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 rules 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.
“Yes, of course. What happened the other night was of my instigation. I misled you. I knew all about your silly rule against getting involved with inexperienced females, but I wanted you to make love to me. I encouraged you, sir. Indeed, I practically begged you to do so.”
“Iphiginia—”
Iphiginia landed against him with a soft thud. He caught hold of her and held her close before she could change her mind.
“I seduced you, sir,” she whispered into his coat.
“No, you did not. I seduced you. I wanted to make love to you.” His voice roughened. “God help me, even if I had known the truth, I do not think that I could have stopped myself. My only regret was that you did not enjoy my lovemaking.” “But I did.” Her words were muffled against his shoulder. “At least, I did up until the very last bit. As I told you that night, I did not calculate certain factors correctly. But that was entirely my own fault, not yours.”
Marcus groaned. Incredible as it seemed, Iphiginia did not blame him for his clumsy lovemaking. She insisted on taking full responsibility for the debacle in the Temple of Vesta.
Perhaps another man would have been amused by her naïveté. Marcus was both awed and deeply moved by it.
“Listen to me, Iphiginia. You are a very well educated woman and I will allow that you have no doubt studied a great many classical statues of nude men, but you do not know all there is to know of such calculations.”
“But I have studied the original statues, my lord. Not just copies.”
He framed her face between his palms and forced her to meet his eyes. “It will be much more pleasurable the next time, Iphiginia. I swear it.”
She fixed him with a sober, searching gaze. “Do you really think so?”
“You must trust me.” He brushed his mouth lightly across hers.
“I do, Marcus. Oh, I do trust you.” She stood on tiptoe, threw her arms around him, and kissed him with the same joyful enthusiasm she had demonstrated since the start of their relationship.
Her mouth was soft and warm and exciting beneath Marcus’s. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. He could feel the delightful curves of her thighs pressing against his legs. No other woman had ever felt so good in his arms.
More important, it was obvious that her passion for him still sparkled within her, a crystal prism that glowed with warmth and light. He had not shattered it the other night.
Relief surged through him. She still wanted him. His clumsy lovemaking had not dampened her sweet ardor or lessened her desire for his touch. Everything was going to be all right.
He raised his head reluctantly after a moment and looked down at her. “Then that settles the matter, does it not?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I am not opposed to making another attempt at lovemaking, if you truly believe it will work.”
“It will.” Silently he vowed to make it perfect for her.
“Does this mean that you will allow our liaison to continue?” she asked with a hopeful look.
“It means,” he said deliberately, “that we will be married as soon as possible.”
She stiffened. “I told you, it is not possible.”
“And I told you that anything is possible.”
Her mouth tightened into a stubborn line. “Marcus, will you give me an honest answer to a question I must ask you?”
“I will never lie to you, Iphiginia.”
Her mouth curved wistfully. “Another one of your rules?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then, I shall ask my question. Would you be standing here today insisting that I marry you if you had discovered the other night that I actually was a widow with some experience of the marital embrace?”
He told himself he ought to have seen that trap early on, but he had not. The snare caught him unawares and he stumbled badly. “Devil take it, Iphiginia, that is completely irrelevant.”
“No, Marcus, it’s very relevant.”
He saw the hidden pit that had opened beneath his feet. He made a desperate bid to recover his footing. “Who knows what would have happened had you been who you claimed to be? I have never met anyone like you, Iphiginia. I do not know how I would have reacted.”
“If you had found me to be exactly who and what I purported to be, you would have been content to let me continue on as your mistress. Is that not so?”
“Damn it, Iphiginia, how can I answer that? I am a man of science. I deal in facts, not fancies or conjecture or what-might-have-beens.”
“Please, answer me, Marcus. It’s very important.”
“The answer to your purely conjectural question is that I do not know the answer.”
“Well, I do,” she said gently. “And the answer is no. Therefore my answer to you now must also be no.”
“Bloody hell, woman, don’t you comprehend the situation? You have no choice.”
“If I were eighteen, unable to support myself, and concerned with the opinion of others, that might be true. But I am twenty-seven, financially independent, and I do not give a fig for Society’s rules.”
“Iphiginia—”
She hugged herself. “I spent too many years abiding by the dictates of a small village. I do not intend to be governed by those of the ton” She shuddered. “Sometimes I still awake in the middle of the night and remember how I had to bite my tongue whenever the vicar stopped by to lecture me on proper behavior.”
A rush of empathy went through Marcus. “I, too, was reared in a small village. I know how it must have been for you in Deepford.”
“It never ended,” Iphiginia whispered. “There were eyes everywhere. No one really approved of Mama or Papa. They were possessed of artistic temperaments, you see.”
“I know.”
“My parents always said that I could ignore the rude, interfering ways of others, but I was not able to do that after they were gone. I had to make a living for myself and my sister. And then Amelia showed up on my doorstep, penniless and alone.”
“So there were three of you to support.”
“Yes. And in order to do so, I had
to submit to all the bloody petty little rules of the good folk of Deepford.” Iphiginia looked out the window into the street. “Squire Hampton and his wife were always giving me advice on my conduct. Mrs. Calder, who had the cottage next to my academy, prattled on endlessly about how an instructor of young ladies must be a paragon of propriety. The vicar and his wife were forever hovering, waiting for me to trip and fall in the muck of what they considered improper behavior.”
Marcus walked around the desk, reached out, and pulled her back into his arms. “I understand.”
“There were eyes everywhere. I had to be so careful. All three of us depended on the income from the academy. And the academy’s existence depended on the goodwill of the Hamptons and the vicar and all the other people in Deepford who made the rules by which the rest of us were forced to abide.”
Marcus tightened his arms around her and breathed in the flowery scent of the soap she used to wash her hair. He realized with an odd sense of awareness that in that moment he felt closer to her than he had ever felt to anyone else in his life.
“I know what it is to be trapped by one’s responsibilities,” Marcus said into Iphiginia’s hair. “And by other people’s rules.”
“A year ago, I left Deepford forever. I do not intend to ever go back except very occasionally to visit my sister. I am determined to follow your example, Marcus. If I must have rules, they will be of my own making.”
Marcus moved one hand soothingly down her proud, tense spine. “I comprehend your feelings better than you know, but I cannot allow you to continue to masquerade as my mistress.”
“Why not?”
He sought for a sound, unemotional argument. “It is too dangerous.”
“No, it is not.” Iphiginia lifted her head from his shoulder. “We are both equally concerned with identifying the blackmailer and we have both agreed that we must combine our forces in order to do so. What better way to go about the task than to allow our pretense to stand?”
He studied her pensively. He had known he would have a battle on his hands, but he had not understood just how obstinate his opponent would be until now. “One of the problems which you continue to overlook, Iphiginia, is that the pretense is no longer, strictly speaking, a pretense.”
She flushed. “For heaven’s sake, Marcus, if the thought of making love to me alarms you to such a degree, we shall simply refrain from such activity.”
There was about as much chance of him refraining from making love to Iphiginia as there was of building a ship that could carry him to the stars, Marcus decided.
When faced with a seemingly imponderable problem, he had learned that it was sometimes best to approach it obliquely rather than head-on.
He had some time, he assured himself. How much time, he did not know. But Iphiginia had not been exposed thus far. There was no reason to suppose that anyone else would stumble onto the truth in the near future. The present situation could not be allowed to go on indefinitely, but as far as he could ascertain, no immediate threat loomed.
She still wanted him, Marcus thought. He would hold on to that knowledge, study it, examine it, analyze it. Eventually he would find a way to use her weakness for him to wear down her defenses.
The door of the library opened.
Amelia walked into the room. “Iphiginia? Mr. Manwaring reminded me that we must—” She broke off, flushing, when she saw Iphiginia in Marcus’s arms. “I beg your pardon.”
“It’s quite all right,” Marcus said. He looked down at Iphiginia. “We will finish this conversation some other time. As it happens, we were just about to leave, weren’t we, Iphiginia?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we were.” She stepped quickly away from him and gave Amelia a shaky smile. “We’re off to the Wycherley Agency to see what we can learn from Mrs. Wycherley.”
“Do not bother to give my regards to Constance Wycherley,” Amelia muttered. “I never did like that woman.”
It had been a near thing. Much too close for comfort.
Twenty minutes later, after a silent, brooding carriage ride to a small lane just off Oxford Street, Iphiginia was still feeling the effects of the quarrel.
She was in a desperate fix because of Masters’s Rules and it was her own fault, she thought as she was handed down from the black phaeton.
She should have known that Marcus would likely feel compelled to marry her were he ever to discover that she was not a widow. But she had deliberately allowed herself to believe that she could deceive him.
She had convinced herself that she could fool Marcus, just as she had fooled Society. She ought to have known better.
Now she had to find a way to convince Marcus that he was not obligated by his own rigid code to wed her.
It would not be easy, Iphiginia knew. He was too much like her in too many ways. The man was too bloody stubborn and determined for his own good.
“This is Number Eleven.” Marcus frowned at the darkened windows of the Wycherley Agency. “The agency appears to be closed for the day.”
“How odd.” Iphiginia studied the drawn curtains that blanked both windows and the door. “It is not yet four in the afternoon.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Wycherley was forced to close the premises early for some personal reason.”
“One would think that she would have staff to keep the office open.”
“True.” Marcus walked to the door and twisted the knob experimentally. “Locked.”
Iphiginia looked up. The two stories above the agency premises were also dark. “I wonder if Mrs. Wycherley lives above her place of business.”
“Very likely.” Marcus stepped back to survey the upper stories. “But if she is at home, she is definitely not receiving visitors.”
“She may be ill.”
“Manwaring told you that he spoke with her yesterday. Did he mention that she appeared to be ailing?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean she did not fall ill during the night,” Iphiginia said. “Perhaps she left for a visit to the country.”
“In which case,” Marcus said with a speculative expression, “the shop and the rooms above are very likely empty.”
Iphiginia gave him a sharp glance. “Are you about to suggest what I think you are about to suggest?”
“You know me so well, Iphiginia.” Marcus took her hand. He glanced both ways up and down the street to be certain that no one was paying any attention to them. “Come. There is no harm in our taking a quick look ’round back.”
Iphiginia did not protest as he led her to the end of the short street and around the corner into the alley. “But what do you hope to find?”
“Who knows? One of the first rules of scientific inquiry is to ask a great many questions.”
“What questions are you asking right now?”
“Why a successful, long-established business would close so early in the day.”
Iphiginia got a distinctly uneasy sensation. “Especially the day after my man of affairs interviewed the owner and asked her about one of her former clients?”
“Precisely.”
Marcus led the way down the alley behind the row of shopfronts. He stopped in front of the back door of Number Eleven and knocked softly.
There was no response. He reached for the doorknob and tried it carefully. “This door is locked also.”
Iphiginia looked at the small-paned windows that flanked the door and saw that the one on the right was ajar. “Look, Marcus.”
He followed her gaze. “It appears as though someone left in a great hurry and forgot to secure all the windows.”
“Yes, it does.”
Marcus eased open the unlocked window, moved the curtain aside, and peered into the interior of the shop.
Iphiginia crowded close behind him. “Can you see anything?”
“Not much. The room is rather dark. The curtains are drawn shut. Hold on a minute.” He opened the window all the way and then stepped back to study the situation. “Damn. I do not think that I will be able to f
it through that opening.”
Iphiginia studied the situation. “I can fit through it.”
Marcus looked at her. “If you think that I am going to allow you to go through that window—”
“Marcus, be reasonable. I shall simply slip through the opening and immediately unlock the door for you. You will be inside with me in no time.”
“Hmm.” He hesitated, clearly torn. “Very well. But don’t waste a moment once you’re inside. Go right to the door.”
“I will.” Iphiginia went to stand in front of the open window. It was too far off the ground for her to be able to simply step through it. “You’ll have to help me.”
“I can see that.” Marcus fitted his hands to her waist and lifted her effortlessly off the ground.
Iphiginia shivered, remembering the feel of his hands on her bare skin two nights ago. He was so strong and yet she felt so safe when she was in his embrace.
“Hurry, Iphiginia.”
“Yes, of course.” She shook off the hot memories and concentrated on the matter at hand.
Scrambling through the window proved unexpectedly awkward. Iphiginia was hampered by the long, ruffled skirts of her white muslin walking dress and matching spencer.
“Good God,” Marcus muttered somewhere behind her. “How many petticoats do you have on under your gown? I am about to drown in them.”
“It was rather chilly today.” Iphiginia was intensely aware of his hand on the calf of her leg.
A few seconds later she landed on her feet inside the shadowed room. She reached out to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against a sheaf of papers that were lying on a nearby table. Several sheets of foolscap drifted to the floor at her feet.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Marcus demanded instantly.
“Nothing serious. I knocked some papers to the floor.” Iphiginia stooped to retrieve them. She stared in amazement as her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. “Good grief. Marcus, there are papers and ledgers and such scattered about everywhere. The place looks as though a whirlwind went through it.”
“Open the door. Quickly.”
Iphiginia straightened and went to the back door. She unlocked it. Marcus strode into the shop and shut the door behind himself. He stood still for a moment, gazing into the shadows.