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  “Three years,” Iphiginia said. “He’s an excellent man of affairs. Why do you ask?”

  Marcus shrugged. “No particular reason. It just occurred to me that one’s man of affairs knows a great deal about one’s personal life.”

  Iphiginia scowled. “I assure you, Mr. Manwaring is entirely trustworthy. Surely you do not suspect him of being involved in this blackmail business?”

  “Not at the moment. I was merely thinking aloud.” Marcus paused. “Is it conceivable that, having been in your employ this long, your Mr. Manwaring could have learned enough about your aunt to blackmail her?”

  “Absolutely not,” Amelia said with unexpected fierceness. “Mr. Manwaring is a gentleman, sir. His character is quite above reproach. He would never do such a thing.”

  “Amelia is correct.” Iphiginia’s fine brows snapped together in a withering frown. “Mr. Manwaring is a decent, entirely honorable man.”

  Marcus could see immediately that there was no point in explaining that some men wore a facade of honor in order to hide a lack of integrity.

  “Very well, he is your man of affairs,” Marcus said gently. “I shall accept your opinion of him.”

  “I should think so,” Iphiginia muttered.

  “In any event,” Marcus continued, thinking it through carefully, “even if he were the one blackmailing Lady Guthrie, I do not see how he could possibly know my friend’s closest secret.”

  “Of course not.” Iphiginia suddenly smiled a little too sweetly. “My lord, does this newfound suspicion of Mr. Manwaring mean that you are prepared to consider someone other than myself as the villain?”

  “I suppose it’s possible that you staged the entire play tonight for the express purpose of causing me to believe that you are innocent, but I think it unlikely.”

  Iphiginia’s smile vanished. “Thank you very much, sir. Does it occur to you, my lord, that I could interpret the entire chain of events in such a manner that you would appear to be guilty?”

  That irritated him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What is so ridiculous about it?” she challenged. “You could very easily be the blackmailer.”

  She was serious. Marcus was stunned.

  He knew full well that there had been a great deal of gossip about him over the years. Rumors concerning the duel and the death of Lynton Spalding were legion. But no one had ever voiced such speculations to his face. No one dared.

  “You are either very foolish or very bold, Iphiginia. In any event, you go too far.”

  “Or not far enough,” she retorted, undaunted.

  Amelia cast her an uneasy glance. “Really, Iphiginia, I do not think this will get us anywhere.”

  “On the contrary.” Iphiginia kept her stern gaze fixed on Marcus. “I wish to make a point. Pray consider the facts. We are told that you are quite ruthless, my lord, and I know that you are extremely intelligent. You are certainly clever enough to have learned all sorts of secrets over the years.”

  “Enough, Iphiginia,” he warned very softly.

  She acted as though she had not heard him. “You could have sent the blackmail notes. You could even have been the person in the cloak who locked me inside the grotto tonight.”

  Marcus was coldly furious. “That is a damned insult, madam.”

  “You have insulted me just as unbearably during the past few days.”

  “Your-actions have been suspicious from the beginning. Parading about London as my mistress. Sneaking into gentlemen’s studies to peruse the contents of their desks. Touring Lartmore’s statuary hall. Dashing off to a cemetery at midnight with five thousand pounds that have since disappeared.”

  “Please,” Amelia whispered. “This will accomplish nothing.”

  “Oh, yes it will,” Iphiginia said. “It will prove to his lordship that his actions can be made to look every bit as suspicious as my own.”

  Marcus scowled. “Damn it, I am not the blackmailer.”

  “I never thought you were,” Iphiginia said airily. “I was merely making a point.”

  Marcus moved very deliberately away from the mantel. He crossed the room to where Iphiginia sat on the Grecian sofa and halted directly in front of her. “Men have died making points such as yours.”

  “Perhaps, but I do not believe they have died by your hand, sir. You are much too intelligent to go about issuing challenges over such trivial matters.”

  “You think a man’s honor is a trivial matter?”

  “No, of course not. And neither is a woman’s honor. But one cannot prove one’s honor on a dueling field, can one? The truth is not established by lodging a bullet in someone else.”

  Marcus leaned over her, one hand on the arm of the sofa, the other braced on the curved back. She was trapped in the corner. “Be that as it may, a well-lodged bullet has a remarkably quieting effect on gossip.”

  “I doubt it. It merely drives it underground. But who gives a fig about gossip? You and I have the luxury of being virtually immune to gossip, do we not, my lord?”

  “There are limits to everything, Iphiginia, and you have reached the limits of my indulgence. A mistress-in-name-only can tread only so far and no farther.”

  “How would you know, sir? You have already admitted that you have never had a mistress-in-name-only before.”

  Amelia held up a hand. “I think it would be an excellent notion to put an end to this nonsense before your quarrel grows any more ludicrous.”

  Marcus glanced at her. “You’re quite right, Miss Farley. Thank you for injecting a note of reason into the situation.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Marcus straightened and started to prowl the room. “Now, then, let us get back to more important matters. Another interesting possibility has just struck me.”

  Iphiginia sat forward and fluffed her skirts in the manner of a small cat grooming herself after she had been rudely disturbed. “What is that, sir?”

  “I have been thinking about the statement that started our argument.”

  “Your observation that one’s man of affairs is often in a position to gain a great deal of private information?” Iphiginia gave him a curious look. “What of it?”

  “It occurs to me that such men are not the only ones who have access to extremely personal information. There are other people stationed in many of the best households who come to know things that are very private.”

  Amelia studied him intently. “You refer to servants? I do not believe this blackmail is the work of a servant.”

  “I agree,” Iphiginia said quickly. “Whoever is behind this feels at home in Society. Do not forget he was aware of your personal plans for a month in the country, sir.”

  “And that business with the phoenix seal indicates some familiarity with classical subjects,” Amelia added. “A servant would be unlikely to make such associations.”

  “The notes are written with a fine, well-trained hand,” Iphiginia put in. “We all agreed in the beginning that the writing is well formed and the language of the notes indicated an educated intellect.”

  Marcus looked at her. “A governess or a companion would have such a background.”

  Iphiginia and Amelia stared at him with startled expressions.

  “Good lord,” Amelia whispered. “He’s right, Iphiginia. Governesses and companions occupy a place somewhere between the servants’ quarters and the drawing room. They are as well educated as their employers and yet they remain as unnoticed as the servants in most households.”

  Iphiginia leaped upon the possibilities. “And while she would not go to balls and soirees, a governess or companion would have access to the most intimate details of the lives of her employers. She would hear things and see things.”

  Marcus frowned. “My hypothesis would mean that we are searching for a woman who would know the most intimate secrets of at least two households.”

  “Someone who worked in Aunt Zoe’s household at one time and then in your friend’s household.” Iphiginia loo
ked at Marcus. “How old is your friend’s secret, my lord?”

  Marcus hesitated, debating how much he could divulge without betraying Hannah’s confidence. “The events for which she is being blackmailed occurred seven years ago. I believe you mentioned that your aunt’s secret dates back eighteen years?”

  “Yes.” Iphiginia moved one hand back and forth along the scrolled arm of the sofa. “It is an interesting theory, my lord, but I doubt that we shall discover that the same woman worked in both households.”

  “Still, it’s worth looking into,” Marcus said. “My hypothesis is a good deal more sound than your own. That business of rummaging through gentlemen’s desks in search of a black wax and seal never did make much sense to me.”

  Iphiginia glared at him. “I disagree, sir. My theory is infinitely more reasonable and logical than yours. And unlike yours, it has some supporting evidence. After all, we have established that there are a handful of men who are connected to both your circle and Guthrie’s. Your notion, on the other hand, is pure conjecture.”

  “It may be unproven,” Marcus said, “but it has a great deal more to recommend it than yours does.”

  “That’s not true. Furthermore, I would like to point out—”

  Amelia held up a hand for silence. “Once again, may I request that we avoid these useless squabbles? They do not do us any good.”

  Marcus smiled coolly. “Miss Farley, you are the voice of common sense. Iphiginia is not thinking clearly tonight. Only to be expected, considering what she has been through.”

  “I resent that,” Iphiginia said. “My thinking is every bit as clear as your own, Masters.”

  “You must admit that our areas of expertise differ somewhat,” Marcus said politely. “Yours is in the field of classical antiquities, a subject far removed from what we are dealing with here. My own interests, on the other hand, have always been of a scientific and technical nature. In the pursuit of those interests I have obviously had occasion to develop the skills of reason and logic more fully than you have.”

  Iphiginia bounced up off the sofa. “Of all the arrogant, condescending, presumptuous things to say.”

  “Please,” Amelia begged. “If the two of you do not stop this idiotic quarreling, we shall never get anywhere.”

  “I could not be more in agreement,” Marcus said smoothly. “We shall proceed in a logical fashion. As I said, I’ll have Barclay make inquiries into the ownership of that sepulchral grotto in Reeding Cemetery as soon as he returns to Town. In the meantime, you will ask your aunt if she had a companion in her employ several years ago who might have suspected her secret. I shall ask my friend the same question.”

  “Hmm,” Iphiginia muttered.

  Marcus ignored her fulminating gaze. “We shall see what we learn from that avenue of inquiry. In the meantime, I think it would be best to remove you from London for a few days, madam.”

  “Certainly not.” Iphiginia was outraged. “Why would I wish to leave London? I have far too much to do here.”

  Marcus shook his head. “The blackmailer is obviously becoming more dangerous. His actions tonight indicate that he is not above harming you.”

  “He didn’t harm me. He merely gave me something of a scare.”

  “His lordship is right.” Amelia clasped her hands together in her lap. “His note says quite clearly that locking you in the grotto was a warning, Iphiginia. Who knows what he will do next?”

  “Precisely,” Marcus said. “I think it would be best for me to keep a close eye on Iphiginia until Barclay has had an opportunity to make a few inquiries.”

  “Rubbish,” Iphiginia said.

  Amelia ignored her. She gazed intently at Marcus. “And just how do you propose to do that, my lord?”

  Marcus ran through the very short list of possibilities in his head. “I suppose Iphiginia could return to her home in the country for a while.”

  “Absolutely not,” Iphiginia said very loudly. “Utterly impossible. I will not go home and that is final.”

  Marcus made a private note of her vehemence on the subject. It would be interesting to see what Barclay learned in Devon. “Then in that case, I suggest that we take Lady Pettigrew up on her invitation to spend a few days at her country house in Hampshire this week.”

  Iphiginia considered that. “It would give me an opportunity to search Pettigrew’s library.”

  Marcus stifled an oath. “I will handle that matter. You will examine Lady Pettigrew’s Temple of Vesta, as you promised to do.”

  “Are you certain that you will know how to search a man’s library properly?” Iphiginia asked dubiously.

  “I think I can manage the task. I watched you search Lartmore’s library, did I not? How can I fail after watching an expert such as yourself?”

  Iphiginia pursed her lips. “Very well, my lord. We shall go to Hampshire, as planned.”

  Marcus exhaled with a sense of relief. At least Iphiginia would be safe under his careful eye while they were in Hampshire. By the time they got back to London, Barclay would have returned. Marcus intended to set him to investigating the ownership of Mrs. Eaton’s monument as soon as possible.

  Something told him that there was a connection between the funeral grotto and the blackmailer. He could almost feel it. He intended to explore the problem until he had the answers he wanted.

  The blackmailer had become more than a nuisance. Tonight he had gone too far. He had threatened Iphiginia.

  Marcus would not stop until he had caught him.

  Three days later, Marcus strolled over to one of the shelves in Pettigrew’s library and studied the titles with keen interest. “Cicero, Virgil, Newton. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. I commend you on your excellent and extremely varied collection, Pettigrew. I had not realized that you were interested in so many different subjects.”

  Pettigrew, a dour man whose gloomy, withdrawn temperament was the exact opposite of his lady’s, scowled even more ferociously than he usually did. “A man’s got to read something besides the newspapers if he doesn’t want his mind to rot.”

  “Well said.” Marcus took down a recent volume of the Philosophical Transactions and leafed through to the table of contents. “Would you mind if I borrowed this?”

  “Help yourself.” Pettigrew poured claret into a glass. “Mind if I ask you how long you intend to stay with us, sir?”

  Marcus pretended to ignore Pettigrew’s lack of hospitality. It had become evident immediately upon arrival yesterday that the house party was entirely Lady Pettigrew’s notion. Her unsociable husband had no interest in entertaining visitors.

  “I believe we shall be here for only a few days, no more. Your wife has requested Mrs. Bright’s opinion on your Temple of Vesta. It will no doubt require my friend some time to make all the measurements and compare them with those of the original ruin that she saw in Italy.”

  “Perfectly good Temple of Vesta.” Pettigrew tossed the claret down his throat. “Don’t see why we need Mrs. Bright’s opinion.” He slid a quick sidelong glance at Marcus. “No offense, sir. I realize that she’s a very close friend of yours.”

  “Yes. She is.” Marcus idly examined the table of contents of the copy of the Philosophical Transactions. The volume was over a year old. He spotted an article on astronomical observations that caught his interest.

  He had, of course, read this issue of the Transactions months earlier when he had received his own copy. He always perused the latest issue of the Society’s papers as soon as they appeared. But nine months ago he had glanced only cursorily at the paper dealing with astronomy. At that time he had confined his inquiries into the properties of light and reflective surfaces and had not yet taken an interest in the stars.

  “Known her a long time?”

  “Who? Mrs. Bright?” Marcus looked up. “As it happens, I have not known her nearly long enough.”

  “I see. Rather an unusual female.”

  “Yes. Very. She and I have discovered that we have
a great deal in common.”

  Pettigrew furrowed his brow in some confusion. “You’re interested in antiquities and such?”

  “I am these days.” Marcus closed the Transactions. “By the bye, my valet neglected to pack my writing box, for some inane reason. Would it be a great imposition for me to borrow some paper? I have a few letters to write.”

  “What? Oh, no. No, not at all.” Pettigrew waved a hand at his cluttered desktop. “Help yourself.”

  “I’ll need to borrow your wax jack, too. I trust you don’t mind?”

  “Over there near the globe.”

  “Very kind of you.”

  “You may as well use my desk to write your bloody letters.” Pettigrew heaved a glum sigh. “God knows I won’t have much of a chance to use it while this crowd is in residence. Don’t know why my wife has to have so many people down here from London during the Season. I’ve told her that if she wants to socialize, she’s free to do it at our house in Town.”

  “She has a right to be proud of this house. It’s not every estate that can boast a Temple of Vesta.”

  “Be different if one could boast of a few virgins to go with it,” Pettigrew said. “But these days they’re as rare as unicorns and phoenixes, ain’t they?”

  Marcus studied the rolling lawn outside the library window. “Phoenixes?”

  “You know, mythological bird that’s supposed to be reborn from its own ashes.”

  “I lost interest in mythological creatures at about the same time I lost interest in virgins,” Marcus said.

  “What a lovely evening.” Iphiginia gazed up at the night sky.

  She had dragged Marcus out onto the terrace on the pretext of admiring the tranquil summer evening before they retired. In truth, she intended to quiz him on what he had learned in Pettigrew’s library this afternoon. She had been eager to speak to him in private all day, but there had been no opportunity to do so.

  Now that she had him to herself out here under the stars, she was no longer in such a rush to question him about his discoveries. She realized that all she really yearned to do was share a few quiet, private moments with him.