Mistress - Amanda Quick [37]
“Of course. And was there a suitable mourning period after his death?”
“A reasonable one, considering the circumstances. Mr. Bright was considerably older than I,” Iphiginia murmured.
“I see.”
“He lived a very full and active life.”
“I imagine it got considerably more active after he married you.”
Iphiginia gave him a repressive look. “I do not wish to pursue this topic of conversation. I’m sure you comprehend, my lord. Much too painful.”
“I understand,” Marcus said.
“And so you should. I believe you have a rule of your own against discussing the past, do you not?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bright, I do have such a rule.”
“Personally, I am not overly fond of rules, but I believe that I shall adopt that particular one myself.” Iphiginia caught sight of a discreetly painted sign hanging at the corner of a small street off Pall Mall. “Oh, look, there’s Dr. Hardstaff’s museum. Mr. Hoyt mentioned the establishment the other evening.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“He said something about Lord Thornton having recently taken a treatment from Dr. Hardstaff.” Iphiginia studied the sign.
DR. HARDSTAFF’S MUSEUM OF THE GODDESSES OF MANLY VIGOR
LEARN THE SECRET AND AUTHENTIC INVIGORATING POWERS OF THE GODDESSES OF ANTIQUITY
Marcus glanced at the sign. “You would have no interest in Dr. Hardstaff’s museum, Iphiginia.”
“But I am always deeply interested in antiquities.” Iphiginia turned her head to look back at the sign as Marcus urged her forward. She frowned. “I do not believe that I know which classical goddesses are particularly associated with manly vigor.”
“You astound me, madam. I thought you knew all the answers.”
Shortly after ten that evening Marcus left the card room at his favorite club. He was in a dark, unpleasant mood, although he had won, as he so often did when he played whist.
He took no particular satisfaction in the victory. There was no serious challenge to be found in a game when one’s opponents were so deep in their cups that they could scarcely hold their cards.
The restlessness that gripped him had nothing to do with the recent game of whist. He had been feeling this way since he had met with Hannah in the park. The sensation had intensified after the conversation with Iphiginia.
Logic told him that he could not trust her, but his growing desire for her was undeterred by reason and common sense.
He wanted her.
Marcus glanced at the stately tall clock and saw that it was nearly time to hunt Iphiginia down at the Richardsons’ ball. He wondered what she had been doing all evening. Had she been innocently pursuing what she termed her inquiries or had she been setting snares for other potential blackmail victims?
One could only pity the late Mr. Bright, Marcus reflected. Any man married to Iphiginia would no doubt find himself growing old before his time.
“I thought I might find you here, Masters.”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder. It took an act of will to avoid swearing aloud when he saw Hannah’s husband, Edward, Lord Sands.
Marcus had often thought that under other circumstances he might have gotten along very well with Sands. There was a solid, substantial feeling about the man. Sands radiated a sense of unflinching integrity. He was the sort of man one would wish at one’s side in the heat of battle. A man with whom one could do business.
Marcus knew that there was no chance for genuine friendship between himself and Sands, however, as long as Hannah and her secret stood between them.
“Good evening, Sands.” Marcus nodded politely. “What brings you here? You rarely bother to put in an appearance at this particular club.”
“I came here to find you.” Sands’s pleasant, open features were set in such rigid lines that they could have been carved from stone.
Marcus told himself he was not surprised. Nevertheless, he had hoped to avoid this confrontation. “What can I do for you?”
Sands