Mistress

  The yawning entrance of a large stone grotto loomed in the fog directly in front of Iphiginia. The twin halves of an elaborately designed iron gate stood open. The dark, shadowed interior beckoned.

  Iphiginia caught her breath and held the lantern higher. She had never thought of herself as possessing melodramatic sensibilities or an impressionable temperament, but this was very nearly too much, even for her.

  The flaring lantern light picked out the name that had been carved above the arched doorway.

  ELIZABETH EATON, B. 1771, D. 1817

  ILL-TREATED IN LIFE, MAY SHE REST IN PEACE

  Iphiginia hesitated on the brink of the monument’s threshold. The lantern illuminated only the first few feet of the stone passageway.

  A cold, damp draft seemed to emanate from the depths of the sepulchral grotto.

  Iphiginia’s pulse raced so swiftly that it made her feel light-headed. Her stomach churned. The urge to turn and flee back to the waiting hackney nearly overwhelmed her.

  She clutched the bag of banknotes tightly, took a deep breath, and walked a few paces into the grotto.

  It was as though she were walking into a cave.

  The darkness was so deep that even the lantern light appeared to weaken in the face of it. Iphiginia could see that whoever had built and dedicated the monument had spared no expense. The stone walls were heavily carved. The design was a strange combination of twisting vines and open books.

  Iphiginia raised the lantern to read the words that had been engraved on one of the stone books:

  The path of vengeance takes many twists and turns hut it is sure and certain.

  The terrible groan of iron hinges sounded from the open mouth of the grotto.

  Iphiginia spun around, a scream on her lips.

  “No.”

  She dropped the sack of money and ran for the entrance.

  She was too late. A cloaked figure appeared briefly in the mist. The iron gates slammed shut. The ominous rasp of a key in a lock echoed down the passageway.

  Iphiginia fought back terror as she raced toward the gate. “Wait. Please, wait. I’m in here.”

  She reached the sealed gates just in time to see the cloaked figure disappear into the fog. She gripped the iron bars of the gates and shoved with all her strength. They did not budge.

  She was trapped in the sepulchral grotto.

  She opened her mouth to call for help. Surely the coachman who had brought her here would be able to hear her. But even as the thought occurred, she heard the receding clatter of carriage wheels and steel horseshoes on the pavement.

  The hackney was leaving.

  “Help me,” Iphiginia shouted into the dark mist. “I’m here, in the grotto. Please come back.”

  There was no sound from the graveyard. The mist seemed to thicken at the gates of the grotto as though preparing to invade the interior.

  A rush of anger overcame Iphiginia’s panic. “Bloody hell.”

  Then she noticed the small piece of paper lying at her feet. She bent down and picked up the note. The lantern light revealed that the missive was sealed with black wax.

  You have been warned. The next time you interfere, the penalty will be far more serious.

  “Bloody hell.” Iphiginia glanced at the lantern. She wondered how much longer it would continue to burn.

  And then she wondered what Marcus was doing and whether or not he had noticed that she had not turned up at the Sheltenhams’ ball.

  Marcus stopped pacing the length of Iphiginia’s library when he heard the door open. He swung around to confront Amelia. She was wearing a nightcap and a chintz wrapper. Her face was pale and strained.

  “Where the devil is she, Miss Farley? And before you answer, you had better know that I am in no mood for lies. Iphiginia was to meet me at one o’clock at the Sheltenhams’. It is now nearly two.”

  “My lord, I will not claim to be your greatest supporter, but I do believe I am rather glad to see you tonight.” Amelia closed the door and walked into the room. She glanced at the tall clock. “I have been growing increasingly anxious since midnight.”

  “Anxious about what?” Marcus clenched his fingers around the edge of the marble mantel. The disturbing sensation he had begun to experience sometime during the past hour was riding him hard now. Something was wrong.

  “It is Iphiginia, my lord. I am very worried.”

  “What is she about this time? If you tell me that she has taken it into her head to explore some other man’s study in search of black wax and a phoenix seal, I vow I will not be responsible for my actions. I have had enough of her reckless ways.”

  Amelia clutched the lapels of her prim wrapper and regarded Marcus with somber eyes. “She is at Reeding Cemetery.”

  Marcus stared at her, dumbfounded. “A cemetery? At this hour? For God’s sake, why?”

  “Lady Guthrie received another blackmail note.”

  “Damn it to hell.”

  “The instructions were to leave the money at a new sepulchral monument in Reeding Cemetery. Iphiginia undertook to carry out the task in her aunt’s place.”

  Marcus felt as if he had just stepped off a cliff. For an instant raw fear gripped his gut. And then rage swept through him. “How did she dare to do something like this without telling me?”

  “Iphiginia knows that you do not trust her. Why should she trust you with all of her secrets?”

  “She goes too far this time.” Marcus strode toward the door.

  “My lord, where are you going?”

  “Where do you think I’m going? Reeding Cemetery.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia whispered. “I have been so concerned.”

  “Save your thanks. I doubt that Iphiginia will be glad to see me. In my present mood, I am bound to prove even less amusing company for her than the ghosts in the cemetery.”

  The gates of Reeding Cemetery stood open. The gravestones and monuments beyond were barely visible in the mist.

  Marcus got out of the carriage, a lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other. He glanced up at Dinks. “Wait here.”

  “Aye, m’lord. Would ye be wantin’ any assistance?”

  “No. Watch the gates. If anyone tries to leave before I do, stop him.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” Dinks reached under his box for the pistol he kept hidden among his carriage tools. “I’ll take care o’ the matter for ye.”

  Marcus walked into the graveyard and contemplated his surroundings for a moment. The swirling gray mist was so thick that he could not see much farther than the nearest rows of headstones.

  He glanced down. The flaring light of the lantern revealed crushed damp grass between a row of stones. Someone else had come this way quite recently. It was impossible to tell whether the person had been entering or leaving the cemetery.

  Marcus went forward swiftly, following the trail of matted grass. He ignored the smaller tombstones, searching for the larger, more imposing monuments that various people had erected in honor of the dear departed.

  The dark mouth of a grotto loomed up suddenly in the fog. The deep sense of foreboding that plagued Marcus grew abruptly more intense. The footsteps he followed went right up to the gate and disappeared on the other side.

  A dim glow of light from deep within the monument indicated the presence of a fading lantern.

  “Iphiginia.”

  Marcus strode to the gate and discovered at once that it was locked. He put the lantern down on the ground but kept the pistol in his hand. He shook the iron bars with the fury of a caged beast. The heavy gate rattled on its hinges. “Iphiginia, are you in there? For God’s sake, answer me.”

  “Marcus” The lantern light drew closer. Footsteps sounded on the stone floor of the grotto. “Thank heavens, it’s you.”

  “Bloody hell.” Marcus watched as Iphiginia appeared at the end of the passageway. “I’ll kill whoever is responsible for this, I swear it.”

  Iphiginia rushed toward the gate from the depths of the grotto. She stumble
d to a halt on the other side of the iron bars. Her heavy gray cloak swirled around her. Her eyes were huge in the shadows of the hood.

  Marcus’s stomach clenched when he saw the stark expression that drew her delicate face taut. Her soft mouth trembled. She was breathing much too quickly. It was clear that fear had come close to tearing her apart, but she had somehow managed to retain her self-control.

  Marcus knew that only sheer willpower had kept Iphiginia from succumbing to panic. Intense admiration for her courage surged through him.

  “I saw the lantern light.” There was a tremulous quality in Iphiginia’s voice, but her words were astonishingly steady. She gripped one of the iron gate bars. “I prayed it would be you, but I could not be certain, so I stayed back inside the grotto.”

  Marcus put his hand through the bars and caught her chin. “I shall fetch my coachman. He will likely have something among his carriage tools that I can use to open this lock. Stay right where you are. I shall be back in a moment.”

  Iphiginia smiled weakly. “I am not going anywhere.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed grimly. “And I do not believe that you will be going anywhere again at night without me.”

  It took nearly fifteen minutes for Marcus to break the lock on the monument gate. When it finally came apart in his hands, he tossed the hammer and chisel to Dinks.

  “Here, take these.”

  “Yes m’lord.” Dinks took charge of the tools.

  Marcus jerked open the gate. He started into the passageway but halted abruptly as Iphiginia flew out of the grotto.

  He braced himself when he realized that she was heading straight toward him.

  “Marcus.”

  Deep satisfaction swept through him when she hurled herself into his arms. He caught her and held her very tightly until she stopped shivering.

  “Hell and damnation, woman. Do not ever, ever do this to me again,” he growled into her hair. Then he looked at Dinks over the top of her head. “Let us be off.”

  “Ye won’t get any argument from me, m’lord.” Dinks wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the sepulchral grotto. “Don’t much fancy hanging around a graveyard at any time, let alone at three in the mornin’.”

  Iphiginia raised her head and looked at Marcus and Dinks. “Thank you both,” she whispered. “I shall always be grateful.”

  “Not at all, m’lady.” Dinks tipped his hat. “Not at all. I’ve been in his lordship’s employ for nearly ten years now. Don’t generally see this sort of excitement. Kind o’ livens things up a bit.”

  “Come.” Marcus took a firm grip on Iphiginia’s arm. “We have wasted enough time in this damnable place.”

  He hurried Iphiginia down a long row of brooding tombstones, out through the cemetery gates, and into the carriage. When he had her safely seated inside, he looked up at Dinks.

  “Number Five, Morning Rose Square.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Marcus got into the carriage and sat down across from Iphiginia. He reached out to close the curtains and then he leaned back to study Iphiginia’s face in the lamplight. Her eyes were still too shadowed, but other than that, she appeared to be surprisingly fit, considering the ordeal she had just endured.

  For an instant he allowed himself to savor again the good feeling he’d experienced a few minutes earlier when she’d flown into his arms. Then his anger blossomed once more.

  “Iphiginia, your activities tonight constitute, beyond a doubt, the most inexcusably reckless, thoughtless, brainless adventure I have had occasion to witness in longer than I can recall. You claim to be an intelligent female. Pray tell, what intellect was involved in this night’s work?”

  “Marcus—”

  “Damnation, what the devil did you think you were about?”

  She winced. “Do you make a practice of lecturing all of your mistresses in such an unpleasant fashion?”

  “No, madam, I do not,” Marcus said through his teeth. “But then, I have never had a mistress such as yourself.”

  Her lips curved slightly and some of the sparkle reappeared in her eyes. “You mean you have never had a mistress-in-name-only?”

  “No, I have not. And considering that you are merely masquerading as my mistress, I think I have a right to feel somewhat imposed upon. Christ, Iphiginia, you gave me a bad time tonight. How in God’s name did you wind up locked in that bloody monument?”

  “I assume that you have spoken to Amelia?”

  “Miss Farley was the one who told me where I would find you.”

  “Then you know that the instructions in the blackmail note were clear. I was to leave the money inside the grotto.”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone came to the gates and locked them after I had gone inside,” Iphiginia said quietly.

  Marcus stilled. Then he leaned forward. “You actually saw this person?”

  “For all the good it did. He wore a hooded cloak, just as I did. I saw nothing of his face. I’m not even certain that it was a man.” Iphiginia reached inside the pocket of her gray cloak. “Whoever it was left this on the floor of the grotto.”

  Marcus took the note from her hand and read it quickly. “A threat.”

  “Yes. Obviously he or she knew I was not Aunt Zoe.”

  “Then the bastard knows far too much.” Marcus refolded the note. He glanced up, frowning, as a belated thought occurred to him. “What did you do with the money?”

  Iphiginia’s eyes widened. “Good grief, I left it in the grotto.”

  “Bloody hell.” Marcus stood up and pushed open the trapdoor in the carriage ceiling. “Turn back, Dinks. To the cemetery. Quickly.”

  Dinks shrugged. “Aye, m’lord.”

  Iphiginia frowned. “Do you think we’ll get there in time to see the blackmailer pick up the money?”

  “I doubt it. Not with the way my luck has been running lately.”

  Marcus leaped out of the carriage the instant the cemetery gates came into sight. He ran down an aisle of tombstones, straight to the grotto. Iphiginia’s cloak swirled out behind her as she followed close at his heels.

  They were too late. In the few minutes that it had taken to drive away from the cemetery, turn around, and return, someone had managed to get into the grotto and retrieve the five thousand pounds.

  Iphiginia stared out into the foggy mists that surrounded the monument to Mrs. Eaton. “He must have been watching,” she whispered. “And waiting. All the while I was in there, nearly going out of my mind, he was out here.”

  “He suspected someone would come to rescue you,” Marcus said softly. “But how the hell did he know it?”

  Iphiginia pulled her cloak more tightly about herself. “You are right, my lord. Whoever he is, he knows too much. About all of us.”

  NINE

  MARCUS LEANED AGAINST THE MANTEL IN IPHIGINIA’S library and contemplated his next move. “We will start with the sepulchral monument. The site was obviously chosen with careful consideration. There may be a connection between it and the blackmailer.”

  “Perhaps.” Iphiginia set her teacup down onto its saucer. “Or he may have selected it merely because it was remote and atmospheric and bound to create an extremely unpleasant effect on the sensibilities of whoever brought the money.” She shivered. “He was not wrong on that last point, I assure you.”

  Amelia gazed into the fire that Marcus had lit. “Whoever is behind this enjoys frightening people, first with threats of murder and now with ghosts. But what possible connection could the monument to this Mrs. Eaton have to do with the thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcus conceded. “But it’s worth making a few inquiries in that direction.”

  “I agree,” Iphiginia said quietly.

  Marcus glanced at her. He was still brooding on the notion that someone had gone out of his way to terrify her tonight. His hand knotted into a fist on the mantel top.

  He deliberately dampened the fires of anger that burned in his blood and tried to take a more rational, object
ive view of the situation and of Iphiginia.

  He was relieved to see that she was showing no obvious ill effects from the three hours she had spent sitting alone in the funeral grotto. He did not know any other female who would have come through the experience in such fine form. For that matter, he did not know many men who would have come out of it in such good spirits.

  His mistress-in-name-only had great courage, he thought. Nevertheless, when he finally got his hands on whoever had locked her in the grotto, he was going to take great pleasure in avenging her.

  “How do you intend to proceed?” Amelia asked.

  Marcus considered the question closely. “To begin, we must try to discover who Mrs. Eaton was and, more important, who built such an elaborate monument to her.”

  “Our man of affairs, Mr. Manwaring, can look into it,” Iphiginia said.

  Marcus recalled the man he had seen leaving Iphiginia’s town house the previous day. Manwaring enjoyed much too casual an entrée into the household, he decided.

  “I’ll have my own man of affairs handle the matter,” he said, and then broke off as a thought struck him. “Devil take it. That will not be possible. At least not immediately.”

  “What’s wrong?” Iphiginia asked.

  “Barclay is, ah, out of Town on a business matter at the moment.” Marcus drummed his fingers on the mantel. He could hardly explain that Barclay was in Devon looking into Iphiginia’s past. “But he will not be gone long. He’ll deal with the problem when he returns.”

  “Are you certain that you don’t want us to ask Mr. Manwaring to handle it?” Iphiginia said. “He’s really very good at obtaining detailed information, is he not, Amelia?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said. “Very good.”

  “No,” Marcus said grimly. “Barclay can manage.” He glanced from Iphiginia to Amelia and back again. “You have employed Mr. Manwaring for some time?”

  “Three years,” Iphiginia said. “He’s an excellent man of affairs. Why do you ask?”

  Marcus shrugged. “No particular reason. It just occurred to me that one’s man of affairs knows a great deal about one’s personal life.”