Amanda Quick: Mistress

Masters was definitely not the sort who would tolerate humiliation of any kind.

Iphiginia reminded herself that she had been in other precarious situations. Her recent year abroad during which she and her cousin Amelia had toured the ruins of Italy had not been without incident. There had been that rather nasty confrontation with a-street thief in Rome and another equally dangerous encounter with a bandit on the journey to Pompeii.

Still, Iphiginia was only too well aware that she had never dealt with a man whose reputation was of the legendary proportions that characterized the earl's.

The trick was to stay calm and in control, Iphiginia thought. She was dealing with a potentially dangerous adversary, but she knew from her research that Masters was a highly intelligent man. With any luck, he would choose to approach the coming confrontation in a rational, coolheaded manner.

From what she had learned about him, she was almost certain he would not allow his emotions to govern his actions during the next few minutes.

Almost certain. Iphiginia saw Herbert's brow furrow with uneasiness as he watched the crowd. She heard a sharp, distinct crack. She glanced down and saw that she had accidentally snapped the delicate spokes of her fan.

At. that moment the knot of people directly in front of her unraveled. A woman's nervous laugh rang out and then was cut off abruptly. Men edged out of the way. Even Herbert stepped back a pace or two.

Iphiginia suddenly found herself standing quite alone in the middle of the crowded ballroom.

Marcus, Earl of Masters, came to a halt directly in front of Iphiginia. Because she had been looking down at her broken fan, the first thing she noticed about him was his hands.

He was the only man in the room not wearing gloves. In a world where soft, elegant, graceful hands were much admired in a man, Marcus had the hands of a seasoned warrior. Large and powerful, they were the hands of a man who had made his own way in the world.

Iphiginia suddenly recalled that he had come into his title a mere five years earlier. It had been a bankrupt inheritance. He had not been horn into wealth and power. He had created those attributes for himself.

Iphiginia tore her gaze away from the riveting sight of his muscular hands and looked up quickly. Marcus possessed a face that could have been etched on an ancient gold coin. Strong, relentless and hold to the point of being harsh, it was the face of an ancient conqueror.

He watched — her with amber eyes that glittered with a fierce intelligence. His hair was very dark, almost black. There was a flash of silver in the curving swath that was brushed back from his high forehead.

Iphiginia met his brilliant eyes. A shock of deep awareness and recognition flashed through her. Something that had been smoldering deep inside her for weeks suddenly leaped into full flame.

This was the man she had fallen in love with, never dreaming that she might one day meet him. He was exactly as she had imagined.

Iphiginia knew that the crowd was waiting breathlessly for her reaction.

"My lord," Iphiginia whispered so softly that only he could hear. "I am so very glad to see that you are alive."

With a heartfelt prayer that she was correct in her assumption that the earl's curiosity would govern his reaction, she closed her eyes and sank gracefully into a mock swoon.

Marcus caught her before she reached the floor. "Very clever, Mrs. Bright," he muttered for her ears alone. "I wondered how you would extricate yourself from this tangle."

Iphiginia did not dare to open her eyes. She felt herself swept up high against Marcus's chest. His arms were strong and firm. She felt oddly secure and safe in his grasp. The scent of him aroused a curious sensation within her. She was startled by the unexpected, deeply sensual pleasure she felt.

She had never known anything quite like the feelings that were thrumming through her at this moment. She raised her lashes just far enough to see that the frothy skirts of her white silk gown cascaded over the black sleeve of his coat.

Marcus carried her effortlessly across the ballroom floor toward the door.

"Step aside, if you please," he ordered to those in his path. "My very good friend needs fresh air."

The crowd melted away in front of him.

Murmurs of astonishment and speculation followed Iphiginia's grand exit from the crowded ball.

Marcus carried her out of the large mansion. Without pausing, he strode down the wide front steps to where a gleaming black carriage horsed with two black stallions waited.

The door of the carriage was opened by a footman garbed in black livery. Marcus carried Iphiginia into the cab. The door was closed.

The black carriage set off into the midnight streets of London.

I EXPECT YOU HAVE A FEW QUESTIONS, MY LORD.

"Several, as a matter of fact." Marcus settled into his scat. He watched Iphiginia sit briskly upright, straighten a white plume in her hair, and shake out her skirts.

"Only to be expected and I shall he pleased to answer them," she said. "But first I want to thank you for not giving away the game a moment ago. I am well aware that you must have found the entire performance a bit awkward."

"Not in the least, Mrs. Bright. I assure you, I found it quite fascinating."

She gave him a glorious smile. Marcus was momentarily transfixed. He suddenly realized how she had managed to captivate the majority of his acquaintances.

"I knew you would play along with me until you discovered precisely what was afoot." Iphiginia's vivid hazel eyes held more than a hint of satisfaction. "I was certain of it. I knew you would he too clever, too perceptive, too coolheaded, too intelligent to do anything rash until you had investigated the matter thoroughly."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, I assure you, however, that I also possess enough wit not to he completely distracted from the matter at hand by your very charming flattery."

She blinked in surprise. "But I was not flattering you, sir. I meant every word. I have made an intense study of your nature and I have concluded that you have a very fine brain."

Marcus gazed at her, briefly at a loss for words. "You admire my brain?"

"Yes, indeed," she said with what was, to all appearances, genuine enthusiasm. "I have read all of your papers in The Technical and Scientific Repository and I was most impressed. The one on the potential of the steam engine was particularly inspiring. Not that your proposal for a mechanical threshing machine was not also extremely exciting."

"Bloody hell." She blushed. "I confess I am not well versed in technical and mechanical matters. Personally, I am a student of classical antiquities. Most of my time has been spent in that field."

"See." "But I am pleased to say that I was able to comprehend most of the mechanical principles you discussed in your articles. You write quite clearly, my lord."

"Thank you." He had spoken too quickly when he had told her that he possessed too much wit to fall victim to flattery, Marcus thought wryly. He was momentarily enthralled. He had never had a woman compliment him on his scientific and technical writings, let alone on his intelligence.

"You also wrote a quite instructive piece on budding construction techniques which was of considerable interest to me," Iphiginia continued. She launched into a recital of the significant points of the article.

Marcus listened with a sense of dazed wonder. He lounged back into the corner of the black velvet scat cushion, crossed his arms, and studied Iphiginia's face in the glow of the carriage lamp.

Whatever it was he had expected to find when he finally cornered his new «mistress» in the Fenwicks' ballroom, he reflected, Iphiginia Bright was not it.