Mistress by Amanda Quick Page B

Marcus. You and I are old friends. You can confide in me. We both know that you are not the type to become besotted with any female. Did you actually carry Mrs. Bright out of the ballroom in your arms?”
    “She fainted.”
    “You have never gotten involved with anyone who made scenes, Marcus. You are infamous for demanding absolute discretion from your paramours.”
    “Mrs. Bright is not my paramour,” Marcus said coldly. “She is my very good friend. She fainted and I made certain that she got some fresh air so that she could recover. That was all.”
    Hannah sighed. “You’re in a strange mood today.” She reached up to tug her veil down over her face. “Forgive my intrusion. Your connection to Mrs. Bright is entirely your affair.”
    “Yes.”
    “I must be on my way. I told Sands that I was shopping this morning.”
    Marcus gentled his tone. “Try not to worry unduly about the blackmailer, Hannah: I shall look into the matter.”
    “Thank you.” She gave him another sad smile. “I am very fortunate to count you as my friend.” She flicked the reins and drove off down the graveled path.
    Marcus studied the sparkling fountain for a long while and then he turned Zeus’s head and rode back toward the western entrance of the park.
    “But he’s supposed to be dead,” Zoe, Lady Guthrie, wailed. “Why isn’t he?”
    “Hush, Aunt Zoe.” Iphiginia cast a quick glance about at the uncrowded showrooms of Hornby and Smith, Upholsterers. Fortunately, no one appeared to have overheard Zoe’s lament. “I cannot say, but it’s an encouraging development, don’t you think?”
    “It confuses the issue, if you ask me,” Zoe declared.
    Amelia, dressed in one of the dull bombazine gowns she favored, nodded in agreement. “Your aunt is quite right. This whole thing is a great tangle. I do not like it.”
    “Please keep your voices down, both of you. Someone will hear you.” Iphiginia glanced anxiously around the showroom again.
    The proprietors hovered behind a counter at the rear of the shop. Mr. Smith was a broad, plump man garbed in a shocking pink waistcoat and the latest style of pleated trousers. Hornby, gaunt, stooped, and balding, was wearing a paisley printed waistcoat. It contrasted sharply with his purple coat.
    Hornby gazed longingly down the length of the shop at where Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia stood together around a pattern book. He was clearly waiting for an opportunity to pounce. He had been rebuffed twice already, but Iphiginia knew that he was on the verge of making another attempt to offer his assistance.
    The walls of the long room were lined with drawings and designs that purported to offer suggestions for decorating one’s residence in the latest fashion. Samples of the newest styles in chairs and tables were arranged in a row down the center of the room.
    Pattern books containing drawings of lavishly decorated interiors for every room in the home were set out on several tables.
    Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia were making a show of studying a design for a combined library and statuary hall. But the real reason they had all met at Hornby and Smith’s this morning was to discuss the latest developments in the crisis.
    “Obviously the blackmailer was lying about having murdered Masters,” Iphiginia said. “He was attempting to frighten you, Aunt Zoe, so that you would meet his demands.”
    “He succeeded. To the tune of five thousand pounds,” Zoe muttered. “It is really too much. I finallyregain control of my own money after all these years of watching Guthrie fritter it away on horses and women, and what happens? Some nasty blackmailer happens along and tries to take it away from me again.”
    “I understand, Aunt Zoe. We shall identify him and put a stop to this, I promise you,” Iphiginia murmured sympathetically.
    She was very fond of her aunt and had every intention of doing her best to free Zoe from the blackmailer’s clutches.
    At forty-five, Zoe was an energetic, vivacious