"What calculations?"

"Why, the sort I make when I am analysing the perspective and elevations of a fine ruin," she explained. "I would have realized that everything about you would he in, cry equally majestic proportion, if you see what I mean."

"Proportion?" "I fear that I was somewhat misled by my previous experience with classical statues." She frowned. "And even by those in Lartmore's collection, now that I think of it. I,

"Iphiginia — In my own defense, however, I must tell you that in all my studies of ancient statuary, I have never come across an example which was constructed with precisely your proportions."

Marcus interrupted deliberately. "This is undoubtedly one of the most interesting conversations I have ever had. However, it is getting quite late and I am determined that we shall deal with this matter at a later time."

"After you have regained your composure, you mean?"

"That is one way of putting it. Let us go upstairs to our bedchambers, madam. I have some thinking to do." He took her arm and started her toward the door.

"Marcus." She clutched at his sleeve. "Promise me that you will not tell anyone that I am not really your mistress."

"Calm yourself, Iphiginia." Marcus opened the door and ushered her into a darkened hall. "Your little fiction is no longer a pretense, as we had agreed. There is no secret to keep. Tonight you really did become my mistress."

She gave him a sharp glance. "You will not ten anyone that I 'am not really a widow, either, will you?"

"Believe me, I am no more eager for Society to learn the truth than you are."

"No, of course not." She appeared to relax slightly. "You would not want anyone else to know that you had broken one of your own rules, would you?"

"No," Marcus said. "Things are going to be awkward enough as it is."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Never mind, Miss Bright. I shall explain it all to you at a more convenient time."

"Mrs. Bright," she corrected urgently. "We must maintain the masquerade in private or we might become careless in public."

"I beg your pardon. Mrs. Bright."

Marcus braced his hands against the windowsill of his bedchamber and looked out at the stars.

He had never thought to wed again.

He was about to break another of his own rules. Tonight, With the scent and the feel of Iphiginia still so fresh in his mind, he could not seem to think rationally on the subject of marriage.

The only thing that was transparently clear in his mind was the memory of Iphiginia bending over him, terrified that she had somehow murdered him with her virginity. Her words still rang in his head.

I love you, Marcus. She had been hysterical, of course, frantic at the thought that she'd accidentally killed him. That was the only reason she had said such a thing.

The next morning after breakfast, Lady Pettigrew regarded her departing guests with sincere regret. "I do wish the two of you could stay another day or so. We so enjoyed your visit, didn't we, George?"

"Visit was fine," Pettigrew muttered. He was having a hard time disguising his relief that at least two of the unwelcome guests were about to leave.

Lady Pettigrew turned to Iphiginia, who waited on the front steps as Marcus's black phaeton was readied. "Mrs. Bright, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to learn that my Temple of Vesta is indeed a proper sort of ruin.

Thank you so much for taking the time to study and measure it for me'"

"You're quite welcome." Iphiginia was terribly conscious of Marcus standing next to her. His impatience was palpable.

"You do feel that our ruin is quite accurate?" Lady Pettigrew pressed.

"Yes, indeed," Iphiginia murmured. She could feel Marcus's laconic gaze resting on her.

"It is amazingly accurate in every detail," Marcus said. "I toured it myself last night. I vow with very little imagination, one could imagine the presence of a genuine temple virgin."

Lady Pettigrew glowed with pride. "Really?"

"Not bloody likely," Pettigrew muttered. "And you cannot tell me you'd have wanted one to actually put in an appearance, Masters. Whole world knows that you have a rule against getting involved with virgins."

Iphiginia was annoyed. Some rules are made to be broken, so far as I am concerned."

THE FOLLOWING MORNING BARCLAY WAS USHERED INTO THE library of Marcus's town house. He sat down with a weary sigh, fumbled his spectacles into place, and withdrew several sheets of paper from a leather case.

Marcus leaned back in his chair and tried to restrain his seething curiosity while Barclay consulted a page of notes.

"Well?" Marcus said after what seemed an interminable length of time but which, in reality, was scarcely two minutes.

Barclay cleared his throat portetit6usly and peered at Marcus over the gold wire frames of his spectacles. "To begin with, my lord, it appears that there never was a Mr. Bright. At least not one who was ever married to the current Mrs. Bright."

"I've already learned that much." The searing memory of the midnight tryst in the Temple of Vesta flashed through Marcus once again.

For the thousandth time he relived the glorious sensation of sinking himself into Iphiginia's hot, snug body. And for what must have been the thousandth time, he felt himself grow heavy with arousal.

He could almost feel the silken lushness of her inner thighs. The recollection of her exquisitely shaped breasts shimmered tantalizingly in his mind. Her nipples had been so fresh and ripe. They tasted like nothing he had ever known. Her beautifully rounded derriere reminded him of some exquisite, exotic fruit he had once grown in his conservatory. And the scent of her would linger in his mind forever.

Barclay's wiry brows connected in a solid line above his nose. "Begging your pardon, sir, but if you already knew that Mrs. Bright-I mean, Miss Bright is no widow, d'you mind telling me why you sent me haring off to Devon?" I

"I did not learn that particular fact until after you had left Town."

"How the devil did you discover it? I vow, no one here in Town knows."

Marcus worked to keep his answer vague. "I learned the truth about the nonexistent Mr. Bright by using the same scientific methods I employ to discover other sorts of facts."

Barclay looked confused. "You used a telescope or a microscope?"

"I used observation and deductive reasoning." Marcus sat forward and rested his elbows on his desk. He clasped his hands together and regarded Barclay with a combination of foreboding and anticipation. "What else did you learn?"

Barclay consulted his notes. "Miss Bright was born and reared in the village of Deepford. Very small place. Finding it gave me no end of trouble, I assure you."

"Nevertheless," Marcus said, "you did find it."

"Yes, m'lord." And if Barclay had discovered Deepford and the lack of a late Mr. Bright, others could do the same, Marcus thought. If someone else-a blackmailer, perhaps-grew curious enough to investigate her past, he would quickly learn that Iphiginia was no widow and therefore not immune to the rules Society imposed upon spinsters and innocents.

Marcus did not know which annoyed him the most, the fact that Iphiginia was so very vulnerable or her refusal to acknowledge her vulnerability.

"Continue, Barclay." "Her parents, both of whom appear to have been endowed with somewhat unconventional temperaments, were lost at sea when she was barely eighteen years of age. She undertook the raising of her younger sister, Corina-."

Just as I undertook the rearing of Bennet, Marcus thought. "How did she support herself and her sister? Was there a decent income from some inheritance?"

"No. Merely a bit from the sale of her mother's paintings and one or two pattern books that her father had produced."