Mistress - Amanda Quick [90]
“No. But you may take heart from knowing that when the Season ends, my association with Masters will likely end also.”
“What will you do then?”
“Oversee the construction of Bright Place. Devote myself to my plans for a pattern book of classical designs.” Iphiginia smiled wistfully. “There are any number of interesting projects ahead of me, Amelia. I assure you that I shall not fall into a complete decline when my liaison with Masters is over.”
“I am well aware of how strong you are, Iphiginia. Still, I do not want to see you hurt.”
“It is too late to save me. I am determined to enjoy this grand adventure, Amelia. There will not be another one remotely similar to it, you know. Masters is quite unique.”
Marcus inclined his head aloofly when he saw Hannah and her husband in the theater lobby that evening. Sands glowered at him, nodded stiffly in return, and then pointedly turned away to greet someone else. It was not quite the cut direct, but it was close.
Hannah gave Marcus a nervous smile. There was a look of near-desperation in her eyes.
The glittering throng of theatergoers acted as a hunting box blind. It allowed Marcus to get very close to Hannah for a few vital seconds without arousing Sands’s suspicions.
“It’s finished,” Marcus whispered as he brushed past Hannah. “The blackmailer was Mrs. Wycherley. She is dead.”
Hannah searched his face. “I saw the news in the morning papers and wondered what had happened.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Marcus, you did not—”
“No. I believe one of her victims did the deed.”
“Good heavens.”
“Come, my dear.” Sands took her arm. His eyes narrowed when he saw Marcus gliding on past his wife into the crowd. “I shall fetch you a glass of lemonade.”
Marcus pretended not to notice as Hannah was whisked away through the throng. He regretted the animosity that Sands felt toward him, but in truth he could not blame the man for his wary, watchful attitude. Marcus recognized that he experienced a similar sense of possessiveness toward Iphiginia these days.
He made his way through the lobby and went up the red-carpeted staircase. It was intermission. The corridor behind the first tier of boxes was nearly as crowded as the lobby.
Gentlemen bustled back and forth, fetching refreshments for their ladies. Others ambled out into the hall to exchange gossip with their cronies or visit those in neighboring boxes. A handful of young bucks brushed past Marcus. They were obviously on their way to call upon the elegant courtesans who displayed their wares in some of the most expensive boxes.
Marcus nodded to a few acquaintances as he walked along the curved corridor. When he reached the box on the end, he pushed aside the heavy curtain and stepped inside.
Dorchester, his sharp-eyed wife, and the lovely Juliana turned to stare in astonishment.
“Good evening,” Marcus said. “Enjoying the performance?”
Dorchester’s start of surprise became an expression of great caution. “Masters. Didn’t know you were attending tonight’s performance.”
“My lord. How nice to see you.” Beatrice Dorchester was clearly as stunned by Marcus’s appearance in the box as she would have been by the appearance of a ghost. “Juliana, make your curtsy to his lordship.”
Juliana leaped to her feet as though she had been jolted by a spark from an electricity machine. “My lord.”
“Mrs. Dorchester. Miss Juliana.” Marcus surveyed them both briefly. “You’re both looking very fine this evening.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Mrs. Dorchester was almost painfully relieved by his civility. “Won’t you sit down for a few moments? Pray, take the seat next to Juliana.”
“Thank you. I believe I will.”
He sat down carefully on one of the spindly little chairs. It groaned in protest, but it did not crumple beneath his weight. “I understand Kean is in excellent form tonight.”
“Yes, indeed. The man can certainly act even when he’s in his cups,” Dorchester said with an air of hearty good humor.
“Just as well, as he is as drunk as a wheelbarrow most of the time, from all accounts,” Marcus said.
“Yes, well, you know how it is with these actors,