Mistress - Amanda Quick [83]
A rush of empathy went through Marcus. “I, too, was reared in a small village. I know how it must have been for you in Deepford.”
“It never ended,” Iphiginia whispered. “There were eyes everywhere. No one really approved of Mama or Papa. They were possessed of artistic temperaments, you see.”
“I know.”
“My parents always said that I could ignore the rude, interfering ways of others, but I was not able to do that after they were gone. I had to make a living for myself and my sister. And then Amelia showed up on my doorstep, penniless and alone.”
“So there were three of you to support.”
“Yes. And in order to do so, I had to submit to all the bloody petty little rules of the good folk of Deepford.” Iphiginia looked out the window into the street. “Squire Hampton and his wife were always giving me advice on my conduct. Mrs. Calder, who had the cottage next to my academy, prattled on endlessly about how an instructor of young ladies must be a paragon of propriety. The vicar and his wife were forever hovering, waiting for me to trip and fall in the muck of what they considered improper behavior.”
Marcus walked around the desk, reached out, and pulled her back into his arms. “I understand.”
“There were eyes everywhere. I had to be so careful. All three of us depended on the income from the academy. And the academy’s existence depended on the goodwill of the Hamptons and the vicar and all the other people in Deepford who made the rules by which the rest of us were forced to abide.”
Marcus tightened his arms around her and breathed in the flowery scent of the soap she used to wash her hair. He realized with an odd sense of awareness that in that moment he felt closer to her than he had ever felt to anyone else in his life.
“I know what it is to be trapped by one’s responsibilities,” Marcus said into Iphiginia’s hair. “And by other people’s rules.”
“A year ago, I left Deepford forever. I do not intend to ever go back except very occasionally to visit my sister. I am determined to follow your example, Marcus. If I must have rules, they will be of my own making.”
Marcus moved one hand soothingly down her proud, tense spine. “I comprehend your feelings better than you know, but I cannot allow you to continue to masquerade as my mistress.”
“Why not?”
He sought for a sound, unemotional argument. “It is too dangerous.”
“No, it is not.” Iphiginia lifted her head from his shoulder. “We are both equally concerned with identifying the blackmailer and we have both agreed that we must combine our forces in order to do so. What better way to go about the task than to allow our pretense to stand?”
He studied her pensively. He had known he would have a battle on his hands, but he had not understood just how obstinate his opponent would be until now. “One of the problems which you continue to overlook, Iphiginia, is that the pretense is no longer, strictly speaking, a pretense.”
She flushed. “For heaven’s sake, Marcus, if the thought of making love to me alarms you to such a degree, we shall simply refrain from such activity.”
There was about as much chance of him refraining from making love to Iphiginia as there was of building a ship that could carry him to the stars, Marcus decided.
When faced with a seemingly imponderable problem, he had learned that it was sometimes best to approach it obliquely rather than head-on.
He had some time, he assured himself. How much time, he did not know. But Iphiginia had not been exposed thus far. There was no reason to suppose that anyone else would stumble onto the truth in the near future. The present situation could not be allowed to go on indefinitely, but as far as he could ascertain, no immediate threat loomed.
She still wanted him, Marcus thought. He would hold on to that knowledge, study it, examine it, analyze