Mistress - Amanda Quick [82]
Marcus groaned. Incredible as it seemed, Iphiginia did not blame him for his clumsy lovemaking. She insisted on taking full responsibility for the debacle in the Temple of Vesta.
Perhaps another man would have been amused by her naïveté. Marcus was both awed and deeply moved by it.
“Listen to me, Iphiginia. You are a very well educated woman and I will allow that you have no doubt studied a great many classical statues of nude men, but you do not know all there is to know of such calculations.”
“But I have studied the original statues, my lord. Not just copies.”
He framed her face between his palms and forced her to meet his eyes. “It will be much more pleasurable the next time, Iphiginia. I swear it.”
She fixed him with a sober, searching gaze. “Do you really think so?”
“You must trust me.” He brushed his mouth lightly across hers.
“I do, Marcus. Oh, I do trust you.” She stood on tiptoe, threw her arms around him, and kissed him with the same joyful enthusiasm she had demonstrated since the start of their relationship.
Her mouth was soft and warm and exciting beneath Marcus’s. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. He could feel the delightful curves of her thighs pressing against his legs. No other woman had ever felt so good in his arms.
More important, it was obvious that her passion for him still sparkled within her, a crystal prism that glowed with warmth and light. He had not shattered it the other night.
Relief surged through him. She still wanted him. His clumsy lovemaking had not dampened her sweet ardor or lessened her desire for his touch. Everything was going to be all right.
He raised his head reluctantly after a moment and looked down at her. “Then that settles the matter, does it not?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I am not opposed to making another attempt at lovemaking, if you truly believe it will work.”
“It will.” Silently he vowed to make it perfect for her.
“Does this mean that you will allow our liaison to continue?” she asked with a hopeful look.
“It means,” he said deliberately, “that we will be married as soon as possible.”
She stiffened. “I told you, it is not possible.”
“And I told you that anything is possible.”
Her mouth tightened into a stubborn line. “Marcus, will you give me an honest answer to a question I must ask you?”
“I will never lie to you, Iphiginia.”
Her mouth curved wistfully. “Another one of your rules?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then, I shall ask my question. Would you be standing here today insisting that I marry you if you had discovered the other night that I actually was a widow with some experience of the marital embrace?”
He told himself he ought to have seen that trap early on, but he had not. The snare caught him unawares and he stumbled badly. “Devil take it, Iphiginia, that is completely irrelevant.”
“No, Marcus, it’s very relevant.”
He saw the hidden pit that had opened beneath his feet. He made a desperate bid to recover his footing. “Who knows what would have happened had you been who you claimed to be? I have never met anyone like you, Iphiginia. I do not know how I would have reacted.”
“If you had found me to be exactly who and what I purported to be, you would have been content to let me continue on as your mistress. Is that not so?”
“Damn it, Iphiginia, how can I answer that? I am a man of science. I deal in facts, not fancies or conjecture or what-might-have-beens.”
“Please, answer me, Marcus. It’s very important.”
“The answer to your purely conjectural question is that I do not know the answer.”
“Well, I do,” she said gently. “And the answer is no. Therefore my answer to you now must also be no.”
“Bloody hell, woman, don’t you comprehend the situation? You have no choice.”
“If I were eighteen, unable to support myself, and concerned with the opinion of others, that might be true. But I am twenty-seven, financially independent, and I do not give a fig for Society’s rules.”
“Iphiginia—”
She hugged herself. “I spent too many