by Amanda Quick
Titters, chuckles, and a few embarrassed laughs broke out across the crowd. Several older ladies frowned. A number of younger ones displayed a fresh interest in the discussion.
Imogen fitted her hands to her hips and began to tap the toe of one little kid half-boot. She glowered at those around her and then at Matthias. “No, my lord, I do not take your meaning. Precisely what sort of advice is on that scroll?”
“The inscriptions advise married couples on specific techniques designed to ensure that both husband and wife find happiness and satisfaction in the marital bedchamber. And that is all I intend to say on the matter, Miss Waterstone.”
There were several shocked gasps from the crowd. The titters and chuckles in the back row grew louder. Imogen lowered her brows and looked as if she were preparing to fire another question. Matthias moved quickly to forestall it.
He drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket and surveyed the time with an air of surprise. “Ah, I see that the hour is concluded. I thank you all for your kind attention.” He scooped up his notes and started to descend from the podium.
Imogen met him as he reached the last step. Her eyes were sparkling with determination. “A very exciting talk, my lord.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, I did. Immensely. I was particularly taken with your observations concerning the pictures on the walls of the Zamarian library. How I wish I could have accompanied you when you discovered it.”
“I would have liked to have had your opinions,” he said honestly.
“About that marriage scroll you mentioned, I would very much like to view it, if I may.”
“I have never made it available to other scholars,” he said with slow deliberation. “But I might be willing to make an exception in your case.”
Imogen brightened. “Would you, Matthias? That would be wonderful. When may I see it?”
“I’ll let you know when it’s convenient.”
Her face fell. “I trust you will not delay too long, sir. I am impatient to study it.”
“A charming thought.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” Matthias smiled. “In the meantime, you might find a private tour of the Zamarian Society’s museum interesting.”
“Extremely interesting,” Imogen said. “But it has been closed to the public since I arrived in London.”
“That is because the trustees of the Zamarian Society are preparing to move the collection into a larger chamber. At the moment the museum is actually more of a storage room. But I have a key. I shall be happy to serve as your guide.”
Imogen’s face lit up once more. “That would be thrilling.”
He glanced around the rapidly emptying room. Only a handful of people remained and those few would soon be gone. He removed a key from his pocket.
“I see no reason why we cannot tour the museum now.” He paused. “If you are free, that is.”
“Yes, indeed. Perfectly free, sir.”
“The door to the museum is just around the corner.” Matthias indicated the direction with a slight inclination of his head. “Beneath the staircase.”
“How exciting.” Imogen set off toward the museum entrance at such a brisk pace that the skirts of her gown whipped about her ankles.
Matthias barely managed to grab hold of her arm before she vanished around the corner. “I fear you must wait for me, my dear. I’ve got the key.”
“I hope you will not dawdle, sir.”
“No, but neither do I intend to gallop across the hall.”
She sighed. “I keep forgetting that you are not inclined toward athletic activity.”
“I try to compensate in other areas.” Matthias guided her around the corner and beneath the broad staircase that gave access to the upper floors of the Zamarian Institution.
When they reached the door to the museum, he drew Imogen to a halt and inserted the key into the lock. Then he opened the door and stepped back.
He watched Imogen’s expressive face as she gazed into the gloom-filled interior. He was not disappointed. Her eyes filled with wonder and her lips parted as though in expectation of a lover’s kiss. Only Imogen could have been counted upon to react in such a fashion to a chamber crowded with dusty artifacts and the ghosts of a long-lost people.
“This is wonderful.” Imogen stepped into the room and gazed around at the array of objects that loomed in the shadows. “Did you bring most of these antiquities back from Zamar yourself?”
“No. I confess that I kept the pieces I brought back. They are in my library.” Matthias lit a wall sconce. “The items you see here are those that Rutledge chose to transport back to England after our first journey to Zamar. As you can see, he favored size over delicacy.”
Imogen tugged a shroud off a ten-foot-tall statue of Zamaris and blinked when she found herself at eye level with the god’s oversized genitals. “I see what you mean.” She hastily raised her gaze. “Oh, dear, it appears that the arm was broken off at the shoulder and repaired.”
“Unfortunately, much of what Rutledge found was damaged due to his poor excavation techniques. He had no engineering skills.” Matthias stroked the jagged edge of a broken column. “And little interest in the subtle details of the artifacts we uncovered. He was after treasure or items he believed he could sell to collectors.”
“Poor Rutledge.” Imogen walked around a vase that was as tall as she was. “Such a tragic ending. And so very mysterious.”
“I trust you are not going to tell me that you believe in that ridiculous business of the Rutledge Curse.”
“Of course not. But there is no getting around the fact that Rutledge did not survive his last trip to Zamar.”
Matthias flattened his hand on the column. “There is nothing mysterious about his death, Imogen. He grew careless during his explorations of the labyrinth. He broke his neck when he fell down a stone staircase that he had apparently failed to notice in the darkness. I was the one who found him.”
She gave him a searching glance. “How terrible that must have been for you.”
A chill went through Matthias. He knew then beyond a shadow of a doubt that she sensed that there was more to the story. “Yes. It was.”
The questioning expression in Imogen’s eyes was instantly replaced by sympathy. Matthias breathed a small sigh of relief as she moved on to a large sarcophagus.
“Have the items in this collection been properly catalogued?” Imogen asked as she studied an inscription on the lid of the sarcophagus.
“No. I’m the only one who has the knowledge and skill to do it properly, and I have not had the time to take on the task.” Or the inclination, he added silently. Everything in this chamber was connected to Rutledge.
Imogen straightened and looked at him with an expression of gathering excitement “I could do it, Matthias.”
“Catalogue the collection?” He hesitated. “Yes, you could. It might be interesting to have I A. Stone’s opinions on these items.”
“Do you think the trustees would allow me to study and record the artifacts in this chamber?”
“I control the trustees,” Matthias said. “They will do as I say. But it would mean revealing your identity as I. A. Stone.”
She considered that. “Perhaps the time has come.” Then she sighed. “But first things first. I came to London to deal with Vanneck. I must get on with it. Have you given any thought to my new plan to lure him into a partnership, Matthias?”
“No.”
“I cannot waste any more time, sir.” Imogen crouched down to inspect a large clay mask that was propped against the coffin. “I want to implement my new scheme as quickly as possible. Before everyone learns our engagement is a sham.”
Matthias moved closer to her and found himself gazing down at the top of her bonnet. “Imogen, has it occurred to you that our engagement need not be a sham?”
“I beg your pardon?” Imogen shot to her feet in startled surprise.
Mat
thias stepped back quickly and just managed to avoid being struck by the brim of her bonnet. Off balance, Imogen flung out a hand with the apparent intention of catching hold of the edge of the sarcophagus. Unfortunately she grabbed the top of a tall vase instead. It started to topple.
“Oh, no,” Imogen wailed.
Matthias caught the vase before it shattered on the floor. He righted it carefully. Then he turned back to Imogen. She was gazing at him with a dumbfounded expression.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly, my lord,” she said weakly.
“I think that we would make an excellent match.” He reached for her and drew her into his arms.
She seized the lapels of his coat. “Matthias, what are you doing? There has been no talk of love between us.”
“What we share is stronger and more enduring than any such metaphysical nonsense.” He untied the strings of her bonnet and tossed it aside.
She searched his face with a desperate expression that threatened to tear asunder something deep inside him. He had the terrible sense that he hovered on the brink of one of the five Zamarian hells.
“What … what do we share?” she asked.
“Passion and Zamar.” He bent his head and took her mouth with all the fierce longing that had been growing inside him for days.
Imogen gave a muffled cry and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed herself against him and parted her lips beneath his. He felt the storm rise within her even as the thunder rolled through his own veins.
He threw himself recklessly into the gathering gale. Imogen tightened her hold on him. Her soft hips nestled intimately against his rigid shaft. When he broke off the fevered kiss to explore the secret, scented place at the nape of her neck, she shivered.
“Matthias, I do not comprehend what you do to me,” she said breathlessly. “I vow, it is the most amazing sensation.”
A cold rain swirled out of the tempest, chilling the fire in his blood. Matthias dragged his mouth away from the silken skin at the base of her neck. “No. I will not have you this way.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He caught her face in his hands and forced her to meet his eyes. “When this is finished, I will not stand accused of employing secret Zamarian lovemaking methods to seduce you.”
“But, Matthias—”
“I want you more than I have wanted anything since I went in search of Zamar. But unless you feel an equal passion for me, this embrace goes no further.”
“Oh, Matthias. You feel toward me what you felt for Zamar?”
“Yes.”
She went very still in his arms. Her long lashes lowered to conceal her gaze. For a shattering moment Matthias thought that he had lost her. He knew then which of the Zamarian hells it was that yawned at his feet. It was the third hell, the one in which a man faced a thousand years of living alone with only phantoms for company.
Imogen lifted her eyes to meet his. She smiled tremulously. “It was grossly unfair of me to accuse you of employing Zamarian lovemaking secrets to seduce me. I apologize. I was angry because you had ruined my plans with your announcement of an engagement.”
“I know.”
“In truth, I have only myself to blame for what happened in the garden the other night.” She hesitated. “I wanted you to make love to me then and I want you to make love to me now.”
Matthias realized that he could breathe again. “Are you certain?”
She stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”
“Imogen.” His arms tightened fiercely around her. He started to lower his head.
Imogen halted him by the simple expedient of putting her fingertips against his lips. “My lord, let me clarify this matter.”
“Clarify?”
“We are agreed that we venture into this embrace with complete understanding between us.”
“Yes.”
“Your fears that I will hurl accusations at you afterward have been put to rest?”
“Most assuredly.” He began to nibble on her fingertips.
Her eyes glowed. “Then, under the circumstances, I do not see any reason why you cannot teach me one or two ancient Zamarian lovemaking secrets, do you?”
Relief and laughter welled up inside him. “No reason at all.” He caught her hand before she could remove it from his lips and kissed her palm.
Imogen sighed and leaned into him. Her fingers curled around his. Matthias moved his mouth down to her vulnerable wrist and gloried in the small quiver of desire that went through her.
She stood on tiptoe and returned his kiss with unabashed enthusiasm. He moved his mouth up along the curve of her cheek to her ear. She speared her fingers through his hair. He shuddered.
“We’ll take this slowly,” he promised.
“If that is your wish.” She unwound his cravat.
“We shall savor every moment. We shall drain each second of all sensation before we move on to the next.”
“You remind me of one of the new poets, sir.” She began to pry at the fastenings of his shirt. “Or is that Zamarian verse that you are spouting?”
“I would have you remember this occasion for the rest of your life,” he said earnestly.
“I am hardly likely to forget it.” Imogen yanked impatiently at his shirt. The sound of the fine linen being ripped apart was very loud in the dusty chamber. “Oh, dear.”
Matthias grinned into her hair.
“I seem to have torn your shirt, sir. I am most dreadfully sorry.”
A light-headed feeling came over him. “Forget the shirt, madam. I have a vast number of than.”
“How fortunate.”
Matthias tipped her face up again and gazed at her soft, full mouth. At that moment he dismissed his plans to make slow, deliberate love to her. A fever was upon him. He burned, and from the looks of his shirt, so did she.
He swept Imogen into his arms and carried her through the ghostly remains of ancient Zamar to a bench that had been positioned against the far wall.
A cloud of dust rose as he settled Imogen on the shrouded cushions. Matthias winced, but she did not seem to notice. She looked up at him with glowing eyes. There was a great deal to be said for a lover who shared his intellectual interests, Matthias told himself. He had very likely discovered the only woman in all of England who would not complain about being seduced in a gritty, grimy museum.
He kissed the tip of her nose and then straightened to rid himself of the dangling neck cloth. He flung it over a sarcophagus and then swiftly freed himself of his coat, waistcoat, and the damaged shirt. He smiled briefly at the sight of the tear in the expensive linen.
He tossed the garment aside and looked down to find Imogen watching him intently. There was a sweet yearning in her expression that made him catch his breath. The tip of her small pink tongue appeared at the corner of her parted lips.
“You are quite beautiful, my lord,” she whispered in a soft, husky voice. “Indeed, I … I have never seen the like.”
Matthias gave a hoarse laugh. “You are the only truly beautiful creature in this room.” He lowered himself into the sea of green muslin skirts. His head spun as he sank beneath the waves.
“Matthias.” Imogen clutched at his bare shoulders.
He gathered her to him and kissed her until Imogen shivered and her head fell back over his arm. Then he reluctantly freed her mouth to follow the beckoning line of her throat. She twisted beneath him, lifting herself until he could feel her breasts crushed against his chest.
When his kisses reached the decorous neckline of her gown, he reached around to unfasten the bodice. It fell away, revealing a linen chemise that was so thin, he could see the outlines of two rosy nipples through it. His whole body clenched.
He lowered his head and kissed her breasts until he had dampened the fabric that covered them. Imogen cried out and began to kiss his shoulder with a frantic eagerness.
Matthias reached down,
grabbed a fistful of her skirts and the hem of the chemise. He hauled the whole lot up to Imogen’s waist, revealing the triangle of tawny curls that shielded her secrets.
With a husky groan he bent his head and planted a kiss on the inside of one silken thigh. The scent of sunlight on a Zamarian sea filled his head. Very reverently he closed his hand around her, cupping her warmth.
Imogen’s soft gasp was intoxicating. He felt her turn to liquid against his palm and thought that nothing had ever thrilled him so much in his entire life.
“This is beyond anything.” Imogen’s nails sank into his shoulders. Shiver after shiver rippled through her. “My lord, I do not care a fig if you employ every secret Zamarian lovemaking technique that you have ever discovered. I would learn them all this afternoon.”
“Unfortunately, I do not possess the patience to run through the entire repertoire.” Matthias fumbled with his breeches, freeing himself. “But I promise that eventually we will practice every single one. Wrap your legs around me, my sweet.”
“My legs?”
“I need to be inside you.” He raised one stocking-clad knee and eased it into position around his waist. “I will go mad if I wait any longer.”
Imogen obediently circled him with her thighs. “Matthias, this feels very strange. Did you learn this position from that ancient Zamarian marital scroll you mentioned?”
He stroked her gently. “Some things are universal.”
He felt her soften and open for him. His hand was slick with the dew he had coaxed forth from her snug passage. He used the moisture to lubricate the dainty pearl that throbbed above the entrance. Imogen moaned.
“Good heavens, I don’t … I cannot …” Imogen swallowed the rest of whatever it was she had tried to say.
Matthias raised his head to look down into her passion-dazed face. “Look at me, Imogen. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered and then lifted. She smiled slowly up at him, a smile that contained more mysteries than the ruins of lost Zamar.
Matthias surrendered to the powerful need that consumed him. Parting her carefully, he fitted himself to her and forged slowly into her hot, clinging passage.