Mistress - Amanda Quick [45]
“But I came in here for a reason.”
Marcus’s expression darkened. “Did you?”
“Yes. I cannot miss the opportunity. I may not get another. This way, sir. Hurry.”
More drunken laughter sounded from just inside the doorway. The newcomers had paused to examine the first of the erotic statues.
“What the devil are you up to, Iphiginia?”
“There is another door at the end of the hall. Lartmore told me that it opens directly onto his library.”
“Why in the name of the devil do you—” Realization appeared to dawn on him. “No. Absolutely not. We are not going to pursue your ridiculous plans tonight.”
“I may never get another chance.”
“Damn it, Iphiginia, this is nonsense. Let’s get out of here and find a quiet place where we can finish what we started.”
She blushed and glanced at him in surprise. “Do you mean there is more?”
Marcus grimaced. “That is not amusing, madam. I am suffering mightily.”
“You appear to be quite fit, sir. Come, this way.” Iphiginia grabbed his hand and started through the maze of statuary.
Marcus allowed himself to be dragged toward the rear of the statuary hall. “I am going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Don’t be silly.” She found the door just as the other couple burst into another bout of raucous laughter and then fell silent.
“Here we are,” Iphiginia whispered. She twisted the doorknob. It turned readily enough.
Lartmore’s small library—no more than a study, really—was shrouded in darkness. There was just enough moonlight to see the candle on his desk.
A man’s hoarse groan echoed down the length of the shadowed hall. “I say, just like the bloody statue, by God. Just like the statue.”
“Damnation,” Marcus muttered. “We cannot go back that way.”
He pushed Iphiginia into the library, followed her inside, and quickly closed the door, cutting off the woman’s loud moan.
“It’s all right, Marcus. They do not know we are here.”
He swung around. “Very well, madam. You have got us in here. Now what?”
“I merely want to take a quick look at Lartmore’s desk.” Iphiginia lit the candle and held it aloft.
Marcus’s face was grim. “Are you searching for black wax and a phoenix seal, Iphiginia, or merely looking for something of value to filch?”
She stared at him, stung by the accusation. “You do not think very highly of me, do you, sir?”
“You must admit this situation appears somewhat questionable.”
“And you, of course, would immediately question it.”
“Given the, ah, unusual nature of our association, I think I have a right to scrutinize your actions.”
“You are willing to make love to me, but you do not trust me, is that it?”
“Iphiginia—”
“Never mind, my lord.” Iphiginia lifted her chin proudly. “I quite understand. Put your mind at ease; I am not here to steal the silver. I am pursuing my inquiries.”
“I told you that Lartmore is highly unlikely to be the blackmailer.”
“Yes, I know you expressed your opinion, sir, but I have my own opinions.” Iphiginia surveyed the desk, searching for the wax jack. She spotted it at once.
“I see.” Marcus propped himself on the corner of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. He watched intently as she studied the design of the seal and the remains of once-molten red wax. “Do you always ignore the opinions of others?”
“I was forced to listen to the opinions of others for years, my lord. I was also obliged to submit to them. But I am an independent woman now.”
“An independent woman, eh?”
“Yes. Damnation. There is some sort of flower engraved on this seal, not a phoenix.”
Marcus glanced disinterestedly at the seal. “What did you expect to find? Only a fool would use his own distinctive seal and wax on a blackmail note. People would recognize them.”
Iphiginia glowered. He had a point. She did not want him to think that she hadn’t already considered every possibility. Marcus was too bloody arrogant as it was.
“It has occurred to me that the blackmailer may have two seals, one