Amanda Quick: Mistress

"Marcus," Iphiginia called. "Help me." Marcus whirled around and raced back down the hall. He ran into the chamber and saw that Iphiginia had nearly succeeded in dousing the flames. There was a single ribbon of fire left. It was eating its way across the carpet.

"Stand back." Marcus grabbed the edge of the carpet and rolled it, swallowing most of the flames whole.

Iphiginia quickly smothered the rest with the coat. Darkness descended once more.

"Thank God. Marcus, are you all right?" "Yes. Hoyt is dead. He fell down the steps."

"Dear heaven.»

Marcus lit the wall sconce and surveyed the chamber. The fire had done surprisingly little damage. He looked at Iphiginia.

She met his eyes, his still-smoking coat clutched in her hands.

Marcus searched her soot-streaked face. "Did you get burned?"

"No."

Marcus sniffed the stench of burned wool. He suddenly remembered something. "Let me see that."

He snatched the coat from her hands and groped inside one of the pockets. His hand closed around his new, improved hydraulic reservoir pen. He winced when he felt the crumpled length of metal. It was hot. "Damn and blast."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing important. It appears I must return to my drawing table."

It was nearly dawn before Marcus opened the door of the bedchamber that adjoined his own and walked into the room. A single candle burned beside the turned-back bed.

The bed itself was empty. Iphiginia waited for him near the window. She turned when she heard him enter. She was dressed in a white, lace-trimmed nightgown of softest lawn. A ruffled nightcap was perched on her head. Her glorious smile of welcome made Marcus catch his breath.

"Iphiginia." He could not think of anything else to say.

He opened his arms and she ran into them. He scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and fell with her into the clean, sweet-smelling sheets.

He felt whole and right inside, no longer a man made of smoothly oiled wheels and gears.

"I love you, Marcus."

Marcus pulled her close and kissed her fiercely, passionately. He cradled her hip in his hand and took a taut, sweet nipple into his mouth. She was so perfect, he thought, awed. It was as though she had been made especially for him.

He had been waiting for her all these years, he realized.

"Hold me, Iphiginia. Don't ever let me go." "Never."

Marcus was not certain that he recognized the emotion that swept through him a short time later when he sheathed himself within Iphiginia's warm, tight body.

He rather thought that it might be joy.

Iphiginia awoke to find herself alone in the rumpled bed. Early morning sunlight streamed into the bedchamber and splashed across the sheets.

She closed her eyes and stretched slowly, savoring the aftereffects of Marcus's lovemaking. Memories drifted through her, warming every inch of her body. She closed her eyes and recalled the wonderful feel of her husband's strong, exciting hands on her breasts, her thighs, between her legs.

An odd ticking sound broke through her reverie. It was accompanied by the distinct rasp of gear and wheel.

Chunkachunkachunka. Iphiginia opened her eyes and saw that the door between the bedchambers was open. Marcus stood there, one shoulder propped against the jamb.

He was garbed in a black silk robe. His dark hair was still tousled from the pillow. He crossed his arms and studied her with his brilliant amber eyes.

"Good morning, Iphiginia." "Good morning. I was wondering where you had gone." Iphiginia pushed herself up against the pillows. "What on earth is that odd noise?"

Then she saw the clockwork man coming toward her across the carpet. She watched in amazement as its legs jerked back and forth, propelling it toward the bed. One arm was outstretched. The wooden hand held a silver salver.

On top of the salver was a small folded sheet of paper.

Iphiginia watched, fascinated, as the automaton reached the bed and found its path blocked. Its innards continued to grind and its legs went on churning uselessly, pushing its face into the side of the mattress.

Iphiginia reached down to pick up the note on the salver. She opened it carefully and read the message inside.

I love you

"Oh, Marcus." Iphiginia threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed.

She ignored the clockwork man and ran, barefoot, across the room to where Marcus waited in the doorway. She halted directly in front of him.

He smiled.

"Do you mean it?" she asked. "With all my heart."

Happiness inundated her in a sparkling waterfall of light. "I knew we were made for each other."

He laughed, swept her up into his arms, and carried her back to the bed. "You were right."

"As usual," Iphiginia said.