The woman he loved. A long time ago she had quietly concluded that she was not the sort of female who could experience great passion or inspire it in a man. She had come to terms with that knowledge, accepted it. She had told herself that she was too level headed, too practical, too intellectual to fall in love.
Nevertheless, in spite of her own self-knowledge, she had woven a web of fantasies around Marcus.
It had all seemed harmless enough because the man was safely dead.
But tonight he had walked out of her dreams straight into her life. And he was far more fascinating in the flesh than he had ever been in her dreams.
"You are most unusual, Iphiginia. Not at all what I expected." Marcus's voice was dark and shadowed with heavy sensuality. "Yet you are exactly what I seem to want tonight.»
She could not answer, not only because he captured her mouth again, but because she was quivering from head to toe. His arms tightened around her as he nibbled gently at first, then persuasively, and then more insistently. His hands tightened on her shoulders.
She gasped, parting her lips. He responded by invading her mouth with his tongue.
The momentary stiffness created by her initial surprise evaporated, leaving Iphiginia feeling incredibly warm and pliant. Heat pooled in her lower body. It was an extraordinary sensation.
She gave a muffled moan which seemed to please Marcus. His fingers flexed on her skin. Another wave of delicious shivers went through her.
She lifted her hands and gripped the dangling ends of his long, white cravat. "This is really most astounding, my lord."
"Yes, it is, is it not?" He kissed her jaw and the tip of her nose. "And I promise you that you are no more astonished than I."
"My lord." "My name is Marcus." "Oh, Marcus." Consumed in the fires of her excitement, she released his cravat and wound her arms snugly around his neck.
The movement instantly brought her body into closer contact with his. She was pressed tightly against him now. Her breasts were crushed against the wall of his broad chest. She could feel the shockingly hard bulge of his manhood straining beneath his breeches.
His long fingers brushed against the nape of her neck. She cried out softly in response. The place between
her legs began to grow damp. Her head tipped back against his arm, and his lips found her throat.
"Marcus. Dear heaven." She clenched her fingers in his hair. Her senses were whirling now. She could not seem to think.
"I believe you will make me a most excellent mistress, my sweet." Marcus took a step back toward the wide green and gold Grecian sofa. He tugged Iphiginia with him.
She beard a dull thud as his boot came up against one of the broken chunks of marble.
"Bloody hell." "Oh, dear." Iphiginia started to pull back. "Do he careful, my lord. You'll do yourself an injury."
"No doubt, but I trust it will he worth it." Marcus sidestepped the stone and fell back onto the sofa.
He kept one foot on the floor and tumbled Iphiginia swiftly down on top of him. She spilled across his hard, muscled body and lay captive between his thighs. Her airy skirts fluttered delicately for a moment or two as if in protest. Then they settled across Marcus's legs with a soft whisper of surrender.
The heat that poured from Marcus threatened to bum Iphiginia. She had never felt anything so intense.
He caught her face between his hands and brought her mouth to his.
The spell was broken by a horrified exclamation from the vicinity of the door. "Iphiginia. What is going on in here?"
Dazed from Marcus's lovemaking, Iphiginia started to raise her head. "Amelia?"
"Damnation," Marcus growled. "What in the bloody hell?"
"Let her go at once, you damnable man. Do you bear me? In the name of heaven, release her."
"Amelia, wait. Stop." Iphiginia pushed herself up on her hands and turned her head toward the shadowed doorway. She saw Amelia, dressed in a chintz wrapper, her dark hair unbound, racing forward through the maze of statuary and furniture.
"Amelia, it's all right." Iphiginia struggled to sit up. Amelia paused, but only long enough to grab a poker
from the hearth. She hoisted it in a threatening fashion and glared at Marcus. "Let her go this instant, you bastard, or I'D brain you. I swear I will."
In one swift, startlingly efficient movement, Marcus pushed Iphiginia out of the way, rolled off the edge of the sofa, and got to his feet. He reached out and jerked the poker from Amelia's hand before she had even realized what he was about.
Amelia's shriek of dismay was a high, keening wad. "Amelia, calm yourself." Iphiginia stumbled to her feet, slipped past Marcus, and ran to her cousin. She put her arms around the distraught woman. "Calm yourself, cousin. I am all right. He was not hurting me, I promise you.
Amelia raised her head and looked at Iphiginia uncomprehendingly. Then she turned to stare at Marcus. "Who is he? What is he doing here? I knew this plan of yours was dangerous. I knew that sooner or later some man would seek to take advantage of you."
Iphiginia patted her soothingly. "Amelia, allow me to present the Earl of Masters. My lord, this is my cousin, Miss Amelia Farley."
Marcus raised one brow as he set the poker aside. "A pleasure, I'm sure."
Amelia gazed at him, slack-jawed. "But you're supposed to be dead."
"So I have been told." His mouth quirked slightly at the corner. "But evidence to the contrary continues to crop up.
Amelia swung around to confront Iphiginia. "The blackmailer did not murder him, after all?"
"Apparently not." Iphiginia blushed and hastily straightened her gown. She noticed that one of her plumes was lying on the floor next to Marcus's boot. "It is a great relief to know that we are not dealing with a murderer, is it not?"
Amelia narrowed her gaze suspiciously at Marcus. "I'm not so sure of that. What, precisely, are we dealing with here?"
"An excellent question. Certainly not a ghost." Marcus reached down and scooped up the white plume. He held it out to Iphiginia. "I shall enjoy helping you answer the question in greater detail, Mrs. Bright. But as it grows late and the mood of the evening has been dispelled by the events of the last few minutes, I believe I shall take my leave."
"Yes, of course, my lord." Iphiginia snatched the plume from his hand. "But you did mean it when you said that you would allow me to continue to masquerade as your paramour, did you not?"
"I meant every word, my dear Mrs. Bright." Marcus's eyes gleamed in the lamplight. "I shall do everything in my power to help you create a deception that is so true to life that one cannot distinguish it from the real thing."
"That is very kind of you, sir." Iphiginia felt a rush of gratitude. "Is it your intellectual curiosity that persuades you to indulge me, my lord, or your natural gallantry?"
"I strongly suspect that it is not gallantry which persuades me to assist you, madam."
"lien it must he your intellectual nature," she said complacently.,
He gave her an amused glance as he made his way toward the door. "You know me so well."
"She should." Amelia glowered at him. "She has made an extremely thorough study of you my lord."
"I am honored." Marcus walked out into the hall. He paused, his eyes resting thoughtfully on Iphiginia. "Be sure to lock your door after I leave."
Iphiginia smiled. "Of course, my lord." Marcus. stepped out into the night and closed the door very quietly behind him.
There was a short, taut silence in the library. A moment later the wheels of the earl's black carriage rumbled on the paying stones.
Amelia swung around to face Iphiginia. She had herself under control, but her soft brown eyes were still haunted with traces of the old fear.
She was twenty-six years old, a year younger than Iphiginia. In many ways she was far prettier, with her finely wrought features, glossy dark brown hair, and expressive eyes. But there was a starkly remote quality to her that made her seem austere and unapproachable.