Mistress Page 9

  “Perhaps one day I shall have the opportunity to take lessons. They do say that travel is broadening. Come, we have drawn enough attention.” Marcus’s fingers closed more tightly around her arm. He resumed the brisk pace along Pall Mall.

  “People are staring at us.”

  “I should think you would be accustomed to it by now. Tell me why I should not conclude that you are the blackmailer.”

  “First tell me why you came to the conclusion that I was.

  Marcus slanted her an unreadable glance. “You are an exceedingly clever female. You have made a study of me that was so astute it enabled you to fool the ton into believing that you are my mistress.”

  “We all have our little skills.”

  “Your particular skills convince me that you could have delved just as deeply into the background of others and perhaps come up with suitable material for blackmail.”

  Iphiginia nearly choked on her outrage. “Material such as that which is being used to blackmail your friend?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I would never do such a thing.” Iphiginia realized that she was hurt as well as angry and she did not know quite why. Marcus’s alarming conclusions about her were not unreasonable under the circumstances. Nevertheless, she felt wounded by them. “If you knew me better, my lord, you would not make such accusations.”

  “I am, but I do not know you very well at all, do I? Not nearly as well as you appear to know me. And that, madam, has finally begun to worry me.”

  “I do not see how I can persuade you of my innocence, nor will I lower myself to even attempt to do so.”

  “Then we have a problem on our hands, my dear.” Marcus inclined his head a bare half inch at an acquaintance who nodded from the doorway of a snuff shop.

  Iphiginia pretended to focus on some gloves that were displayed in a shop window. She could feel the avid curiosity in the gaze of the man who stood in front of the snuff shop. Indeed, she could feel a dozen pairs of eyes boring into her.

  There was very little privacy here in Town. Anonymity was impossible, especially for any woman whose name was linked with that of the Earl of Masters.

  It was almost as bad as living in Deepford, Iphiginia thought resentfully. But at least here in London she would not he subjected to lectures on propriety from the vicar or from the parents of her sister’s in-laws-to-be.

  She merely had to listen to such lectures from Marcus.

  “You are making a much more difficult problem out of this affair than is necessary,” Iphiginia said forcefully. “But then, something tells me that you are a very difficult man.

  “Regardless of how unpleasant this problem is for you, madam, you may rest assured that until it is resolved, you and I are going to be spending a great deal of time in each other’s company.”

  “What is that supposed to mean, my lord?”

  “It means that until I am convinced that you are not involved in this blackmail scheme, I intend to keep you very near at hand.” Marcus smiled without any trace of amusement. “Where I can keep an eye on you. How fortunate for me that you have chosen to masquerade as my mistress. It provides the perfect excuse for me to stay very close to you.”

  Iphiginia bristled. “What if I decide that I no longer wish to continue the masquerade?”

  “It is far too late to change your mind about your role in this charming little play.” Marcus acknowledged another acquaintance with a faint tilt of his head. “You are too deeply into the part.”

  “If that is the case, I give you fair warning that I fully intend to proceed with my inquiries. I am determined to discover the identity of the blackmailer.”

  “An odd coincidence. I have set myself precisely the same goal.”

  Fulminating, Iphiginia studied him in silence for a moment. “We are going to carry on with our pretense, then?”

  “Yes.” Marcus responded to the greeting of an elderly woman who was emerging from a bookshop. “Mrs. Osworth.”

  “Masters.”

  Iphiginia recognized the heady-eyed lady. She managed a civil smile. “Good day, Mrs. Osworth.”

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Bright.” Mrs. Osworth turned her sharp gaze on Marcus. “Lovely day, my lord, is it not?”

  “Indeed,” Marcus said. “I trust we shall be seeing you both at the Lartmores’ ball this evening?” Mrs. Osworth murmured.

  “Doubtful,” Marcus said flatly.

  “I certainly plan to attend,” Iphiginia said briskly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Marcus’s mouth thin with disapproval. She deliberately brightened her smile. “I understand that Lord Lartmore has a very extensive collection of statuary.”

  “Yes, I believe he does,” Mrs. Osworth said. “My husband mentioned it once. I have never seen it myself. I’m not terribly interested in antique statuary. Oh, dear, you must forgive me. I must be off.”

  “Yes, of course,” Iphiginia said. “I have an appointment to interview a woman who is being sent over from the Wycherley Agency. I am seeking a new companion, you know.”

  “No, I did not know,” Iphiginia said.

  “My last one a flighty little thing if you must know the truth ran off two days ago with a young man of absolutely no background. Can you imagine? After all I’d done for the girl. Ungrateful wretch. This time I shall hire someone older. And a good deal plainer. Until this evening, then, my dear.”

  “Good day, Mrs. Osworth,” Iphiginia said.

  Marcus was silent until Mrs. Osworth was out of earshot. “Why do you wish to go to the Lartmore ball? Bound to be a dead bore.”

  “Two reasons,” Iphiginia said crisply. “The first is that I would dearly love to see Lord Lartmore’s statuary collection.”

  “He allows only his closest acquaintances and certain, ah, connoisseurs to tour it.”

  “I hope to prevail upon him to show it to me.”

  “You wouldn’t be interested. Rather poorly executed copies, for the most part.”

  Iphiginia momentarily forgot that she was annoyed with Marcus. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Yes, and you may take my word for it. There is nothing to interest the scholar in Lartmore’s statuary hall.”

  “How disappointing. I was so looking forward to viewing his antiquities.”

  “Save your time. What was the other reason you wished to attend?”

  “To pursue my inquiries, of course. His name is on my list of men who connect your world with that of my aunt’s. And you did play a few hands with Lartmore at your club that night before you left for Yorkshire.”

  Marcus eyed her speculatively. “You really have done a most thorough investigation of my activities, have you not?”

  “I told you that I had made a close study of your habits.”

  “Lartmore is no blackmailer.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He’s extremely wealthy. He has no reason to resort to blackmail.”

  “Perhaps he has recently suffered some serious reverses in his fortunes.”

  “Unlikely,” Marcus said. “As it happens, however, I intend to dine at my club this evening. Afterward I shall arrange to play some cards. One can learn a great deal at the card tables. I shall see if there is any hint of gossip concerning Lartmore’s finances.”

  Iphiginia pursed her lips. “I wish I could arrange to play a few hands at some of the gentlemen’s clubs. There is no telling what I might learn.”

  “Do not even think about it,” Marcus said. “It’s impossible and well you know it. I shall look for you at the Richardsons’ ball sometime around eleven. I can give you my report.”

  “You are attempting to dissuade me from attending the Lartmore ball, are you not?”

  “Mrs. Bright, so that you are quite clear on this point, allow me to make it plain that I am ordering you not to go to Lartmore’s.”

  “Hmm. My lord, I have a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you care to tell me precisely why your friend is being blackmaile
d?”

  “No, I would not,” Marcus said bluntly. “Surely you do not expect me to divulge a confidence.”

  “No, of course not. I merely thought that if I knew the nature of your friend’s secret, I might be able to compare it to the sort of secret information that is being used against my aunt. I cannot help but wonder if there might be some similarities.”

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. He looked intrigued in spite of himself. “I don’t suppose you would care to tell me the nature of the secret material that you claim is being used to blackmail Lady Guthrie?”

  “No.”

  “So I am left to wonder if she really is being blackmailed.”

  Iphiginia gave him a lofty smile. “You cannot expect me to trust you with my secrets when you have made it clear that you are not prepared to trust me with yours.”

  Marcus’s powerful hand clamped more firmly around her arm. “Your lack of faith in me is going to make it somewhat awkward for us to work together.”

  “It certainly will,” Iphiginia agreed. “And your lack of trust in me will have an equally chilling effect on our efforts.”

  Marcus gave her a disturbing smile. “It is clear that if we are to break down the barriers of distrust between us, we must become more intimately acquainted, Mrs. Bright.”

  “How do you suggest we go about becoming more closely acquainted, sir?”

  “To begin, why don’t you tell me what happened to Mr. Bright?”

  “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.

  DR. HARDSTAFF’S MUSEUM OF THE GODDESSES OF MANLY VIGOR

  LEARN THE SECRET AND INVIGORATING POWERS OF THE GODDESSES OF ANTIQUITY

  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 th
at.” 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. A 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.