by Amanda Quick
Amelia tensed. “I trust that you informed him that he is not welcome to join the investment pool?”
“I did.” Adam’s expression was surprisingly grim. “And I told him why.”
“Excellent,” Iphiginia said. She glanced at Amelia and thought she saw a brief flicker of satisfaction in her cousin’s eyes.
“I informed Dodgson that the investment pool is composed primarily of widows and spinsters, many of whom have worked as governesses and companions,” Adam said. “I told him he no doubt understood why such ladies would not wish to do business with a man of his unfortunate reputation.”
“What did he say?” Iphiginia asked.
Adam shrugged. “He was incensed naturally. Claimed he had been grossly insulted and insisted on a meeting with the principals so that he could explain the misunderstanding.”
Amelia looked down at her folded hands. “What did you tell him?”
“Simply that the principals had no intention of meeting with him,” Adam said. “He then said that he had no recollection of any improper incident involving a young female employee in his or anyone else’s household.”
“Did he say that?” Amelia asked softly.
Adam raised his brows. “He then proceeded to undermine his entire defense by flying into an apoplectic rage. He said everyone knew that the sort of females who became governesses were all bent on seducing the gentlemen in the households in which they were employed. He said that they were not to be trusted.”
Amelia exchanged a sharp glance with Iphiginia., “He specifically mentioned governesses?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “He did.”
“Then he most certainly does remember,” Amelia whispered.
“Obviously.” Iphiginia hurried to change the topic. “So much for that issue. Let us get on to the matter of Aunt Zoe’s companion.”‘
Adam reluctantly returned his attention to his papers. “As to that, I’m afraid I discovered very little information of a useful nature. Miss Todd died some five years ago.”
“She’s dead?” Iphiginia sat forward abruptly. She was so intent on Adam’s announcement that she barely noticed the sound of a carriage in the street.
Adam glanced up from his notes with a quizzical frown. “She was nearly seventy. Did you know the lady?”
“No. No, I did not.” Iphiginia recovered her aplomb. “But an acquaintance of mine is under the impression that she is still very much alive. This news will certainly come as a surprise. Did you learn anything else?”
Adam looked at his notes. “Miss Todd died a spinster. She was born in a small village in Sussex and worked as a governess or companion most of her life.”
“A dead end,” Iphiginia murmured. “I told him so.”
Adam looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s not important,” Iphiginia said. “Is that all of it?”
“Yes, other than the fact that she spent most of her career with the—”
A crisp knock on the library door interrupted Adam before he could complete his sentence.
Iphiginia glanced at the clock. One minute until three. She glanced out the window and saw the black phaeton that had halted in front of her door. Her pulse quickened. Anticipation heightened all of her senses.
This was madness, she thought. She could not allow Marcus to affect her so acutely. She struggled to infuse her voice with an appropriately unconcerned tone.
The library door opened. Mrs. Shaw appeared. “Yes, Mrs. Shaw?” Iphiginia inquired.
“The Earl of Masters is here to see you, madam. Are you home?”
“Of course she’s home. Any idiot can see that.” Marcus strode into the library without waiting for the housekeeper to finish announcing him in a proper fashion. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bright. Miss Farley.”
“My lord,” Iphiginia said very coolly. “You’re early.”
“By one minute. I trust you will forgive me.” Marcus walked toward the desk, took her hand, and brought it to his mouth. Amusement gleamed in his eyes, as though he was well aware of the chaotic condition of Iphiginia’s senses.
“Allow me to introduce my man of affairs, Mr. Manwaring,” Iphiginia said.
Marcus gave Adam a narrow look. “Manwaring.”
“Sir.” Adam rose politely. “I was just leaving.”
“Were you?” Marcus asked in an encouraging tone. “Do not allow me to delay you.”
Adam flushed.
Iphiginia scowled at the ill-concealed rudeness. “Mr. Mainwaring has not quite finished his business, have you, Mr. Manwaring?”
Adam gathered up his notes. “As I said, there isn’t anything else to add, except that Miss Todd was associated with the Wycherly Agency throughout most of her professional career.”
“Damn,” Marcus said very quietly.
Iphiginia looked at him, surprised by his reaction. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
“No.” Marcus wandered over to the window, “Something just occurred to me, that’s all.”
Iphiginia turned back to Adam. “Thank you very much, Mr. Manwaring. You’ve been most helpful, as always. That will be all for today.”
Marcus spoke without turning around. “A moment, Manwaring.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Did you inquire after Miss Todd at the Wycherly Agency?”
“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact,” Adam said. “I spoke with Mrs. Wycherly herself yesterday. She has owned and operated the agency for over twenty years. She was the one who informed me that Miss Todd had died five years ago.”
“I see.”
Iphiginia glared at Marcus’s broad back. Adam was her man of affairs, not his. “Would you see Mr. Manwaring out, Amelia?”
Amelia rose quickly. “Yes, of course.”
Adam blushed. “It’s not necessary. I can see myself out, Miss Farley.”
“I shall be happy to escort you to the door, Mr. Manwaring,” Amelia said.
“If you insist.”
Iphiginia waited until the library door had closed behind the pair. Then she chuckled with satisfaction. “Those two were made for each other, you know.”
“Which two?”
“My cousin and Mr. Manwaring. I have every hope that they will soon realize that they are an ideal couple. They have so much in common in terms of personality and intellect.”
“What utter nonsense.” Marcus swung around with an impatient air. “Do you fancy yourself a matchmaker?”
“You’ll see,” Iphiginia said in a very superior tone. “I have an instinct for these things.”
“Rubbish. You have an instinct for creating trouble.”
She glowered. “What is wrong with you today, sir? Are you still brooding about what happened at the Pettigrews? I told you, nothing has changed. All will be well.”
“No, damn it, I am not brooding about that situation. There is nothing to brood about. What’s done is done.”
“Then what is affecting your temper?”
He lowered his large frame onto a claw-footed chair and regarded Iphiginia with a meditative expression. “Do you believe in coincidence?”
Iphiginia gave a small shrug. “Strange things do happen. Why do you ask?”
“Because a rather interesting coincidence has just turned up with regard to our blackmail problem.”
“What coincidence is that?”
“My friend, the other victim, had a companion in her employ at the time the events for which she is now being blackmailed occurred.”
“Stop right there.” Iphiginia held up a triumphant hand. “If you’re going to tell me that the companion’s name was Miss Todd and that you think she is the blackmailer, you may as well save your breath. Miss Todd has been dead for five years.”
“My friend’s companion was named Caroline Baylor,” Marcus said evenly. “The interesting coincidence is that she was also connected to the Wycherley Agency.”
Iphiginia considered that carefully. “It is not such a great coincidence, is it? After all the
Wycherley Agency has been around for years. At one time or another it has no doubt sent governesses or companions into many of the best families.”
“Nevertheless, it’s a connection.” Marcus glanced at the clock. “It’s only a bit after three. I intend to speak to Mrs. Wycherly myself this afternoon.”
“But Miss Todd is dead and you said your friend’s companion has disappeared. What do you hope to learn from the owner of the agency?”
“I am not certain yet, but I intend to ask a few questions concerning both Miss Todd and Miss Baylor.”
Iphiginia was intrigued. “I shall come with you to see Mrs. Wycherly.”
“There is no need,” Marcus said easily. “I shall report any information that I discover in the course of the interview.”
“On the contrary, my lord.” Iphiginia fixed him with a determined look. “We are partners in this venture, if you will recall.”
Marcus contemplated her for a moment. “Very well. I suppose you’ll only call on her by yourself if I do not take you with me.”
“You suppose correct.” Iphiginia was pleased by the small victory. She picked up her teacup and took a sip. The trick to handling Marcus, she told herself, was to demonstrate firm resolve. He was the sort of man who naturally assumed command of a situation. A woman of weak spirit would be soft clay in his powerful hands.
“We shall deal with Mrs. Wycherly together in a while, then,” Marcus said. “But first there are a few other matters I wish to discuss with you.”
“What matters are those?” Iphiginia started to put her teacup down onto the saucer.
“The lack of a late Mr. Bright is the first item on the agenda.”
The delicate teacup slipped from Iphiginia’s grasp. It crashed against the edge of the saucer, tipped over, and spilled tea onto the polished mahogany desk.
“Good heavens.” Iphiginia jumped to her feet snatched a gossamer white lace hankie from her pocket and began to dab ineffectually at the spilled tea. “I thought we had already disposed of that subject, sir.”
“We certainly disposed of something in connection with the topic, but it wasn’t the late, unlamented Mr. Bright.”
Iphiginia tried desperately to control the blush that she knew must be turning her face a bright pink. “Really, Marcus.”
“Yes, really, Iphiginia.” Marcus withdrew a large, sturdy linen handkerchief from his pocket, got to his feet with leisurely grace, and blotted up the tea in a single swipe. “Furthermore, having delved into the subject at some depth, so to speak, I find there is a great deal more to it than was apparent at first.”
Iphiginia was seized with a sense of panic. “Such as?”
Marcus’s amber eyes gleamed. “Such as a certain academy for young ladies, a village called Deepford, and a sister who is married to the son of the most important family in the neighborhood. In short, Iphiginia, I know everything.”
She felt as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She sank slowly back down into her chair. “How did you discover so much about me?”
“That is not important. What is important is that if I was able to learn the truth, others can and no doubt will eventually discover it, also.”
Iphiginia was dazed by his blunt revelations. He had learned so much in such a short period of time. It was unnerving. “Sir, I believe you are telling me this because you are about to present me with a choice of two options.”
He cocked a brow. “Two?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin. “You are going to tell me that I must either leave Town immediately before anyone else stumbles onto the truth or else I shall have to consider an offer of marriage from you. Is that not right?”
“You are wrong, Iphiginia.”
She looked at him with renewed hope. “I am?”
“Under the circumstances, there is only one option, not two. That option is marriage.”
“Never,” Iphiginia said loudly, resolutely, and so forcefully that she knew Marcus could not possibly guess that her heart was breaking. “Absolutely impossible. Out of the question. The entire notion cannot even be considered.”
Marcus smiled grimly. “One of the most interesting things I have learned in the course of my scientific studies is that there are very few things which are impossible.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You and your bloody rules,” Iphiginia said fiercely.
She leaned forward and planted both of her hands flat on her desk. Her eyes were brilliant with outrage. “That’s what this is all about, is it not? You believe that you broke one of your damnable rules and therefore you have to pay the price.”
“Calm yourself, Iphiginia. You are becoming overwrought.”
“I will not calm myself and I will not be married because of Masters’s Rules. Do you hear me, sir?”
“I hear you.” Marcus set his jaw and kept his face impassive as he refolded his tea-stained handkerchief. It occurred to him that, what with one thing and another, he spent a great deal of time mopping up tea in Iphiginia’s study. “But I do not believe that you have given the matter due consideration.”
“Do not lecture me as though I were a schoolgirl, sir. I am a rational, educated, intelligent woman, not a foolish child. Of course I gave the matter proper consideration.”
She would fight him every inch of the way. Anger flared in Marcus as he realized just how difficult his task would be. “You call masquerading as a notorious widow and my mistress the action of a rational, educated, intelligent woman?”
“You were not nearly so scathing about my masquerade before you discovered that I was not a widow. In fact, if memory serves, you were quite willing to go along with the plan. You rather liked the notion of having a new and unusual mistress, did you not, sir?”
“That was before we took a midnight tour of Pettigrew’s Temple of Vesta and discovered that the damn antiquity was so authentic there was still a Vestal Virgin hanging about the place.”
She looked desperate now. “Marcus, that is a very minor detail. You must not let it influence your actions.”
“I shall be the judge of what influences my actions.”
“Damnation, sir, nothing has changed.”
“That’s not true. One element of this farce has, most certainly changed.”
“It’s not a farce.” She glared at him. “It was a very clever scheme which has every chance of producing results. Society still believes me to be a widow and it is convinced that I am your mistress. Every element of the plan remains intact’
“But for how long?”
“For as long as we wish,” she retorted. “No one other than yourself has questioned my authenticity.”
“It’s only a matter of time before someone else decides to go to Devon to ask a few questions.”
“Nonsense. Why would anyone bother? My lord, let us have some honesty here. The real reason you are being so difficult about this is because you feel that you broke one of your own rules.”
“I am well aware that you do not think much of my rules, but I have lived by them for a long while and I do not violate them for the sake of convenience.”
“Marcus, listen to me. I have a deep and abiding respect for your rules and the sense of honor that inspires them. But in this instance, you did not violate your rules.”
“No? I seem to recall quite clearly that I was the man who lay between your thighs two nights ago. Am I mistaken?”
Iphiginia’s eyes widened in shock. The bright flags in her cheeks turned a darker shade of red. “There is no excuse for vulgarity,” she said quite primly.
“You sound like a bloody schoolmistress.”
“I am a bloody schoolmistress. Or, rather, I was at one time. I repeat, my lord, you did not violate your precious rules, I did. That makes all the difference, don’t you see?”
“No,” Marcus said.
“You’re not responsible for what happened. I am.”
“Don’t try to twist the logic of this situation. It is perfectly straightforward.”<
br />
“But Marcus, you cannot marry me and you know it.”
“Why not?”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Because in the eyes of Society I’m the mistress of the most notorious man in London, namely you, my lord.”
“So?”
“We both know that a man in your position does not marry his mistress.”
Marcus flattened his hands on the surface of the desk and met, Iphiginia eye to eye. “I make my own rules. Never forget that.”
She blinked, straightened, and took a hasty step back. “But surely in a matter such as this—”
“In everything, Iphiginia.”
“I am not overly fond of rules, sir.”
“That has become quite obvious.”
She took another step back and came up against her chair. “I was obliged to live by the rules of others for too many years. I find it very depressing to the spirits. I thought that you, of all people, would comprehend my desire to be free.”
“Free? Christ, Iphiginia, none of us is ever truly free. We all live by a set of rules, whether it be our own or someone else’s. If you haven’t reasoned that out for yourself yet, you are far more naive than you pretend to be.”
Her chin came up proudly. “Very well, then. If I must have a set of rules, I shall do as you do, sir. I shall make up my own.”
“And, pray, just what do your rules have to say about the situation in which you presently find yourself?”
“They say that I am not obliged to marry any man. To be perfectly frank, sir, I do not see any great benefit to the married state for a female. Indeed, I do not even see the appeal of the marital embrace. From what I could deduce the other night, it is not nearly as thrilling as the poets would have one believe.”
Marcus felt as though he had taken a pugilist’s blow in his gut. He felt himself turn a dull red. “I told you, that was my fault. I was clumsy and hasty.”
“Oh, Marcus.” The fire of battle vanished from Iphiginia’s eyes. She rushed around the edge of the desk. “You mustn’t blame yourself for that; too. It was not your fault. It was mine.”
“Yours?” Marcus stared at her uncomprehendingly as she flew toward him. It struck him belatedly that she was going to throw herself into his arms.