"He is behaving like a pompous little prig. Who the devil does he think he is?"

"He is your brother and he is terrified that you are about to make a horrendous mistake. Does that sound familiar, Marcus? You were behaving in precisely the same manner just yesterday."

"It is hardly the same thing." "It is precisely the same thing." Sensing that she had won the small battle, at least for the moment, Iphiginia stepped back. "Come, my lord. Let us take a walk in the garden. I find I am in need of fresh air."

Marcus hesitated, clearly torn. He gazed at the open glass doors of the ballroom, then shrugged and took Iphiginia's arm. "Very well."

Iphiginia heaved a silent sigh of relief. Disaster had been averted for the moment, she thought, but sooner or later it would strike. She could feel it looming over her head.

She had hoped that she would have the remainder of the Season in which to savor the love of her life, but it seemed that such was not to be the case. She could not allow Marcus's relationship with his brother to be ruined because of her.

The time had come to think about leaving Town.

"What would you say if I were to suggest that we take an extended tour of America?" Iphiginia said to Amelia the following morning at breakfast.

Amelia looked up from the morning papers. "Are you serious?"

"Very."

"But there are no classical antiquities in America. Everything there is new. I have heard that the people live in little wooden houses of the most primitive sort."

"Rustic, primitive ruins can be quite inspiring, artistically speaking."

"Rubbish." Amelia folded the newspaper, set it aside, and regarded Iphiginia with a perceptive gaze. "Are you thinking of running away from this affair in which you find yourself embroidered?"

"The thought has crossed my mind." "Need I remind you that it is not so simple as all that? We are in the middle of arranging the finances for Bright Place. We cannot deal with the details of such a large project if we are in America. It takes weeks to get a message across the Atlantic."

Iphiginia sighed. "I suppose you are right."

"If You wish to remove yourself from the situation, I suggest we retire to Deepford."

"Never." Iphiginia shuddered at the thought. "The wilds of America would he preferable to the suffocating rules of Deepford. I shall never go back,"

"Then you must think of another place." Amelia reached for the coffeepot. "My this sudden panic? I was under the impression you believed that you were in control of the situation."

"Things are getting out of hand," Iphiginia muttered. "In what way?" Amelia's eyes widened in sudden concern. "Good heavens, you aren't pregnant, are you?" Iphiginia stilled. "No, of course not." At least, I don't think so. Iphiginia crossed her fingers in her lap.

Amelia frowned. "I imagine that Masters, being a man of the world, is cautious in such matters."

"Uh, yes." Iphiginia picked up a spoon and stirred her coffee very rapidity. "Yes, of course."

"Tell me, does he employ those odd French apparatuses fashioned from sheep gut? The ones the Italian countess told us about?"

«Amelia.»

"I have always been rather curious to see one." Amelia looked at her with brief interest. "The countess also mentioned that a woman could use a small sponge soaked in some astringent liquid."

"I really do not want to discuss this at the breakfast table, Amelia."

«Oh.» Amelia shrugged. "Some other time, perhaps." "Perhaps." Right after she had discussed the subject with Marcus, Iphiginia thought grimly. He had never once mentioned the possibility of pregnancy. And she, heaven help her, had never given the matter much thought.

An image of herself holding Marcus's babe in her arms formed in her mind. It was such an intensely powerful vision that she caught her breath with a sense of wonder.

The infant would have miniature versions of his father's fine, strong hands. He would have his father's brilliant, intelligent amber eyes and broad forehead.

He would be beautiful and she would love him as much as she loved his father.

"Iphiginia? Did you hear what I said?"

Iphiginia blinked and brought herself back to reality. "I beg your pardon?"

"I suggested that if you are concerned about your association with Masters, we might consider removing ourselves to Bath. I have always wanted to take the waters."

"I shall consider the notion." Iphiginia set her spoon precisely on the saucer. "Won't you miss being able to work so closely with Mr. Manwaring?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"It strikes me that matters have gone very efficiently thus far with Bright Place primarily because Mr. Manwaring is situated nearby and able to meet with us at a moment's notice. Business will not he nearly so convenient if we remove ourselves to Bath. We shall have to depend upon the post and the occasional visit."

"We managed to work quite nicely with him during our years in Deepford." Amelia picked up the newspaper and frowned over one of the articles. "It's true that having Mr. Manwaring in the vicinity has made things go more smoothly. But I am sure we shall be able to carry on business from Bath."

Iphiginia stifled a small sigh. Perhaps she had been wrong when she had concluded that Amelia and Manwaring were made for each other.

Lord only knew that she was not nearly so clever about such matters as she had once thought. The situation in which she found herself was a perfect example of how muddled affairs of the heart could become.

Until now she had assumed that her problem was that she loved a man who could not bend his own rules far enough to allow himself to admit that he loved her.

But perhaps the situation was even worse than she had thought. Perhaps Marcus had become so chained by his own rules that he could never love any woman again.

"Damn you, Nora," Iphiginia whispered. Amelia looked up. "What was that?"

"Nothing." Iphiginia drummed her fingers on the table. One thing was for certain. She must take care not to become pregnant. It would he the last straw, for then Marcus would surely insist on marriage. And she would have no choice but to wed him for the sake of the babe.

"Do you know something, Amelia? Being a mistress is a bloody complicated business."

"I am told that being a wife is even more difficult," Amelia said.

"Yes, I suppose that is quite true." But if Marcus loved her, Iphiginia thought wistfully, she would take the chance.

The note was waiting for Iphiginia on the white velvet seat of her carriage that afternoon when she returned front a shopping expedition. She was seized with a sense of foreboding when she saw the folded sheet of foolscap.

She waited until the coachman had closed the door before she reached out to pick up the note. She saw with relief that there was no sign of black wax or a phoenix seal.

Slowly she unfolded the note and read the contents.


My Dearest Pandora. If you wish to open the box and discover the truth about the past, present, and future you must come to Number Nineteen Lamb Lane off Pall Mall tonight on the stroke of midnight. Come alone. Tell no one and all will be made clear. If you do not come, or if you fail to come alone, someone you care about will suffer the consequences. Yrs. A Friend


Iphiginia's fingers trembled as she carefully refolded the note.

Your sister. Your aunt.

The words seemed to burn straight through the paper. The threat was not the least bit subtle. Whoever knew that she possessed a sister and that Zoe was her aunt, knew everything, Iphiginia realized.

My Dearest Pandora…

Iphiginia quickly reopened the note and studied the salutation. Pandora was a clear reference to the Greek tale of the lady who had given in to temptation to open the magic box and in so doing had unleashed chaos and woe.

Iphiginia felt a kinship with Pandora at that moment. Whoever had sent the note had apparently noted the similarity.

Iphiginia had given in to the temptation of an affair with Marcus and trouble was now abroad in her world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GAS LIGHTS HAD NOT YET BEEN INSTALLED IN LAMB LANE. The narrow street, lined with small shops, huddled in the shadows. Ale pale glow of a fitful moon provided just enough illumination to reveal that the hackney which carried Iphiginia was the only vehicle in the vicinity.

The coach came to a halt with a clatter of wheels and harness. Iphiginia started — when the coachman rapped on the roof to announce their destination.

"Number Nineteen Lamb Lane", the man called loudly.

Iphiginia gathered her dark cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head. She opened the carriage door and cautiously descended to the pavement.

"Do not forget," she said to the man on the box. "I have paid you to wait for me."

"I'd be waitin'," the coachman muttered in a surly voice. "But there'd be an extra fee if ye bring any of yer clients back 'ere."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ye heard me. If yer thinkin' o' usin' me coach fer a bedchamber tonight, ye'll 'ave to pay me a fair rent. I'll give ye the usual hourly rate I give the other girls."

Iphiginia felt herself turn hot with embarrassment or anger. "What on earth do you think I am about, my good man?"

"Same as what most of the other wenches are about at this time o' night in this part o' Town. Business. Go on, now. Just keep in mind that I'll he wantin' me fair share if ye use me coach."