Mistress - Amanda Quick [38]
“Hannah is an old friend,” Marcus said gently. “You know that.”
“Listen to me, Masters, and listen carefully. Whatever happened between the two of you before I met Hannah is your affair. But she chose me, by God. She is my wife and I will not let you play your games with her, do you comprehend?”
“If you knew anything at all about me, Sands, you would know that I have an ironclad rule against involving myself with innocents and other men’s wives. And I never break my own rules.”
“I have heard of your so-called rules,” Sands said roughly. “The gossips claim that you have always made it a point to form your connections with the most interesting and attractive widows of the ton. But they also say that Hannah is the one exception.”
“You should know better than to listen to gossip,” Marcus said.
“If I hear that you have met privately with my wife again, I vow, I shall call you out. I am not bluffing, Masters. I am accounted a good marksman.”
“I believe you,” Marcus said calmly.
“I have heard that you once very nearly killed a man on the field of honor, but that does not frighten me.”
“I have no intention of keeping a dawn appointment with you, Sands.”
“Then stay away from Hannah.”
“Did Hannah tell you that I had met with her this morning?”
“She did not have to tell me. I heard about it from an acquaintance, who had been told by someone else that you both were seen entering the park at an early hour.”
Marcus shrugged. “You have my word of honor that I have no designs on your lady. Since you pay attention to rumors, I trust you will have heard by now that I am presently spending a great deal of my time in the company of a charming widow named Mrs. Bright.”
“I have heard about your so-called Lady Starlight. She sounds just your sort. If you are wise, you will confine your attentions to her.”
“I fully intend to do just that.” Marcus glanced once more at the clock. “If you will excuse me, I shall go in search of the lady herself. She and I have arranged to meet at the Richardsons’ ball. Good night, Sands.” Marcus inclined his head in a pleasant fashion and walked past Sands toward the door.
Iphiginia Bright had complicated his life no end, he reflected a few minutes later as he vaulted into his black carriage. Now, on top of everything else, he was being hounded by a jealous husband.
Half an hour later, Marcus stalked back down the steps of the Richardson town house. He was no longer brooding over the difficulties Iphiginia presented. He was furious.
It had never occurred to him that she would ignore his instructions to rendezvous with him at the Richardsons’. Marcus was not accustomed to having his orders brushed aside. But that was not the worst of it.
What really annoyed him was that he had a strong suspicion that she had gone to the Lartmore mansion.
Marcus hesitated just as he was about to get back into his carriage. The London streets were choked with vehicles of all descriptions. It was midnight at the height of the Season and everyone who was anyone was in motion, traveling from one soiree to another. It could easily take a good forty minutes for his coachman to forge a path to the Lartmore mansion.
“I’ll go on foot,” Marcus called up to Dinks. “Meet me at the Lartmore house.”
“Aye, my lord,” Dinks muttered from the box. “Watch yer back. All kinds out on a night such as this.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Marcus paced swiftly along the crowded thoroughfare. His path was dimly lit by the gas lamps that had recently been installed in this section of Town.
He moved through clumps of drunken dandies on their way to the gaming hells off St. James, clusters of brightly garbed fops en route to heckle the actors at the theater, and young men consumed with Byronesque ennui who were headed for adventure in the stews. Marcus sincerely hoped that Bennet was not among the last group.
Here and there prostitutes solicited passersby from shadowed doorways.