Mistress - Amanda Quick [81]
“I am well aware that you do not think much of my rules, but I have lived by them for a long while and I do not violate them for the sake of convenience.”
“Marcus, listen to me. I have a deep and abiding respect for your rules and the sense of honor that inspires them. But in this instance, you did not violate your rules.”
“No? I seem to recall quite clearly that I was the man who lay between your thighs two nights ago. Am I mistaken?”
Iphiginia’s eyes widened in shock. The bright flags in her cheeks turned a darker shade of red. “There is no excuse for vulgarity,” she said quite primly.
“You sound like a bloody schoolmistress.”
“I am a bloody schoolmistress. Or, rather, I was at one time. I repeat, my lord, you did not violate your precious rules; I did. That makes all the difference, don’t you see?”
“No,” Marcus said.
“You’re not responsible for what happened. I am.”
“Don’t try to twist the logic of this situation. It is perfectly straightforward.”
“But Marcus, you cannot marry me and you know it.”
“Why not?”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Because in the eyes of Society I’m the mistress of the most notorious man in London, namely you, my lord.”
“So?”
“We both know that a man in your position does not marry his mistress.”
Marcus flattened his hands on the surface of the desk and met Iphiginia eye to eye. “I make my own rules. Never forget that.”
She blinked, straightened, and took a hasty step back. “But surely in a matter such as this—”
“In everything, Iphiginia.”
“I am not overly fond of rules, sir.”
“That has become quite obvious.”
She took another step back and came up against her chair. “I was obliged to live by the rules of others for too many years. I find rules very depressing to the spirits. I thought that you, of all people, would comprehend my desire to be free.”
“Free? Christ, Iphiginia, none of us is ever truly free. We all live by a set of rules, whether it be our own or someone else’s. If you haven’t reasoned that out for yourself yet, you are far more naive than you pretend to be.”
Her chin came up proudly. “Very well, then. If I must have a set of rules, I shall do as you do, sir. I shall make up my own.”
“And, pray, just what do your rules have to say about the situation in which you presently find yourself?”
“They say that I am not obliged to marry any man. To be perfectly frank, sir, I do not see any great benefit to the married state for a female. Indeed, I do not even see the appeal of the marital embrace. From what I could deduce the other night, it is not nearly as thrilling as the poets would have one believe.”
Marcus felt as though he had taken a pugilist’s blow in his gut. He felt himself turn a dull red, “I told you, that was my fault. I was clumsy and hasty.”
“Oh, Marcus.” The fire of battle vanished from Iphiginia’s eyes. She rushed around the edge of the desk. “You mustn’t blame yourself for that, too. It was not your fault. It was mine.”
“Yours?” Marcus stared at her uncomprehendingly as she flew toward him. It struck him belatedly that she was going to throw herself into his arms.
“Yes, of course. What happened the other night was of my instigation. I misled you. I knew all about your silly rule against getting involved with inexperienced females, but I wanted you to make love to me. I encouraged you, sir. Indeed, I practically begged you to do so.”
“Iphiginia—”
Iphiginia landed against him with a soft thud. He caught hold of her and held her close before she could change her mind.
“I seduced you, sir,” she whispered into his coat.
“No, you did not. I seduced you. I wanted to make love to you.” His voice roughened. “God help me, even if I had known the truth, I do not think that I could have stopped myself. My only regret was that you did not enjoy my lovemaking.” “But I did.” Her words were muffled against his shoulder. “At least, I did up until the very last bit. As I told you that