Iphiginia stared at him in surprise. "Whatever do you mean? Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "You think that the villain assumed Lord Sands and I would believe the worst?"
"Yes." "Well, he was quite mistaken, was he not?" "It was an assumption that most people would make," Marcus said softly.
"Nonsense. Only those who do not comprehend connections based on mutual respect, intellectual affinity, and true love would he so idiotic."
"This may come as a surprise to you my dear, but I would venture to guess that ninety-nine percent of the populace in general, and one hundred percent of the ton in particular, fails to consider that such connections between men and women are even remotely possible."
"Is that so?" Iphiginia's gaze was startlingly direct. "How would you have reacted if you had walked into that chamber tonight and discovered me attempting to conceal the fact that a man was hiding behind the stage door?"
"I would have been bloody furious." "But would you have believed me if I had told you that I was innocent?"
Marcus thought about it. It came as something of a shock to realize that he would no doubt believe even the wildest explanation rather than face the possibility that Iphiginia had betrayed him. "Yes."
Iphiginia smiled with smug satisfaction. "I knew it. You do trust me, sir, do you not?"
"Yes, but I still would have been bloody furious. Pray, do not take a notion to put the matter to the test."
"I still do not understand what the villain hoped to achieve by throwing us all together tonight. Any way you look at it, he was putting his future income at risk."
Marcus was silent for a moment while he examined the conclusion he had reached earlier. "Perhaps we are now dealing with someone who gets a thrill out of malicious mischief. Whoever it is may not need the money he could make by blackmailing Mrs. Wycherley's victims."
"But he may enjoy exposing their secrets?"
"It's possible. Society breeds too many dangerously bored people, any number of which might find it titillating to use the information from Mrs. Wycherley's files to wreak havoc in the ton."
"Good heavens. What a terrible notion."
"Not a pleasant one, I'll grant you that." Marcus had no intention of explaining the rest of his hypothesis.
What really worried him was that he had sensed a personal element about the mischief that had been produced tonight. It was almost as though someone had wanted vengeance.
Iphiginia's eyes widened suddenly. "Aunt Zoe's secret may be at risk again. This villain may choose to expose her past in order to create a furor."
"It's possible," Marcus agreed. "I must warn her."
"There is nothing we can do now to stop the revelations, if that is what the villain intends."
"Yes, I know, but poor Aunt Zoe. She will be devastated if her secret is revealed."
"We shall see if we can locate her tonight and tell her what has happened. But it's entirely possible the villain will take no further action for a whole," Marcus said. "He may wait to see if he achieved the desired effect from tonight's little scene before he goes to the trouble of planning another such elaborate production."
"Tonight's work did take planning, did it not?"
"A considerable amount of it, I should think. Iphiginia, I'm beginning to have a few doubts about our An hour and a half later, shortly before two-thirty in the morning, Marcus walked into his laboratory, poured himself a glass of brandy, and settled into the chair behind his worktable.
He surveyed the chamber by the light of the single lamp that he had lit. He needed to think and he always. did his best thinking in this room.
He propped his boots on the table, leaned back, and took a sip of the brandy. It was his habit to let his thoughts drift aimlessly for a few minutes before he began to concentrate. The technique helped him to focus his attention.
He reflected briefly on the conversation in the Crandais' garden an hour ago. He knew Iphiginia was anxious about her aunt's situation, but Otis had seemed quietly satisfied with events. Marcus thought he understood. After eighteen years of being forced to play the role of a doting friend, Otis would now he able to claim his daughter.
By the end of the discussion, Zoe had seemed resigned to the inevitable, perhaps even relieved that the secret was about to come out.
It remained to he seen how Maryanne would respond to the news that Otis was her real father. Her wedding Plans were unquestionably in jeopardy, but who knew how it would all fall out? Marcus thought. Sheffield was an independent-minded young man with a will of his own. If he really loved Maryanne, he might not give a bloody damn about the gossip.
If he really loved Maryanne? "Bloody hell." Marcus's mouth turned down in disgust. He was starting to think like one of those idiot romantic poets. Obviously he had been' spending too much time in the company of his brother and Iphiginia. Their distorted, overly romanticized views of the relations between men and women were having an insidious effect on him. He would have to take care that he did not allow them to influence him unduly. He was a man of reason, not a Poet.
He had learned his lessons the hard way, formulated his rules so as to protect himself from the pitfalls of romantic inclinations.
A knock on the door of the laboratory interrupted Marcus before he could refocus his thoughts.
"Enter."
"Marcus?" Bennet walked into the room. Marcus glanced at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Bennet hesitated. "Lovelace said you were in here. I was on my way upstairs to bed. Thought I'd say good night."
"I came in here to do some thinking." Marcus looked down at the glass in his hand. "Have a brandy with me?"
"Thanks." Bennet seemed relieved by the invitation. He crossed the room to the brandy table and poured himself a measure.
Marcus waited.
Bennet cradled the brandy glass and looked down into its depths. "I saw you with Mrs. Bright an hour ago."
"At the Crandais'?" "Yes."
"I didn't see you."
"It was an awful crush," Bennet said. "The ballroom was packed."
"Yes, it was."
Bennet cleared his throat. "Have you made plans for your wedding yet?"
"Mrs. Bright has not yet consented to he my bride." Bennet's head came up swiftly, his expression one of amazement. "What did you say?"
"She is not precisely leaping at the opportunity to become my wife." Marcus smiled ruefully. "She claims that although she is rather, ah, fond of me, she is not terribly keen on the notion of marrying me."
Bennet choked on his brandy. "She must be mad." In spite of his opinion on the subject, it was obvious that he was affronted by the news.
"I shall take that as a compliment," Marcus said. "But in truth she is far from mad. She is spirited, proud, independent, and very much an Original, but she is not mad."
"How could she not want to marry you? You're an earl, for God's sake. And wealthy into the bargain. Any woman in her position would kill to marry you."
"Mrs. Bright is quite comfortably well off, thanks to her own judicious investments. Nor does she seem overly impressed with my title." Marcus smiled faintly. "She has a remarkably egalitarian notion of what constitutes a gentleman. I believe she has read a bit too much of Locke, Rousseau, and, very likely, Jefferson."
Bennet was incensed. "She has not questioned your right to the title, has she?"
"No." "I should hope not." Bennet scowled. "Are you telling me that she might actually refuse your offer?"
"I am telling you that I shall have to put forth considerable effort in order to convince her that I would make her a suitable husband."
"Hellfire." Bennet breathed. "This is amazing. I do not know whether to he cheered by the news or insulted by her nerve."