Mistress by Amanda Quick
“I grow increasingly weary of stumbling over Hoyt in order to get to you,” Marcus said.
“I regret that he annoys you, but he is my friend, Marcus. I am quite fond of him.” Iphiginia gave Marcus a repressive glance as he led her down the steps to the waiting carriage. “I expect you to be polite to my friends after we are married.”
“Of course, my dear,” Marcus said with uncharacteristic and rather suspect meekness.
Iphiginia scowled at him. “What was that nonsense about locking me away in a harem?”
“A harem of one, my sweet. I assure you that you will be the only occupant.”
“That sounds interesting,” Iphiginia said.
“It certainly struck me that way.”
Iphiginia was exhausted by the time Marcus finally escorted her home at three in the morning.
The town house was quiet, Amelia and the staff having long since retired to bed. Marcus and Iphiginia went quietly across the hall and walked into the shadowed library.
Marcus closed the door, loosened his cravat, and lit the candle on Iphiginia’s desk.
“Good heavens, what an exhausting evening.” Iphiginia stripped off her white kid gloves and flopped into the chair behind her desk. Her white sarcenet and satin skirts fluttered around her. “One would have thought you had announced your intention to marry a female who possessed two heads. I have never seen so many curious eyes or heard so many gasps of amazement.”
“The worst is over.”
“I certainly hope so.” Iphiginia frowned at her white skirts. “The first thing I am going to do after our marriage is purchase some new gowns. I am dreadfully bored with white.”
“It served its purpose.” Marcus helped himself to a small glass of brandy.
“I suppose it did.”
“It was an extremely daring and rather shrewd notion.”
“Thank you, my lord. I was rather pleased with the notion myself.” Iphiginia tried to summon up a casual smile.
In truth she felt anything but calm tonight. The enormity of the step she was about to take was having a deeply unsettling effect on her nerves.
Teach me to break this rule, too.
Had Marcus really meant that he was willing to learn how to love again? Iphiginia wondered. Or had he offered her the challenge, knowing that she would be unable to resist?
He could be so bloody clever, she thought.
“Speaking of our marriage,” Marcus said.
“Yes?” Iphiginia watched as he began to prowl the room, brandy glass in one hand.
Marcus paused in front of a statue of Aphrodite. “] intend to procure a special license in the morning. We can be married tomorrow afternoon”
Iphiginia caught her breath. “So soon?”
He looked at her over his shoulder, his intelligent gaze shuttered and brooding. “There is no need to delay the event, is there?”
It dawned on Iphiginia that, in his own way, Marcus was as ill at ease as she was tonight. How odd that, having been through so much together, they should suddenly find themselves nervous around each other.
“No,” she said.
Marcus nodded once, satisfied. “I shall make the arrangements.”
“Very well.”
Marcus took a swallow of brandy and moved on to study the statue of the Roman centurion. “I thought we managed quite nicely this evening.”
“People are amazed that you are going to marry your mistress, you know.”
“You are not my mistress.” Marcus set his glass down on a nearby table. “You are my fiancee. The gossip will vanish once we are wed.”
Iphiginia glanced at the copy of Illustrations of Classical Antiquities on her desk. “Are you certain?”
“Quite.” Marcus smiled without any humor. “Marriage fixes everything, you see.”
Iphiginia recalled the circumstances of Marcus’s first marriage and winced. “Yes.”
“It silences scandal before it can flower. It renders titillating gossip of an affair into extremely dull tea conversation. In short, Iphiginia, once we are married, we shall become a very boring subject so far as Society is concerned.”
Iphiginia gazed at him very steadily. “Is that the reason you wish to marry me, sir? I would sooner return to Deepford than be wed in order to silence the threat of scandal.”
“No,” Marcus said. “It is not why I wish to marry you. I wish to marry you because you are the only woman I know who can keep me from becoming a clockwork man.”
“Marcus.” Iphiginia was shocked at the analogy. “You cannot mean that.”
“But I do mean it.” He hesitated, as though gathering himself to jump off a cliff into a roiling sea. “I need you to keep me from becoming a victim of my own rules, Iphiginia.”
Iphiginia felt the talons of his deeply buried torment as though it were her own flesh they pierced. She knew without a trace of doubt what his admission had cost him.
Another rule broken, no doubt, she thought.
She got to her feet and went around the corner of her desk. She stepped into his arms and framed his hard face with her hands.
“Marcus, pay close attention. You are in no danger of becoming an automaton. You are a warm, passionate man with extremely refined sensibilities.”
“Do you think so?” The dark intensity vanished from his voice. He grinned briefly. “Well, in that case, it would probably be best not to delay our marriage. I’m not at all certain my refined sensibilities could withstand the strain of waiting.”
“No.” Iphiginia stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his faintly curved mouth. “We would not want to stifle your warm, passionate nature any longer than necessary.”
“Or yours.” Marcus folded her into an unshakable hold and kissed her thoroughly.
He deepened the kiss until Iphiginia sighed softly and went limp in his arms.
“I love you, Marcus,” she murmured against his throat.
She was not certain he had heard her, but when he raised his head a moment later, his eyes were the color of ancient amber. “I shall come for you at three tomorrow. I trust you will be ready.”
Iphiginia smiled. “Should I wear white?”
“You may wear whatever you wish.” Marcus moved reluctantly away from her to scoop his hat up off her desk. “Or nothing at all. Good night, Iphiginia. I shall look forward to tomorrow night. Do you realize that it will be the first time we will be able to make love in a bed?”
“How very convenient should you suffer another collapse after the event, my lord.”
“Adam will be coming by again today at five o’clock to take me for a drive in the park,” Amelia announced at breakfast the following morning. “What do you think I should wear, Iphiginia?”
Iphiginia frowned over the gossip column in the morning paper. The article she had been reading featured a very recognizable “Mrs. B” and an equally obvious “Lord M.” The news of the impending nuptials had been related in arch prose.
The Polite World is agog this morning to learn that Lord M. has reportedly broken his most infamous rule …
“What did you say, Amelia?”
“I said, will you help me select something to wear for a drive in the park this afternoon?”
Iphiginia looked up and saw the hopeful anticipation in her cousin’s eyes. She smiled.
“You and I are very near the same size,” Iphiginia said. “You shall wear my saffron yellow walking gown and the pale yellow pelisse that goes with it. The color will be perfect on you.”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “But you have not yet had an opportunity to wear that gown and pelisse yourself.”
“It is yours with my blessings.” Iphiginia refolded the newspaper and set it aside.
“Very kind.”
“Think nothing of it. We must both go shopping as soon as possible. You need some brighter gowns and I am weary of white.”
“It is very becoming on you.”
“Thank you, but white attire grows exceedingly dull after a whi
“I am happy.” Amelia smiled slowly, as though surprised by the fact. “Do you know, I have not felt this … this unburdened in years. To think that I was always terrified of coming face-to-face with Dodgson again. Yet when it actually happened, I experienced nothing but acute loathing and disgust.”
“And rightfully so. It was extremely satisfying to see his expression yesterday when he learned that you had the power to deny him entry into the investment pool.”
“Do you think that it is wrong of me to take such satisfaction from my revenge?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You exacted retribution and justice. You are entitled to a sense of satisfaction.”
“Adam says that Dodgson will probably not be able to recover from his recent financial reverses,” Amelia confided. “Apparently he is too far under the hatches to crawl back out on his own.”
“I shall certainly not waste any sympathy on him. And I cannot tell you how delighted I am to know that you care for Mr. Manwaring. He has been attracted to you since the moment you met, you know.”
“I think I did know. I always felt a certain warmth toward him. But for some reason I could not allow myself to admit it. Then, yesterday, after I confronted Dodgson and watched him go down in defeat, I suddenly felt free to turn to Adam.” Amelia smiled. “Oh, Iphiginia, I do feel glorious today.”
“Excellent. Then you can help me deal with what I believe may be an extremely nasty case of wedding nerves.”
“Nerves? You? Iphiginia, are you telling me you are anxious about this marriage to Masters?”
“Yes, I believe I am. Remind me to take a vinaigrette with me to the preachers this afternoon. I would hate to humiliate myself by fainting at Masters’s feet.”
“I am astounded. I do not know what to say. You always seem so certain of yourself. I have never known you to suffer from nerves.”
“I have never been married,” Iphiginia reminded her. She smiled wryly. “But Marcus has. If I am anxious, only think what he must be going through.”
Half an hour later, feeling restless and more anxious than ever, Iphiginia wandered into her library with the intention of distracting herself.
She sat down behind her desk, opened a drawer, and removed several sheets of foolscap. She closed the drawer and reached for her pen.
Inspiration did not strike.
She took up a penknife and fiddled with the nib of her quill for a while. Then she put down the pen and contemplated several pieces of the statuary she had brought back with her from Italy.
It was no use. All she could think about was how her life was about to be irrevocably changed by a special license.
Teach me to break that rule, too, Iphiginia.
Marcus had as much as asked her to teach him how to love again. She had been so certain that she could do it.
But what if she was wrong?
Iphiginia got to her feet and started around her desk with no particular goal. She just felt the need to move.
The copy of Illustrations of Classical Antiquities caught her eye. Having nothing better to do, she picked it up to place it back in its proper place on a library shelf.
Idly she thumbed through it, seeking favorite scenes.
The tiny blob of black wax was stuck to page two hundred and three. It had obviously been dropped onto the volume by accident. It had dried there and gone undiscovered.
Iphiginia stared at the small bit of wax for a long time. Someone who knows everything and everyone in Society.
Then, at last, inspiration finally did strike.
“You’re certain of these facts, Barclay?” Marcus sat forward behind his desk and forced himself to be patient. Sound scientific investigation had to be done carefully and thoroughly. He must not allow emotion and enthusiasm to rush him into a false conclusion.
He had allowed Iphiginia to persuade him to abandon a few of the rules which had governed his personal life until recently. That did not mean he had abandoned the sound, sensible rules of scientific experimentation.
Nevertheless, Marcus could feel the familiar thrill of discovery and satisfaction welling up inside. It all made perfect sense, he thought. It was logical. With this bit of information all the rest of the pieces began to fall into place.
He could not wait to tell Iphiginia.
“Yes, yes, quite certain.” Barclay shuffled his papers and peered at his notes through his spectacles. “The original Dr. Hardstaff, whose real name was William Burn, sold his premises to the same individual who built the sepulchral monument in Reeding Cemetery. That man’s name is H. H. Eaton.”
“And he is the son of the Elizabeth Eaton who is buried in that monument?”
“Yes.” Barclay looked up. “He appears to have dropped his last name when he entered Society two years ago. That was why it took me so long to discover his connection. Indeed, if you had not suggested that I look into the ownership of the museum, I would never have gotten to the bottom of the thing.”
A knock on the library door got Marcus’s attention. He glanced toward it with an impatient frown. “Enter.”
Lovelace opened the door. Iphiginia, dressed in a white morning gown and a flower-trimmed chip straw bonnet, bobbed up and down behind him.
“Mrs. Bright to see you, sir,” Lovelace said, just as though Iphiginia were not waving madly to get Marcus’s attention.
Marcus grinned. “Send her in, Lovelace.”
Lovelace stepped aside. Iphiginia rushed past him into the library. She was carrying a massive leather-bound volume.
“Marcus, you will never believe what has happened. I think I know the identity of the blackmailer. I found a bit of black wax on this book that I lent to—”
“Herbert Hoyt?” Marcus asked politely.
“Good Lord.” Iphiginia came to a halt and gazed at him in astonishment. “How did you guess?”
“I never guess, my dear. I form scientific hypotheses.”
It was quite dark in the narrow alley. There was barely enough moonlight to see the rear window of Number Two Thurley Street. Marcus hefted the length of iron in his hand and fitted it cautiously between the window and the sill.
“Be careful,” Iphiginia whispered. She glanced back down the length of the alley to be certain they were still alone.
“I am being careful.”
“Marcus, are you annoyed?”
“Oddly enough, I had not planned to spend my wedding night breaking into Hoyt’s lodgings.” Marcus pried the window open with a judicious jerk of the iron bar. The frame gave with gratifying ease. “I had envisioned more interesting entertainment.”
“Hurry.” Iphiginia pushed back the hood of her cloak. The unlit brass lantern she carried gleamed in the moonlight. “I am certain that we shall find the black sealing wax and the phoenix seal somewhere in his rooms.”
“This is a complete waste of time.” Marcus swung one leg over the sill. “We already know that he’s the blackmailer.”
“But we need proof. The wax and seal will give us solid evidence.”
Marcus swung his other leg over the sill and dropped into the shadowed room. “We are not doing this to obtain evidence. We are doing it solely because you want to prove to me that your hypothesis was as sound as mine.”
“It is sound. I know that I would eventually have found the blackmailer on my own.” Iphiginia caught up the hem of her cloak and her skirts in one hand and put a stocking-clad leg over the edge of the sill.
Marcus wistfully contemplated the graceful limb and thought about how it would look tangled in the white sheets of his massive bed.
Later, he promised himself. Iphiginia was his, that was the important thing. He could relax. She had belonged to him since they had exchanged vows earlier that day in front of a preacher.
She was his wife.
Satisfaction surged deep inside as he caught her by the waist and lifted her through the window. Offhand he could
Marcus had concluded that he could afford to indulge her now that he was certain of possessing her.
In truth, he had not been particularly keen on the scheme to search Hoyt’s lodgings, but Marcus had convinced himself that the plan was not unduly risky. Hoyt, after all, was a creature of Society. He was out until dawn every night. His servant, Marcus had learned, had formed the habit of spending the evenings at a tavern.
“Close the curtains,” Iphiginia ordered softly as she lit the lantern.
Marcus obligingly drew the curtains. He turned to survey the room by the light of Iphiginia’s lantern. It was a comfortable chamber, quite suited to a single gentleman of modest means. There was a desk in one corner and a row of bookcases along one wall. A wingback chair stood before the cold hearth. The table next to it held a half-empty bottle of brandy and a glass.
“Hoyt does not appear to have invested his ill-gotten gains in his living quarters,” Marcus observed.
“No, but he orders his coats from Weston and he recently purchased his own carriage. You know what that costs.” Iphiginia explored the desk quickly. “And there is that building he purchased from the original Dr. Hardstaff. That must have cost a great deal.”
“And that monument he built in Reeding Cemetery.” Marcus opened a drawer in a bureau and saw a stack of freshly laundered and starched cravats.
“It is difficult to credit that a man who is nasty enough to commit murder and blackmail would be the sort to build such a striking memorial to his mother.” Iphiginia sucked in her breath. “Ah-hah.”
“What does ah-hah mean?”
“It means that the desk is unlocked.” Iphiginia began rummaging around in the top drawer.
Marcus moved across the room. “I hate to mention the obvious, but if the desk is not locked, it is no doubt because there is nothing of any great import inside.”
“Nonsense. One cannot conclude that. It simply means that Herbert does not consider the wax and seal dangerous.”