Marcus glanced disinterestedly at the seal. "What did you expect to find? Only a fool would use his own distinctive seal and wax on a blackmail note. People would recognize them."

Iphiginia glowered. He had a point. She did not want him to think that she hadn't already considered every possibility. Marcus was too bloody arrogant as it was.

"It has occurred to me that the blackmailer may have two sells, one of which he uses exclusively for his nasty notes," she informed him. "He may even have two different colors of wax, one for his regular correspondence and one for blackmail letters."

"So?"

"So I am hoping to either find the second seal, which he no doubt keeps hidden, or to discover traces of the black wax in his wax jack."

"The jack. Of course." Marcus gave her a look of grudging respect. "Highly unlikely that he would have two jacks to melt wax."

"Precisely. Even if he uses two different colors of wax, he would no doubt melt both in the same jack." Iphiginia examined the wax jack on Lartmore's desk. She could see only traces of red wax.

"Well?" Marcus asked blandly.

"I do not see any bits of black wax."

"I believe I indicated earlier that you would not. Lartmore has his idiosyncrasies, but he is no blackmailer."

Iphiginia set down the wax jack. "Nobody likes a person who is always saying 'I told you so, my lord."

His mouth curved slightly. "I'll bear that in mind." "You do that."

Marcus studied her. "Have you got anything else to go on besides the color of the blackmailer's scaling wax and a phoenix design?"

"No." She shot him a disgruntled look. "And even if I did, I'm not at all certain that I would share the information with you, now that I know you do not trust me."

"It is obvious that our association is going to he of a somewhat tricky nature, Mrs. Bright."

"It all seems quite simple to me." "Does it, indeed?"

"Yes, it does," Iphiginia said coldly. "We are bound by a single mutual interest. We both wish to discover the identity of the blackmailer, although in your case I believe you are merely seeking proof that I am guilty."

"On the contrary, Iphiginia. There is something else that binds us together as surely as the search for the blackmailer."

She gave him a wary glance as she tried one of the desk drawers. "What is that?"

"Passion, my dear Mrs. Bright. Pure, unbridled, honest passion. Or have you already forgotten what happened out in the statuary hall?"

She blushed. "I have not forgotten. I will admit it was a very interesting experience."

"Thank you." He inclined his head with mocking grace.

"I have, however, begun to think that it might be best to avoid such experiences in the future."

Marcus's eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "What makes you think you will be able to avoid them?"

"You will find, my lord, that I am a woman of exceedingly strong willpower. I generally accomplish what I set out to accomplish." She put out the candle. "Come, let's he off. There is nothing of interest here."

"I disagree." Marcus's voice was soft with challenge as he straightened away from the desk. He took her arm. "My interest has been well and truly whetted, my dear Mrs. Bright. And as is the case with yourself, I generally accomplish what I set out to accomplish."

JUST TWO-DAYS LATER IPHIGINIA SAT AT THE DESK IN THE LIBRARY and studied a sketch of a design she was creating for the first level of a house. It was one of a series of designs that she was completing for the new construction project that she and Amelia were organizing.

The square of town houses was to he known as Bright Place in honor of her parents. The name of the project was still a secret known only to those in Iphiginia's small circle of relatives and to her trusty man of affairs, Adam Manwaring. Until her masquerade was concluded, Iphiginia did not want the name of the square to become widely known. She feared the rumors. At the very least, she would be hounded to death at parties by potential investors. At worst, questions might he raised which could, in turn, invite inquiries into her past.

The houses in Bright Place would he unlike so many of those being built in English towns these days. She had not set out to re-create any one particular classical design. Rather, Iphiginia wanted to produce a harmonious blend of the best of ancient and modern designs.

She was concerned with both exterior and interior elements. Her efforts took into account such factors as the English temperament and the climate. Quality of the building materials would be excellent. In terms of technical design, she planned to incorporate some of the things that she had learned from her perusal of Marcus's theories on budding foundations.

She would not he a slave to the classic tradition the way her father had been, she vowed. But neither would she make a mockery of it by allowing the extremely daring artistic impulses that she had inherited from her mother to run wild.

The trick was to create a graceful synthesis. She called upon the skills her father had taught her, of course: perspective, architectural detail, and a knowledge of classical elements. But she also utilized some of the bold style her mother had bequeathed to her.

The secret of her success with Morning Rose Square, she knew, was that she had never allowed herself to forget that everything she created had to work against an English landscape. She was determined not to make the mistake so many architects made. She would not try to impose buildings designed for the hot, dry climates of Greece and Rome onto the English countryside. Potential purchasers needed homes that could withstand the damp weather and the chill of cold winters.

She eyed her newest design with a critical eye. All of her rooms had high ceilings and stately, well-proportioned windows. Those elements were a legacy from her father. He had been much enamored of the Palladian tradition.

Her new design incorporated classical features as well as graceful staircases and a light, airy feeling which owed nothing to the weighty antique tradition. Iphiginia's artistic instincts told her that the mixture of effects blended well together.

She put down her pen and glanced out the window into the street.

Usually when she concentrated on her designs her thoughts became clear and organized. She often resorted to sketching a library or a drawing room whenever she needed to think about some other, unrelated matter. But this morning the technique was not working.

Her thoughts were in a jumble. It had been the same yesterday morning. In fact, it irritated her to realize that she had been suffering from this inability to concentrate properly since Marcus had stridden into the Fenwicks' ballroom and carried her off into the night.

She propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her palm. She had dealt with a great many problems in her life, from those related to raising Corina to the difficulties she and Amelia had encountered on their journeys. But she had never been obliged to deal with anyone quite like Marcus.

She still burned deep inside whenever she recalled the intimate way he had touched her in Lartmore's hall of erotic statuary. Iphiginia wondered if Marcus thought about that encounter at all or if it was such a normal event for him that he had already forgotten about it.

He certainly had not mentioned it during the past two days. Indeed, he had been a paragon of gentlemanly behavior since he had reduced her to that quivering, boneless creature who had gone limp in his arms.

Perhaps he'd had second thoughts about making love to a woman he did not trust.

She scowled at a vegetable seller's cart that was running down the street. She had absolutely no intention of allowing Marcus to touch her in that shatteringly intimate manner ever again.