by Amanda Quick
“You did not tell him the truth?”
Marcus’s mouth twisted. “Of course not.What man would admit that he had been duped in such a fashion? And then there was Nora. She was my wife.”
“And you felt you had to protect her, too, didn’t you?” Iphiginia asked.
Marcus shrugged but said nothing. “You had taken care of your brother for years. Protecting someone younger and weaker than yourself was second nature to you. What did Nora say?”
“When I confronted her with the truth, she cried again. Then she broke down and told me the whole sordid tale. She had been seduced by one of her admirers in London, a young rake who was after an heiress and who had no intention of marrying her. Nor did he hesitate to boast of his conquest.”
“Poor Nora.”
“The gossip ruined her. There was no hope of marriage. Her family did not have the social power it would have taken to force Nora’s seducer to marry her.”
“So they whisked her back home and contrived to marry her off to you?”
“They concluded that the humbling country squire next door was unlikely to discover the truth.” Marcus glanced at his hands again. “They were right. To this day I sometimes wonder if I would ever have learned what a fool I had been if Nora had not miscarried the babe.”
“Surely you would have known the truth when the child was born several weeks too soon?”
“I doubt it. I told you, I knew little of such matters. I would have been informed that the infant was born prematurely and I would have wanted to believe it.”
“The rumors I heard said that Nora died of a fever.”
“She did. Six months after she lost the babe.”
“And duel,” Iphiginia whispered. “That was what the duel was about, was it not? Shortly after Nora died, you went to London and challenged her seducer.”
“He told me I was a fool, which was no doubt true. He demanded to know what possible difference it all made now that the wench was dead. I did not give him any answers because I had none.”
“You defended your wife’s honor even though she had wronged you. Even though she was no longer alive.” Iphiginia felt a tear trickle down her cheek. “Marcus, that is so exactly like you.”
Marcus scowled. “Bloody bell. Are you crying?”
“No.” She gave a tiny sniff.
“I should hope not. The matter does not warrant tears.”
“But it does, Marcus. I feel sorry for both you and Nora. She must have been literally terrified when she discovered that she was ruined and pregnant.”
“She was young and desperate. She was an innocent girl who had allowed herself to be seduced. She had broken one of Society’s strictest rules. She knew that she would have to pay a terrible price. So she turned to you, her childhood friend.”
“The thing is,” Marcus said, “I wanted her so much I would have taken her on any terms. I would have given her my name and claimed the babe as my own. If only she had not deceived me. That was what I could not forgive.”
“Because whenever you think back on her deception, you feel you played the fool.”
“I did play the fool.”
Iphiginia felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. She, too had deceived him. He no doubt believed that he had played the fool with her, also.
She reached out and put her gloved hand on his leg. “Nora did not make a fool of you, Marcus. No one could do that. You behaved in a noble, chivalrous fashion. You avenged her honor and you kept her secret.”
“I had little choice in the matter. I could hardly reveal her dishonor without making myself appear a naive, gullible idiot.”
“I do not believe that it was the thought of appearing naive or gullible which bothers you the most about the past,” Iphiginia said. “I think it was the fact that you had given her your heart but she did not love you in return. You feel that she used you to save herself.”
“And so she did.”
“I will not quarrel with your conclusion,” Iphiginia said. “Nora was little more than a girl and she was no doubt hysterical with fear at the time. Her parents must have been equally frantic and desperate to save their daughter from utter ruin.”
“Yes. “
“Your marriage was begun under a dreadful cloud. You say that you were the virgin on your wedding night, but I think you were years older than Nora in all the ways that truly count. You had been obliged to grow up very quickly, after all. Nora, on the other hand, was barely out of girlhood.”
Marcus said nothing. “Do you know what I think?” Iphiginia said. “I believe that if she had lived, Nora would have grown up and fallen deeply in love with you. She would have learned to love you when she was mature enough to comprehend your finer qualities.”
Marcus stated at her. “For an intelligent female, you sometimes spout the most outlandish nonsense. What in the name of the devil makes you believe such a ridiculous thing?”
She smiled. “Because I know how very easy it is to fall in love with you, my lord. Indeed, I have done so myself.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marcus felt as though the ground shifted around him, leaving him in a different place than he had been a moment earlier. The light from the stars seemed to come from a slightly different angle. The moon had altered its position in the sky.
Iphiginia had said that she loved him. Again.
Quite clearly. Marcus studied her very closely. She did not appear to be overwrought as she had the other night in the Temple of Vesta when she had thought she’d murdered him.
“Marcus?” Iphiginia frowned in concern. “Are you all right, my lord?”
“No.” But he could not explain what was wrong or changed or different. He could not even form a coherent sentence.
He reached out and caught Iphiginia around the waist. He dragged her off the seat and into his arms.
She uttered a small, delicious gasp of surprise and then dropped her fan when he crushed her mouth beneath his own. Her shawl fluttered to the floor of the carriage.
“Marcus.” Her arms stole around him. She sighed softly and nestled close.
Without taking his lips from hers, Marcus closed the carriage curtains. The cab was filled with soft darkness.
He kissed Iphiginia deeply, hungrily, with all the consuming need that he had kept tamped down since the night in the Temple of Vesta.
She did not appear to mind his desperation or his lack of subtlety. She clung to him. Her hands moved in his hair. Her head fell back against his shoulder.
Marcus put his hand on her stocking-clad calf. He slid his palm up to her knee, past her garter, and all the way to the warm, silken flesh above. Her delicate petticoats foamed around his arm and cascaded across his legs.
He found his way to the heated place between her thighs and groaned when he discovered that she was already damp. She smelled of roses and feminine desire. It was the most intoxicating scent he had ever encountered. His whole body clenched with need.
Marcus realized that his hands were trembling. He fought for breath and control. He would not throw himself on her the way he had last time, he vowed. He would not act the rough, clumsy farmer. He would make it good for her.
He wanted to please her. He was desperate to please her. He had to please her.
He eased her to a sitting position until she straddled his thighs. Her white skirts pooled on the black velvet cushions. He reached down to unfasten his breeches.
Iphiginia braced her hands on his shoulders. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
“Making love to you.” His erect shaft sprang free.
“In your carriage?” A narrow sliver of light from the crack in the curtains revealed her wide-eyed expression.
“It must be either here or on your front doorsteps. I cannot last until we find the comfort of a bed. Touch me.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Tentatively, she removed her hand from his shoulder. She took the tip of one gloved finger between her teeth and tugged. Then she went to the next finger. Slowly she ea
sed the white satin glove off her hand.
Watching her strip the glove from her fingers was one of the most excruciatingly erotic sights Marcus had ever witnessed.
She finished the task. The satin glove that dangled from her teeth gleamed in the strip of fight. She reached down, fumbled a bit, and then gently curled her fingers around him.
“Marcus.” The glove dropped from her teeth. For a moment Marcus thought he would disgrace himself just as he had on the last occasion. He sucked in his breath and wondered if he would survive.
“Marcus?” Iphiginia sounded anxious. “Are you all right? You are not about to collapse again, are you?”
Marcus nearly choked on his laughter. He smiled faintly. “No. At least not just yet. I want to be inside you, Iphiginia. But I don’t want to rush you. This time you must guide me.”
“Very well. But I warn you, all I know of this sort of thing is what I have learned from our last experience together and what I observed during my tour of Lartmore’s statuary hall.”
“It will be enough, I promise you.” He cupped her with his palm and felt the moist heat that awaited him. “More than enough.”
“You’re certain?” She ran her thumb across the end of his shaft.
Marcus steeled himself. “Quite certain.” He moved his fingers through the soft nest of hair between her thighs until he uncovered the swollen bud. He stroked gently.
“Good heavens, Marcus.” He felt the tremor that went through her. It was a sweet, powerful signal of her response to him. A fierce joy seized Marcus.
Her fingers tightened convulsively around him. Marcus winced and caught his breath.
“Did I hurt you, my lord?”
“You are going to be the death of me, Iphiginia.”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Are you all right, sir? I did not mean to do you an injury.” Alarm briefly doused the sweet intensity of passion in her husky voice. “I warned you that I did not know precisely what to do.”
“I was merely jesting,” he assured her. He took another deep breath. “I’m nowhere near death.” He continued to stroke her carefully, drawing forth the dew until his hand was slick with it. “In truth, I do not know when I have ever felt more alive.”
Iphiginia’s tentative, experimental caresses threatened to demolish his defenses and scatter his senses to the four winds. He was sweating now, every muscle tensed.
She moved slightly in his lap, adjusting herself. She tightened her legs. Her inner thigh brushed against his engorged shaft. His whole body clenched. Her whispered sighs and quickening breath told him of her increasing excitement.
Then, when he was beginning to wonder if she would ever finish the business, she guided him awkwardly to the exquisitely soft, hot place between her legs. Cautiously, slowly, carefully, she fitted herself to him.
She was so tight. Marcus wondered if he would, indeed, expire before he got inside.
She eased herself downward, drawing in her breath sharply at one point. Then her passage closed snugly around him. Marcus shuddered and held himself unmoving. .
A distant warning bell rang somewhere in his fevered brain. He reminded himself that he must withdraw before he spilled his seed. He was not using one of his specially modified French sheep-gut condoms.
And then Iphiginia began to move on him and all rational thought dissolved in Marcus’s fevered brain. More demanding than any goddess from classical times, she clutched at him, whispered his name, pleaded, begged, scolded, demanded.
Marcus teased her gently, tormenting himself in the process. And then quite suddenly she shivered and convulsed in his arms.
“Marcus. “
She collapsed against him with a tiny scream of surprise and pleasure.
The warning bell sounded again somewhere, but Marcus was unable to respond. He gripped Iphiginia’s thighs and surged upward. He bit back the exultant shout of satisfaction that threatened to erupt from his throat.
Several moments later he sagged back into the corner of the carriage seat. Iphiginia sprawled on top of him.
There was silence. Marcus listened to it while he inhaled the unique, earthy scent of sexual satisfaction that drifted in the air of the closed cab.
The carriage turned a corner and came to a halt a few minutes later. Marcus stirred reluctantly and lit one of the interior lamps. He allowed himself a few seconds to savor the feel of Iphiginia nestled against him and then reality struck him, “Iphiginia? We have arrived at your home.” She mumbled something indistinct and snuggled closer. Her skirts rustled softly. Marcus realized that she had fallen asleep. He smiled.
“Wake up. Hurry, my dear.” He shook her gently, urging her to a sitting position. He heard the footman clamber down from the box to open the carriage door. Marcus hastily reached out to latch it.
“Iphiginia.”
“What is it?” She patted back a charming yawn and blinked with sleepy languor. Her skirts were crumpled around her thighs. One neat coil of hair had come loose. It dangled over her ear. A white plume bobbed at an odd angle. “Is it morning?”
“No, it is not.” Marcus quickly set himself to rights. “It’s the middle of the night and you look as though you have been tumbled in a carriage.”
Iphiginia giggled, “Fancy that, my lord.” Marcus paused in the act of shoving his shirttails into his breeches. He gazed at her, riveted by her happiness.
He was responsible for this, he thought with a sense of awed wonder. He had made her happy. It was an infinitely more satisfying achievement than the creation of a clockwork butler or viewing stars through a telescope.
The footman rapped on the carriage door. “M’lord, do you wish to descend?”
“One moment, Jenkins.” Marcus shook himself out of his momentary reverie. “Turn around,” he muttered to Iphiginia. “The bodice of your gown is twisted and that plume looks as though it’s about to fall out of your hair.”
“Yes, my lord. I cannot imagine how I came to be in such disarray.” Iphiginia obediently turned her back toward him and sat patiently while he fumbled with her gown.
“There, now, let me see you.” Marcus turned her about again and surveyed his handiwork with a critical eye. He scowled at the loop of hair that still danced over Iphiginia’s right ear, “Give me a pin.”
She reached up and removed one from her chignon. “Here you are, sir. Pray do not stick yourself.”
“Stop giggling. The footman will think I am tickling you.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mirth bubbled up inside her once more.
Marcus pinned the fallen coil into place. “With any luck that will hold until you get inside.”
“I’m certain that it will, sir. You have a talent for mechanical things.”
He unmatched the carriage door and shoved it open. Jenkins, waiting patiently outside, turned with an impassive expression and set down the step.
Marcus bid a smile as he watched Iphiginia descend with grand dignity just as though she had been doing nothing more unconventional than conversing about classical antiquities for the past half hour.
When she reached the pavement she gave Jenkins a smile which appeared to temporarily blind the man.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the footman.
She would make a perfect countess, Marcus thought. He walked her to her door and saw her safely inside.
It took every ounce of his willpower to stay outside on the front steps. He had an almost overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs to her bedchamber.
“You were quite correct about one thing, my lord,” Iphiginia whispered in a soft, dreamy voice as he made to close the door.
He paused on the step. “What was that?”
“It was much better this time.”
He grinned. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I actually survived a second encounter. It was not even necessary to summon a doctor to revive me afterward.”
Iphiginia smiled with smug satisfaction’”Obviously you are possessed of a very strong constitut
ion, my lord.”
“Obviously.”
Marcus closed the door and went down the steps to where his carriage waited. He whistled softly and took a deep breath of the midnight air.
“A fine night, m’lord,” Jenkins said as he opened the carriage door.
“It is indeed. Tell Dinks to take us home.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
Marcus vaulted up into the carriage and settled onto the seat where he and Iphiginia had made love. Pale white satin gleamed against the ebony velvet.
He picked up Iphiginia’s glove. It lay as soft as a swath of starlight across his broad, muscled palm. He closed his hand very tightly around it.
Marcus went straight to the library the moment he got home. He had a long time to contemplate his decision while he waited for his brother to return from his night on the town. It was nearly three in the morning before Bennet’s carriage rumbled to a halt in front of the town house.
Marcus cradled his brandy glass in his hands and waited for the door of the library to slam open.
He did not have to wait long. Bennet stormed into the room. “Lovelace says you wish to speak to me.”
“Yes.” Bennet stalked to the hearth, flung one arm out along the marble mantel, and took up a stance of sullen defiance. “Yes, what is it, then? I cannot imagine what more we have to say to each other, brother.”
Marcus gazed into the fire. “I regret my attempt to interfere in your plans for marriage to Miss Dorchester.”
Bennet stared at him. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Marcus took a sip of his brandy. “I should not have tried to scare off the Dorchesters. I had no right to threaten to cut you off from the family fortune, especially since I never had any intention of following through on the threat. It was a bluff.”
“Marcus, what are you saying? Is this some sort of cruel jest?”
“If you choose to wed Juliana Dorchester, rest assured that you will be able to keep her in suitable style. You will continue to have full access to your income. Tomorrow I shall have my man of affairs draw up papers that will protect your inheritance.”