"No." Amelia's voice was almost inaudible. She swallowed visibly and tried again. "No, indeed not."

Iphiginia gave Adam a direct look. "You may inform Mr. Dodgson that he is not welcome to invest in our venture. We shall give some consideration to the other names on your list, but, personally, I prefer to keep wealthy and influential men out of the pool. That type has a tendency to try to take charge. We do very nicely on our own."

"Very well." Adam glanced at Amelia's stricken face and then he turned back to Iphiginia with a worried expression. "May I ask why Dodgson is to be excluded? He will surely ask for an explanation."

Iphiginia centered one of the pages containing architectural elevations for Bright Place in front of her. "You may inform Mr. Dodgson that the majority of investors involved in the project are widows and spinsters."

"Yes, I have already told him as much," Adam said. "You may also remind Dodgson that many widows and spinsters have been obliged to work as paid companions and governesses. As Mr. Dodgson has a reputation for treating such female employees in a thoroughly unprincipled manner, they do not wish to do business with him."

"I see." Adam's clear eyes narrowed. "I had not realized that the man was a cad. I shall take great pleasure in telling him that the members of the investment pool do not want him in their number."

Amelia sagged slightly with evident relief. The paper she was holding trembled in her fingers.

"That is settled, then." Iphiginia bent over her drawing. "Let us get down to work."

Marcus drew the sleek black phaeton to a halt in front of Iphiginia's town house with a stylish flourish. He tossed the reins to his groom and leaped down onto the pavement.

"I shall return in a few minutes." "Aye, m'lord." The groom steadied the fresh, eager stallions.

The door of the town house opened just as Marcus started up the steps. A soberly dressed, serious-faced man emerged.

"I beg your pardon." The man paused when he saw Marcus. He blinked once or twice in the sunlight. Then his gaze went briefly to the crest etched in gold on the black phaeton. "My lord." He inclined his head politely and then hurried down the steps.

Marcus paused with one booted foot on the top step. He turned to watch the other man hurry off down the street. His jaw tightened.

Damnation, he thought. This was not jealousy he was experiencing. He never allowed himself to feel jealous. He was merely annoyed to find himself tripping over another man on Iphiginia's front steps.

It was a perfectly normal reaction, Marcus assured himself. Any male in his situation would feel irritated in such circumstances. Assuming, of course that there was any other male in Town who found himself in such a unique situation.

Highly unlikely. The odds were that he was the only man in the whole of England who possessed a mistress-in-name-only.

Marcus absently stripped off his York tan driving gloves. The only time he ever wore gloves was when he rode or drove. Otherwise he ignored the fashion. He supposed that it was a perverse streak in his nature that made him refuse to conceal his very unfashionable, work-roughened hands from the eyes of polite society.

"May I help you, sir?" the housekeeper inquired from the open doorway.

Marcus turned slowly around to face her. "Please inform Mrs. Bright that Masters has come for her."

"Yes, m'lord. Please come in. Mrs. Bright is in the library."

Marcus glanced at the closed door to the left of the hall. "On second thought, don't bother to announce me. I'll take care of it."

"But yer Lordships" Marcus ignored the fluttering housekeeper. He opened the library door himself and strode into the room. Iphiginia was seated at her desk, a vision in white muslin and a little white lace ca. Her cousin sat across from her.

Both women glanced up in surprise.

"Masters." Iphiginia's eyes lit briefly with a warm welcome. A second later, her expression altered to one of sudden alarm. She hastily thrust several sheets of foolscap that were lying on her desk beneath a large pattern book. "I beard a carriage in the street, but I did not realize it was yours. I was not expecting you until one."

"Good day, ladies." Marcus shut the door and walked straight to the desk. Unfortunately, he was too late to get a look at the papers Iphiginia had hidden under the pattern book. "I thought it would be a good idea to get an early start so that we will have plenty of time at the museum.

"Yes, of course." Iphiginia looked at Amelia. "Would you mind entertaining his lordship while I go upstairs to fetch my pelisse and bonnet?"

"Not at all," Amelia murmured.

Iphiginia rose and hastened out of the room.

Marcus and Amelia exchanged assessing looks. There was no point being subtle, Marcus decided. The woman already disliked him.

"Who was that gentleman who was leaving just as I arrived?"

"Mr. Manwaring."

"I see. I don't believe I know him."

"I doubt that he moves in your circles, my lord."

Amelia gave him a repressive look. "Would you care for tea while you wait?"

"No, thank you. He seemed in something of a hurry.

"Who?"

"Mr. Manwaring." "Oh, did he?" Amelia picked up a sheaf of papers and straightened them. "Perhaps he had a business appointment."

"He had the look of a secretary or a man of affairs." Amelia hesitated. "No doubt that is because he is a man of affairs. Are you certain you won't have some tea, my lord?"

"No, thank you." Marcus peruse 'd the titles of some of the volumes on the library shelves. Such respected and oft-reprinted works on classical architecture as Desgodetz's Les Edifices Antiques de Rome and Langley's Ancient Architecture Restored & Improved sat side by side with Hope's Household Furniture and Decoration and Halfpenny's The Art of Sound Building. "How long have you lived with your cousin, Miss Farley?"

"Nearly five years." Amelia spoke cautiously, as if weighing every word.

"You lived with her while her husband was alive, then?" Marcus said easily. "Ah, yes. Yes, I did," "I have a vague recollection of having known a Bright family at one time." Marcus paused briefly as though reflecting on a very distant memory. "From the Lake District, I believe."

Amelia scowled. "I doubt if there is any connection. Mrs. Bright's husband had no relatives in the Lake District."

"Then he must have been connected to the Yorkshire Brights," Marcus said smoothly.

"No," Amelia said swiftly. "They were a Devon family."

"I see. I knew some Devon Brights. They lived near Plymouth."

"There is no connection, then," Amelia assured him. "Mr. Bright's people were from the northern part."

" Barnstable, then."

"No, Deepford," Amelia said quickly. "A very tiny village."

"I do not believe I know it."

Amelia looked relieved to hear that. "The Deepford Brights were a very small family," she said in a determinedly chatty manner. "Mr. Bright was the last of his line.

"How unfortunate. Then there are no heirs?" "No."

"Are you enjoying London, Miss Farley?"

"I find it very interesting." Amelia looked almost pathetically grateful for a change of topic. "Quite educational."

"Very different from the country." "Indeed."

"I take it that you and Mrs. Bright were not able to come to Town very often whole Mr. Bright was alive?"

"Mr. Bright was infirm. He did not care to travel." "I see." This was not getting him anywhere, Marcus

decided. He would have to try a different tack. "Perhaps I'D have some tea, after all."

Amelia jumped to her feet. "I'U ask Mrs. Shaw to bring a fresh pot."

Silence descended on the library as Marcus and Amelia waited for the tea to be brought in.

When it arrived, Marcus accepted a cup, picked it up, and paced to the window beside Iphiginia's desk. He studied the sunny street scene.