"No. Oh, no." "That explains why you are so very snug." He tested her gently with his finger. "Very tight, indeed. You are going to fit me more closely than a new pair of breeches."

Iphiginia knew that if he were not supporting her, bracing her against the statue, she would have crumpled to the floor as though she were made of melted wax.

"Dear heaven," she whispered. She had never felt so wicked, so sensually abandoned in her life. Clearly she was at last on the verge of surrendering to the ungoverned artistic sensibilities everyone had always assumed that she had inherited from her parents.

During her years in Deepford a great many people had warned her that such inclinations were in the blood and that she must he constantly on guard against them. But until Marcus had come into her life she had been disappointed to discover that she'd had no such interesting inclinations to guard against.

"I am glad that you have not had a string of lovers since your husband's death." Marcus took her earlobe between his teeth. "I have no use for inexperienced females, but I confess to a strong preference for those who have been somewhat discriminating in their choice of lovers."

"I have been extremely discriminating, sir." "Something tells me that the late Mr. Bright was not very demanding."

"Uh, no." She lost her breath entirely for an instant as he began to stroke her more quickly. "No, he was not. He was a… a most considerate gentleman." Whatever that meant.

"What a waste." Marcus eased his finger back inside her and probed deliberately. "I assure you I shad not make the same mistake."

Iphiginia cried out. Her whole body seemed to clench around Marcus's hand. She clung to him for dear life and pushed her face deeper into his shoulder as the most inexplicable sensation she had ever known soared through her.

"Bloody hell," Marcus breathed as she quivered in his arms. "So this is how it feels to touch starlight."

Iphiginia could no longer speak. She fought for breath as she went limp.

Marcus's soft laugh held a husky note of masculine satisfaction. He removed his hand slowly from between her legs, steadied her carefully, and began to unfasten his breeches.

Iphiginia barely realized what he was about. She was too busy marveling at the delicious tremors of release that were already swiftly receding into the distance.

"That was really quite astonishing, sir." "Yes. Quite remarkable. And it will be even more interesting to he inside you when it happens the next time."

"Inside me?" Iphiginia tried to focus on what he was saying.

"Do not concern yourself, madam. I brought along a condom. French, of course. They do make the best ones, do they not? It is designed to my precise specifications. After some study of the subject, I elected to modify the original design somewhat in order to-"

"For heavens' sake, sir." Marcus winced. "Forgive me. This is neither the time nor the place for such technical discussions, is it? Sometimes my interest in mechanical and scientific matters gets the better of me. Rest assured that I shall take very good care of you.

Iphiginia was speechless. She had beard of condoms. A charming countess in Italy had once described them to her and Amelia over tea. They were fashioned of sheep gut and secured with little red strings.

A small sound came from the shadowed doorway. It was followed by a woman's giggle. A man hushed her and then chuckled drunkenly.

"Damn it to hell." Marcus hastily refastened his breeches.

"What is it?"

"We are no longer alone." Marcus lowered her skirts and shook them out for her.

"Someone is here? In this chamber?"

"Yes. Are you A right?" He glanced down at her with some concern.

"Yes, of course." Iphiginia felt strangely languid, almost uncaring about the possibility of being discovered in such an embarrassing position.

Reality and the memory of why she had initially encouraged Lord Lartmore to lead her into the statuary hall returned in a rush. She hesitated and glanced toward the far end of the shadowed room.

"There is no need to hide." Marcus sounded amused. "You look quite untouched." He drew his finger along the curve of her hare shoulder and smiled. "Not at all as though you had only recently been imitating one of these statues."

"But I came in here for a reason."

Marcus's expression darkened. "Did you?"

"Yes. I cannot miss the opportunity. I may not get another. This way, sir. Hurry."

More drunken laughter sounded from just inside the doorway. The newcomers had paused to examine the first of the erotic statues.

"What the devil are you up to, Iphiginia?"

"There is another door at the end of the ball. Lartmore told me that it opens directly onto his library."

"Why in the name of the devil do you-" Realization appeared to dawn on him. "No. Absolutely not. We are not going to pursue your ridiculous plans tonight."

"I may never get another chance."

"Damn it, Iphiginia, this is nonsense. Let's get out of here and find a quiet place where we can finish what we started."

She blushed and glanced at him in surprise. "Do you mean there is more?"

Marcus grimaced. "That is not amusing, madam. I am suffering mightily."

"You appear to be quite fit, sir. Come, this way." Iphiginia grabbed his hand and started through the maze of statuary.

Marcus allowed himself to be dragged toward the rear of the statuary hall. "I am going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Don't he silly." She found the door just as the other couple burst into another bout of raucous laughter and then fell silent.

"Here we are," Iphiginia whispered. She twisted the doorknob. It turned readily enough.

Lartmore's small library no more than a study was shrouded in darkness. There was just enough moonlight to see the candle on his desk.

A man's hoarse groan echoed down the length of the shadowed hall. "I say, just like the bloody statue, by God. Just like the statue."

"Damnation," Marcus muttered. "We cannot go back that way."

He pushed Iphiginia into the library, followed her inside' and quickly closed the door, cutting off the woman's loud moan.

"It's all right, Marcus. They do not know we are here."

He swung around. "Very well, madam. You have got us in here. Now what?"

"I merely want to take a quick look at Lartmore's desk." Iphiginia lit the candle and held it aloft.

Marcus's face was grim. "Are you searching for black wax and a phoenix seal, Iphiginia, or merely looking for something of value to filch?"

She stared at him, stung by the accusation. "You do not think very highly of me, do you, sir?"

"You must admit this situation appears somewhat questionable."

"And you, of course, would immediately question it." "Given the, ah, unusual nature of our association, I

think I have a right to scrutinize your actions." "You are willing to make love to me, but you do not trust me, is that it?"

"Iphiginia-" "Never mind, my lord." Iphiginia lifted her chin proudly. "I quite understand. Put your mind at case; I am not here to steal the silver. I am pursuing my inquiries."

"I told you that Lartmore is highly unlikely to he the blackmailer."

"Yes, I know you expressed your opinion, sir, but I have my own opinions." Iphiginia surveyed the desk, searching for the wax jack. She spotted it at once.

"I see." Marcus propped himself on the corner of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. He watched intently as she. studied the design of the seal and the remains of once-molten red wax. "Do you always ignore the opinions of others?"

"I was forced to listen to the opinions of others for years, my lord. I was also obliged to submit to them. But I am an independent woman now."

"An independent woman, eh?" "Yes. Damnation. There is some sort of flower engraved on this seal, not a phoenix.