Mistress - Amanda Quick [135]
“And he is the son of the Elizabeth Eaton who is buried in that monument?”
“Yes.” Barclay looked up. “He appears to have dropped his last name when he entered Society two years ago. That was why it took me so long to discover his connection. Indeed, if you had not suggested that I look into the ownership of the museum, I would never have gotten to the bottom of the thing.”
A knock on the library door got Marcus’s attention. He glanced toward it with an impatient frown. “Enter.”
Lovelace opened the door. Iphiginia, dressed in a white morning gown and a flower-trimmed chip straw bonnet, bobbed up and down behind him.
“Mrs. Bright to see you, sir,” Lovelace said, just as though Iphiginia were not waving madly to get Marcus’s attention.
Marcus grinned. “Send her in, Lovelace.”
Lovelace stepped aside. Iphiginia rushed past him into the library. She was carrying a massive leather-bound volume.
“Marcus, you will never believe what has happened. I think I know the identity of the blackmailer. I found a bit of black wax on this book that I lent to—”
“Herbert Hoyt?” Marcus asked politely.
“Good Lord.” Iphiginia came to a halt and gazed at him in astonishment. “How did you guess?”
“I never guess, my dear. I form scientific hypotheses.”
It was quite dark in the narrow alley. There was barely enough moonlight to see the rear window of Number Two Thurley Street. Marcus hefted the length of iron in his hand and fitted it cautiously between the window and the sill.
“Be careful,” Iphiginia whispered. She glanced back down the length of the alley to be certain they were still alone.
“I am being careful.”
“Marcus, are you annoyed?”
“Oddly enough, I had not planned to spend my wedding night breaking into Hoyt’s lodgings.” Marcus pried the window open with a judicious jerk of the iron bar. The frame gave with gratifying ease. “I had envisioned more interesting entertainment.”
“Hurry.” Iphiginia pushed back the hood of her cloak. The unlit brass lantern she carried gleamed in the moonlight. “I am certain that we shall find the black sealing wax and the phoenix seal somewhere in his rooms.”
“This is a complete waste of time.” Marcus swung one leg over the sill. “We already know that he’s the blackmailer.”
“But we need proof. The wax and seal will give us solid evidence.”
Marcus swung his other leg over the sill and dropped into the shadowed room. “We are not doing this to obtain evidence. We are doing it solely because you want to prove to me that your hypothesis was as sound as mine.”
“It is sound. I know that I would eventually have found the blackmailer on my own.” Iphiginia caught up the hem of her cloak and her skirts in one hand and put a stocking-clad leg over the edge of the sill.
Marcus wistfully contemplated the graceful limb and thought about how it would look tangled in the white sheets of his massive bed.
Later, he promised himself. Iphiginia was his, that was the important thing. He could relax. She had belonged to him since they had exchanged vows earlier that day in front of a preacher.
She was his wife.
Satisfaction surged deep inside as he caught her by the waist and lifted her through the window. Offhand he could not think of any other female who would have demanded to spend her wedding night rummaging through a blackmailer’s desk, but Iphiginia was nothing if not an Original.
Marcus had concluded that he could afford to indulge her now that he was certain of possessing her.
In truth, he had not been particularly keen on the scheme to search Hoyt’s lodgings, but Marcus had convinced himself that the plan was not unduly risky. Hoyt, after all, was a creature of Society. He was out until dawn every night. His servant, Marcus had learned, had formed the habit of spending the evenings at a tavern.
“Close the curtains,” Iphiginia ordered softly as she lit the lantern.
Marcus obligingly drew the curtains. He turned to survey the room by the light of Iphiginia’s lantern. It was a comfortable chamber,