Amanda Quick: Mistress

Charles Trescott had been wrong when he'd implied that the adventurous widow made a mockery of chastity and purity with her choice of virginal white attire.

Iphiginia Bright somehow managed to give the impression of being the real thing, a lady of pristine, unstained virtue. It was really quite astonishing.

The effect was not achieved solely by her angelic white gown, gloves, and shoes. It seemed to emanate from the very depths of the woman herself. There was something about her clear, intelligent, forthright gaze, arresting nose, and soft, gentle mouth that spoke of virtue. Her hair was the color of dark honey. She was striking in some ways, subtle in others. Although she was no great beauty, she was the most interesting female Marcus had ever encountered.

There was also an alluring air of very feminine sensuality about her, yet she had not chosen to emphasize it with her clothing. The cut of her gown was surprisingly demure. Another clever touch, Marcus conceded privately. A man's imagination was a powerful tool and she knew how to employ it.

The curves of Iphiginia's small, high, delicately rounded breasts did not overflow the bodice of her dress. They were discreetly covered by white silk ruffles. Such breasts were not meant to he crudely fondled, Marcus thought. They had been fashioned for a connoisseur of fine things, a lover endowed with an artist's slender, sensitive fingers.

He absently flexed his own sturdy, callused fingers. The fact that he possessed the hands of a farmer did not mean that he did not enjoy touching fine, soft things.

Iphiginia was small and slender. The skirts of her high-waisted gown drifted airily down over what was clearly a very narrow waist. The wispy silk barely hinted at the enticing shape of womanly hips and rounded thighs.

No wonder she had captured the fancy of the ton, Marcus thought. She certainly had his full attention.

He was intrigued by the mysterious Mrs. Bright, more so than he had been with any other woman for longer than he cared to. recall.

He was also half-aroused, he realized abruptly. He could feel the dull ache of awakening desire in his loins. Perhaps it was not so surprising. It had been four months since he had last been intimate with a woman and Iphiginia had been on his mind constantly for the past two days. He had speculated on nothing else except his unknown paramour during the entire journey back to London.

It occurred to Marcus that if he had deliberately set,out to find an interesting new mistress, he could not have done better than Iphiginia Bright.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," Iphiginia said, obviously embarrassed by her lengthy commentary on his journal article. "I expect I am boring you. It is not as though you are not perfectly familiar with your own theories on the use of timber pilings in foundations."

"Perhaps we should get back to the main topic," Marcus said smoothly. "But first you must give me your address so that I can convey it to my coachman."

Iphiginia cleared her throat. "My address?" "It would he useful, considering the fact that I am attempting to escort You home at the moment."

"You are?" "Given the role you have led everyone to believe that I play in your life," Marcus said, "it is only natural that I take you home after the ball."

"But-" "It is expected," Marcus emphasized. "People will wonder if I do not claim the privilege."

"You're quite certain that is the normal thing to do?" "Quite certain."

"Oh." Iphiginia caught her soft lower lip between her very white teeth, apparently contemplating the matter.

She came to a decision. "Very well. I have a town house in Morning Rose Square. Number Five."

Marcus was briefly interested in that bit of news. "Morning Rose Square was only recently completed, was it not? The architect did a superb job of combining classical elements with a design that is comfortable and suited to the English climate. The houses were well constructed and sold quickly, as I recall."

Iphiginia looked surprised. "You seem to know a great deal about it."

"The project aroused my curiosity because it made money." Marcus rose and knocked on the trapdoor of the carriage. "A great many speculation investments of that sort do not. I have known any number of people involved in such financial arrangements to go bankrupt."

The trapdoor opened. "Aye, m'lord?" the coachman called.

"Morning Rose Square, Dinks. Number Five." "Very good, m'lord." Dinks allowed the trap to fall back into place.

Marcus dropped back into his scat. "Perhaps we should get on with your explanations, Mrs. Bright."

"Yes, of course." Iphiginia straightened her shoulders. "Where to begin? First, let me tell you how excessively relieved I am to discover that you are alive, my lord."

He considered her through half-closed eyes. "You mentioned something to that effect back in the Fenwicks' ballroom. There was some doubt in your mind?"

"Oh, yes. A great deal of doubt. We assumed you had been murdered, you see."

"Murdered?" He wondered if he had gotten involved with a madwoman.

"Yes, my lord, murdered. It was the reason why I decided to take the desperate measure of masquerading as your mistress."

"And just who did you believe was responsible for my demise?" Marcus asked coldly. "One of your other intimate friends?"

She gave him a shocked look. "Of course not, my lord. Oh, dear, this is all so complicated. I assure you that I do not have the sort of friends who would even dream of resorting to murder."

"I am relieved to hear that."

"Aunt Zoe is a bit theatrical by nature and my cousin Amelia can be rather grim at times, but I believe that I can safely say neither of them would ever murder anyone."

"I shall take your word for it, Mrs. Bright."

She sighed. "I realize that this must all he extremely confusing to you."

"I shall do my best to muddle through. Perhaps my excellent brain will assist me."

She gave him a glowing smile of approval. "You are doing very well under the circumstances, my lord."

"I had come to the same conclusion."

She winced at the sarcasm. "Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. Well, then, to get on with it. We thought the blackmailer had done you in, you see."

"Blackmailer? This grows more absurd by the moment. What blackmailer?"

That gave Iphiginia pause. "You mean to say that you are not being blackmailed, sir?"

The question irritated him. "Do I appear to he the sort of man who would pay blackmail, Mrs. Bright?"

"No, my lord. And that is precisely why we believed you had been murdered. Because you refused to pay, you see.

"Continue, Mrs. Bright," Marcus ordered evenly. "You have a long way to go before any of this becomes clear."

"My aunt received a note from the villain informing us that you had been dispatched as a lesson to others who refused to pay. The note implied that it was only a matter of time before Society realized you were not spending the month at one of your estates, but had, instead, disappeared for good." "Good Lord." "You must admit that you had vanished from Society at the height of the Season, sir. Most unusual."

I was at my estate in Yorkshire," Marcus retorted. "Not in a shallow, unmarked grave. Madam, this is ridiculous. I have had enough of this game. I want the truth and I want it before we reach Morning Rose Square."

She frowned. "I am attempting to relate the truth, sir. There is no call to be rude. Now, kindly cease interrupting me. As I said, my aunt had every reason to believe that you had been murdered and that if she did not meet the blackmailer's demands, she would he next."

"She paid the blackmail?" Marcus demanded. "Naturally. She was quite frightened. I learned all this the day after she had paid. I had just arrived here in London after a year on the Continent. My cousin Amelia was with me. We called upon Aunt Zoe and discovered her dire straits. I immediately devised a plan to find the blackmailer."