Mistress (12 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

Marcus raised one brow. “I was referring to your late husband.”

“Oh, him.”

“Obviously you no longer grieve for the departed.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted that.” Iphiginia swallowed uneasily. She must learn to think of this man as an adversary, she warned herself. “He believed that one should put unhappy events behind one. After a suitable mourning period, of course.”

“Of course. And was there a suitable mourning period after his death?”

“A reasonable one, considering the circumstances. Mr. Bright was considerably older than I,” Iphiginia murmured.

“I see.”

“He lived a very full and active life.”

“I imagine it got considerably more active after he married you.”

Iphiginia gave him a repressive look. “I do not wish to pursue this topic of conversation. I’m sure you comprehend, my lord. Much too painful.”

“I understand,” Marcus said.

“And so you should. I believe you have a rule of your own against discussing the past, do you not?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bright, I do have such a rule.”

“Personally, I am not overly fond of rules, but I believe that I shall adopt that particular one myself.” Iphiginia caught sight of a discreetly painted sign hanging at the corner of a small street off Pall Mall. “Oh, look, there’s Dr. Hardstaff’s museum. Mr. Hoyt mentioned the establishment the other evening.”

“I cannot imagine why.”

“He said something about Lord Thornton having recently taken a treatment from Dr. Hardstaff.” Iphiginia studied the sign.

Marcus glanced at the sign. “You would have no interest in Dr. Hardstaff’s museum, Iphiginia.”

“But I am always deeply interested in antiquities.” Iphiginia turned her head to look back at the sign as Marcus urged her forward. She frowned. “I do not believe that I know which classical goddesses are particularly associated with manly vigor.”

“You astound me, madam. I thought you knew all the answers.”

Shortly after ten that evening Marcus left the card room at his favorite club. He was in a dark, unpleasant mood, although he had won, as he so often did when he played whist.

He took no particular satisfaction in the victory. There was no serious challenge to be found in a game when one’s opponents were so deep in their cups that they could scarcely hold their cards.

The restlessness that gripped him had nothing to do with the recent game of whist. He had been feeling this way since he had met with Hannah in the park. The sensation had intensified after the conversation with Iphiginia.

Logic told him that he could not trust her, but his growing desire for her was undeterred by reason and common sense.

He wanted her.

Marcus glanced at the stately tall clock and saw that it
was nearly time to hunt Iphiginia down at the Richardsons’ ball. He wondered what she had been doing all evening. Had she been innocently pursuing what she termed her inquiries or had she been setting snares for other potential blackmail victims?

One could only pity the late Mr. Bright, Marcus reflected. Any man married to Iphiginia would no doubt find himself growing old before his time.

“I thought I might find you here, Masters.”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder. It took an act of will to avoid swearing aloud when he saw Hannah’s husband, Edward, Lord Sands.

Marcus had often thought that under other circumstances he might have gotten along very well with Sands. There was a solid, substantial feeling about the man. Sands radiated a sense of unflinching integrity. He was the sort of man one would wish at one’s side in the heat of battle. A man with whom one could do business.

Marcus knew that there was no chance for genuine friendship between himself and Sands, however, as long as Hannah and her secret stood between them.

“Good evening, Sands.” Marcus nodded politely. “What brings you here? You rarely bother to put in an appearance at this particular club.”

“I came here to find you.” Sands’s pleasant, open features were set in such rigid lines that they could have been carved from stone.

Marcus told himself he was not surprised. Nevertheless, he had hoped to avoid this confrontation. “What can I do for you?”

Sands’s gloved hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “You can stay away from Hannah, damn your eyes. I know that you met her in the park this morning. I will not have it.”

“Hannah is an old friend,” Marcus said gently. “You know that.”

“Listen to me, Masters, and listen carefully. Whatever happened between the two of you before I met Hannah is
your affair. But she chose me, by God. She is my wife and I will not let you play your games with her, do you comprehend?”

“If you knew anything at all about me, Sands, you would know that I have an ironclad rule against involving myself with innocents and other men’s wives. And I never break my own rules.”

“I have heard of your so-called rules,” Sands said roughly. “The gossips claim that you have always made it a point to form your connections with the most interesting and attractive widows of the
ton
. But they also say that Hannah is the one exception.”

“You should know better than to listen to gossip,” Marcus said.

“If I hear that you have met privately with my wife again, I vow, I shall call you out. I am not bluffing, Masters. I am accounted a good marksman.”

“I believe you,” Marcus said calmly.

“I have heard that you once very nearly killed a man on the field of honor, but that does not frighten me.”

“I have no intention of keeping a dawn appointment with you, Sands.”

“Then stay away from Hannah.”

“Did Hannah tell you that I had met with her this morning?”

“She did not have to tell me. I heard about it from an acquaintance, who had been told by someone else that you both were seen entering the park at an early hour.”

Marcus shrugged. “You have my word of honor that I have no designs on your lady. Since you pay attention to rumors, I trust you will have heard by now that I am presently spending a great deal of my time in the company of a charming widow named Mrs. Bright.”

“I have heard about your so-called Lady Starlight. She sounds just your sort. If you are wise, you will confine your attentions to her.”

“I fully intend to do just that.” Marcus glanced once more at the clock. “If you will excuse me, I shall go in
search of the lady herself. She and I have arranged to meet at the Richardsons’ ball. Good night, Sands.” Marcus inclined his head in a pleasant fashion and walked past Sands toward the door.

Iphiginia Bright had complicated his life no end, he reflected a few minutes later as he vaulted into his black carriage. Now, on top of everything else, he was being hounded by a jealous husband.

Half an hour later, Marcus stalked back down the steps of the Richardson town house. He was no longer brooding over the difficulties Iphiginia presented. He was furious.

It had never occurred to him that she would ignore his instructions to rendezvous with him at the Richardsons’. Marcus was not accustomed to having his orders brushed aside. But that was not the worst of it.

What really annoyed him was that he had a strong suspicion that she had gone to the Lartmore mansion.

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
.

T
HIS ONE IS CALLED
E
CSTASY
. Y
OU 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.