Mistress - Amanda Quick [72]
“I do seem to have made a rather remarkable recovery, considering the circumstances.”
“Excellent. I know the entire affair must have given you quite a shock.”
“A shock.” He nodded once. “Yes, that describes it very well.”
“And it no doubt frightened you. But set your mind at ease, sir. I can assure you that there is no cause for further concern.”
Marcus put one hand on the balustrade and gripped it very tightly. “Why not?”
“Because you have my word of honor that I will make no further demands of an, ah—” she paused to gently clear her throat, “of an amorous nature upon you.”
He contemplated her expectant face for some time. He could not recall another female who had robbed him so thoroughly of speech.
“That is very thoughtful of you, Miss Bright.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said graciously. Then she leaned closer and lowered her voice to a more confidential tone. “To be perfectly frank, I did not find our little interlude all that pleasant, either, and I assure you that I am in no great rush to repeat it.”
Marcus went cold inside. The “interlude,” as she termed it, had been a debacle. On top of everything else, he had ruined her first experience of passion for her.
In spite of his initial anger and the devastating knowledge that his life had been irrevocably changed by her deception, Marcus felt a rush of guilt. His only goal tonight had been to give her pleasure even as he took his own. He had failed.
“Iphiginia, I regret the unpleasant nature of the experience. If I had known—”
“No, please.” She put her fingers over his mouth to silence him. “You must not apologize. Had I truly been what I pretended to be, a widow well acquainted with the intimacies of the marriage bed, I would have been better able to make the calculations.”
“What calculations?”
“Why, the sort I make when I am analyzing the perspective and elevations of a fine ruin,” she explained. “I would have realized that everything about you would be in, er, equally majestic proportion, if you see what I mean.”
“Proportion?”
“I fear that I was somewhat misled by my previous experience with classical statues.” She frowned. “And even by those in Lartmore’s collection, now that I think of it.”
“Iphiginia—”
“In my own defense, however, I must tell you that in all my studies of ancient statuary, I have never come across an example which was constructed with precisely your proportions.”
Marcus interrupted deliberately. “This is undoubtedly one of the most interesting conversations I have ever had. However, it is getting quite late and I am determined that we shall deal with this matter at a later time.”
“After you have regained your composure, you mean?”
“That is one way of putting it. Let us go upstairs to our bedchambers, madam. I have some thinking to do.” He took her arm and started her toward the door.
“Marcus.” She clutched at his sleeve. “Promise me that you will not tell anyone that I am not really your mistress.”
“Calm yourself, Iphiginia.” Marcus opened the door and ushered her into a darkened hall. “Your little fiction is no longer a pretense, as we had agreed. There is no secret to keep. Tonight you really did become my mistress.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “You will not tell anyone that I am not really a widow, either, will you?”
“Believe me, I am no more eager for Society to learn the truth than you are.”
“No, of course not.” She appeared to relax slightly. “You would not want anyone else to know that you had broken one of your own rules, would you?”
“No,” Marcus said. “Things are going to be awkward enough as it is.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Never mind, Miss Bright. I shall explain it all to you at a more convenient time.”
“Mrs. Bright,” she corrected urgently. “We must maintain the masquerade in private or we might become careless in public.”
“I beg your pardon. Mrs. Bright.”
Marcus braced his hands against the windowsill of his bedchamber and looked out at the stars.
He had never thought to wed again.
He was about to break another of his own rules. Tonight, with the scent and the feel of Iphiginia still so fresh