. He headed straight for the balcony that overlooked the crowded ballroom.
Marcus planted both hands on the railing and looked out over the glittering scene. He searched the crowd for a glowing figure dressed in virginal white.
“I believe you’ll find her in the statuary hall, Masters. Lartmore invited her to, ah, survey his antiquities.” Herbert Hoyt chuckled as he came up behind Marcus. “I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. She assured me that she can handle Lartmore.”
Marcus turned to study Herbert’s amused face. He did not know the man well, but he knew the type. Hoyt was a harmless sort. “How do you know where Mrs. Bright is at this particular moment?”
Herbert lounged his well-padded thigh against the railing and took a sip of champagne from the glass in his pudgy hand. “Because I was with her when she asked Lartmore for a tour.”
“I see.”
“Mrs. Bright is an authority on classical statuary and architectural design, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“She and I have had numerous enthralling discussions on the subject of ancient architecture. She recently loaned me her copy of Grayson’s Illustrations of Classical Antiquities. Have you read it, sir?”
“No, I have not.” Marcus was in no mood to listen to another man, even harmless Herbert Hoyt as he chattered on about his close friendship with Iphiginia. “Excuse me.”
Herbert gave him an apologetic look. “I did try to hint to her that she might not want to view Lartmore’s statuary collection, but she was adamant. In my experience it’s almost impossible to stop Mrs. Bright from doing exactly as she wishes.”
“So it would seem.” Marcus made to move past the other man.
“I congratulate you, sir. Mrs. Bright is a most fascinating lady. But then, I am always captivated by a female who gives one the impression that she is not quite what she appears to be.”
Marcus stopped and turned back. “What the devil do you mean by that, Hoyt?”
Herbert held up a hand and hastily swallowed his mouthful of champagne. “Beg pardon. No offense intended, I assure you. It’s the element of mystery she projects, you see. Gives the lady an enticing elusive quality, don’t you think?”
“Mrs. Bright is a mystery only to some,” Marcus said very softly. “To me she is an open book. We understand each other very well.”
“I see.” Herbert’s brow wrinkled in a perplexed expression. “Then you were no doubt already aware of her keen interest in Lartmore’s statuary. I must admit, it came as something of a surprise to me.”
Whether Herbert Hoyt was harmless or otherwise, Marcus had an almost overpowering urge to toss him over the railing. He told himself that it would be a futile exercise. Hoyt had not stated anything that everyone else who knew of Iphiginia’s visit to Lartmore’s statuary hall was not already thinking.
Marcus turned on his heel and walked away without a word. He knew where to find Iphiginia. Lartmore’s collection of erotic statuary was famous among the males of the ton.
SIX
THIS ONE IS CALLED ECSTASY. YOU WILL NOTICE THE BOLDLY modeled curves of the female form, my dear Mrs. Bright.” Lord Lartmore stroked the extraordinarily large breast of a stone figure with his skeletal hands. “Only the ancients could invest their work with such lush power.” He tweaked a nipple. “What a pity that today’s artists have lost that vitality.”
Iphiginia swallowed and stared at the statue. She fought to conceal her shock. She had more than a passing familiarity with the work of the ancient sculptors. But she had never seen anything to compare with the figures in Lartmore’s statuary hall.
It was not that the large-bosomed statue which Lartmore fondled with such a lascivious touch was nude that startled Iphiginia. She had seen any number of unclad classical statues. It was the odd pose of the figure that left her momentarily speechless.
The stone female sat astride the naked loins of a reclining male figure. Her thighs were splayed wide, emphasizing the cleft in her buttocks. Her spine was arched, her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open in an expression of what could only be acute agony.
The male figure looked to be suffering equal torment as he jutted his hips upward. It was apparent that his stone shaft was buried deep within the marble woman.
“Most unusual,” Iphiginia managed weakly. She hoped the lamplight concealed her hot face.
“And so provocative to the passionate senses, don’t you agree?” Lartmore gestured with a limp hand to indicate the dimly lit room. The eyes in his skull glittered. “My collection is filled with the unique and the unusual, as you will see. I insist that every piece of statuary I collect be imbued with true antique sensibilities.”
Iphiginia debated whether to inform him that none of his statues were in the true antique mode as far as she could see. She tried to study some of the nearby figures with an objective eye.
It was not an easy task. The faintly glowing lamps revealed a room full of stone and marble statues that appeared to have only one thing in common. They were all images of men and women posed in astonishingly intimate and exceedingly odd positions.
A buxom female crouched on her hands and knees, her buttocks arched high. The male figure positioned behind her gripped her hips as he thrust into her.
“That one is called Unbridled Passion,” Lartmore murmured. “One of my favorites.”
“Indeed.” Iphiginia could not think of anything else to say.
“Over there is A Taste of Delight.”
Iphiginia gazed at the figure of a woman seated on a rock. A man crouched between her widely spread knees. His face was buried between plump stone thighs.
“I see.”
“And this one I call The Elixir of Life.” Lartmore touched a stone leg and smiled at Iphiginia.
She frowned as she studied the figures. At first Iphiginia thought the female was praying. She blushed furiously when she saw that in actuality the nude had a very long length of marble manhood in her mouth.
“Good heavens,” Iphiginia whispered.
“I am especially fond of my newest acquisitions.” Lartmore led the way toward the far end of the hall to where a series of sculptures had been arranged. He beamed with pride. “I should dearly love to have your opinion on them, Mrs. Bright. Everyone knows that you are an expert in these things.”
Iphiginia’s initial reaction to the series of statues was relief. The first few pieces appeared to be much more decorous than the others. These figures were at least clothed.
Relaxing slightly, Iphiginia took a step closer t
Then Iphiginia noticed that the man’s hand was on the woman’s leg beneath her skirts.
“What do you call this?” Iphiginia asked uneasily.
“The entire series is called The Breaching of the Virgin’s Maidenhead. You will notice that with each succeeding statue in the collection the figures become increasingly more intimate until, in the last one, the deed is done. Amusing, is it not?”
Iphiginia cast him a sidelong glance. She noticed that the expression in Lartmore’s colorless eyes had become a hard gleam. A sheen of sweat had appeared on his balding skull. Even as she watched, he edged closer to her. His cadaverously thin body was touching her white skirts.
It was definitely time to return to the ballroom. As much as she hated to admit it, Marcus had been right. Clearly it had been a mistake to come in here. There had to be another way to get into Lartmore’s library tonight.
Iphiginia cleared her throat authoritatively. “As you have asked for my opinion on your statuary, my lord, I fear I must tell you that these examples are extremely poor imitations of the antique mode.”
“My dear Mrs. Bright, how can you say that?” Lartmore looked grievously wounded.
“To be perfectly blunt, the style is not at all in the manner of the ancients. I see no indications of either Roman, Grecian, or Etruscan motifs in any of these statues.”
“But, Mrs. Bright, surely you are mistaken.”
“No, sir, I am not mistaken. I assure you, I have examined a great deal of genuine antique statuary and none of it bore any resemblance to these pieces.”
Lartmore put a hand to his chest in a gesture of anguish. “I am crushed.” He took a step closer to Iphiginia.
“I trust you did not pay a great deal for any of these statues.” Iphiginia sidestepped deftly and moved quickly around Lartmore. “If you did, you were fleeced.”
“Mrs. Bright, allow me to show you the rest of my collection.” Lartmore put out a long-fingered hand to detain her.
“Unfortunately, I do not have the time to linger.” Iphiginia managed to avoid his groping hand with a quick move to one side.
“But I insist.” Lartmore lunged, claws outstretched to seize her.
Iphiginia picked up her skirts and fled.
She nipped around the stone figure of the man braced on his knees behind the crouching female, sprinted past a man and woman engaged in sexual congress on top of a pedestal, and plowed straight into a very large, very immovable object that loomed in her path.
This male figure was definitely not made out of stone, but it was as unyielding as any of the sculptures in the hall.
“Marcus” Her reaction was instantaneous and instinctive. She smiled brilliantly as she staggered and clutched at his arm to catch her balance. “I cannot tell you how very happy I am to see you, my lord.”
“I’ve been searching for you, Mrs. Bright.” But Marcus did not look at her. His eyes were on Lartmore. “I was under the impression that we had arranged to meet at the Richardsons’.”
“Yes, well, I planned to go there immediately after I left here, sir.” Iphiginia checked her hair to see if the white roses were still in place. “Lord Lartmore kindly offered to show me his statuary hall, so I was somewhat delayed.”
“I see. How unfortunate.”
Iphiginia winced at the unmistakable menace in his voice. She hurried to defuse what was clearly about to become a very awkward situation. “Well, then, as you are here and I am ready to leave, I do not see why we should not be off.”
“In a moment,” Marcus said absently. “There are one or two matters that should be clarified first.”
Lartmore rushed to his own defense. “Masters, I assure you, there was nothing objectionable about this little tour of my gallery of statues. I sought Mrs. Bright’s intellectual opinion on my collection. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Masters repeated ominously.
“Absolutely not.” Pinned by Marcus’s cold eyes, Lartmore appeared to grow thinner and even more cadaverous. He stuck one bony finger beneath his cravat and tried to loosen the heavily starched fabric. “We were just finishing the tour, Masters. I was about to escort Mrs. Bright back to the ballroom.”
“There will be no more such tours,” Marcus said.
“No, no, of course not.” Lartmore cast a desperate glance at Iphiginia.
“I have given Lord Lartmore my opinion of his statuary collection,” Iphiginia said coolly. “I’m afraid I found it all of rather poor quality. Completely lacking in true antique sensibilities.”
“Fascinating,” Marcus said very gently. “I believe I had already warned you that it was not of the best quality and would be of little interest to you.”
“Ah, yes.” Iphiginia rallied quickly. “Yes, you did, my lord, but I am the sort of person who prefers to form her own conclusions.”
“Perhaps it would be wise if you learned to take sound advice when it is offered.”
Iphiginia scowled but decided not to say anything. Something told her this was not the best time to inform him that she rarely took other people’s advice these days. She’d been obliged to endure far too much of that commodity back in Deepford.
“If you will excuse me.” Lartmore slithered between two copulating statues and headed for the door. “I must get back to my guests.”
Iphiginia glowered at the retreating Lartmore. When he had vanished like a wraith, she swung around to confront Marcus.
“I do not recall that your advice was offered, precisely, my lord. I believe it was put a bit more strongly. Some would say that your so-called advice was more in the nature of an extremely autocratic command.”
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 blinked and 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. So long as you are gallivanting about Town masquerading as my mistress, you will bloody well act the part.”
Alarmed by the dangerous softness of his tone, Iphiginia took another discreet step backward. “Now, see here, my lord, you must understand that this is merely a role I am playing. One could say that I am your mistress-in-name-only.”
“If you expect me to allow you to continue playing this part, you will follow my advice to the letter.”
She lifted her chin. “You mean your commands, do you not?”
“Aye, madam. I mean my commands.”
Iphiginia took another cautious step back. Her leg came up against a cold marble statue of two writhing figures. “I am not accustomed to obeying any man’s commands, sir.”
“That much is clear. The late, lamented Mr. Bright obviously let you take the bit between your teeth and run wild. But if you think that I will allow you to make a complete fool of me in front of the ton, you are sadly mistaken.”
Iphiginia was momentarily stricken with guilt. “My lord, there is no denying that you were put in a somewhat unfortunate position by my masquerade, but I assure you that I never meant to humiliate you.”
“Only because you were proceeding on the mistaken assumption that I was safely dead.”
“Well, yes, granted. However—”
“Last night I found your audacity mildly entertaining. Tonight, however, you have stepped over the line and I am no longer amused.”
Iphiginia’s brief flash of guilt evaporated. Anger took its place. “I am not doing this to amuse you, my lord.”
Marcus took another menacing step toward her. “Until such time as you and I are finished with this charade, you will stay in character, madam.”
“In character?” She could not retreat any farther. She was trapped by the stone limbs of the couple copula
“No, madam, you will not.” Marcus reached out and grasped a foot and a shoulder on the statue behind her, effectively caging her between his arms. “I am the authority on this role. If it weren’t for me, the part would not even exist. Is that not correct?”
“I suppose one could make such an argument, but—”
“I am making the argument. I created the role. Therefore I shall direct you in it.”
He brought his mouth down on hers and pinned her against a stone thigh.
What should have been a small, breathless gasp emerged from Iphiginia as a silent sigh. She clutched at his shoulders, more to steady herself than to push him away. The weight of him as he crushed her against the marble was intoxicating.
Just as it had last night, excitement showered through her, an incandescent rain that made all her senses bloom at once.
She heard Marcus groan. It was a rough, dark sound that came from deep in his chest. He leaned closer. His body was 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.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around his neck, just as she had done last night. Now she could feel every inch of him pressing against her. He felt so good, so strong, so right.
She was enthralled, consumed by a deep longing that dazzled her with its intensity.
Iphiginia realized that she had been yearning for this sensation all of her life.
Marcus lifted his mouth from hers. His eyes were brilliant with desire and wonder. “You’re going to drive me mad, aren’t you?” He threaded his fingers through her elegantly styled hair, gripped a handful, and forced her head gently back. He kissed her throat.
Iphiginia trembled beneath the sensual assault. And then she was kissing him with a passionate ferocity that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. She strained to taste him, touch him, feel him.
She loved the feel of his skin beneath her lips. The scent of him filled her head. The strength in his hands thrilled her.