The Thespian Spy: The Seductive Spy Series: Book One

by Cheri Champagne

  “Mary, you will keep your stage pseudonym of Miss Mary White. Gabriel, you will attend as Mr. Anthony Spencer, English wastrel, rogue, inveterate gambler, and youngest son of Sir Peter Spencer. Mary is your mistress. You will use any and every opportunity to search safe boxes for hidden documents, glean any information you can from servants or the attendees themselves, and uncover any additional supporters or cohorts of Bonaparte.”

  “Aye,” Gabe grunted.

  Mary nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  “Mrs. McPhee is creating costumes for Mary to wear and will do tailoring for Gabe’s wardrobe. When she re-enters, have her measure you both. I have already given her direction on what the costumes shall be.” He clapped his hands on his knees. “Any other information is available to you in your dossiers. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, sir,” they said in unison.

  Mary slid a sideways glance toward Gabe. The man made her furious, but she could not help admiring him. He was everything practical; not a stitch of lace on his cuff, his brown, curling hair cut appropriately short. And his clothes… My, but his clothes fit him like a second skin, fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and, she was ashamed to have noticed, his perfectly sculpted bottom. All over, he was trim yet muscular.

  She had seen plenty of men beneath their clothes, but she would wager that none of them compared to him.

  Stop it, you ninny! She shook herself. How could she think such indecent thoughts about a man as hard-hearted as he? Why, only minutes ago he insulted her terribly. Indeed, she should hate him. She did hate him.

  Her spine stiffened, along with her resolve. By the end of the house party, Gabe would be forced to recognize his folly and apologize for his continuous discourtesy toward her. Mary was going to take charge of this assignment and show Gabe how capable she truly was.

  Chapter 10

  Nearly a fortnight later, Mary’s back rubbed against the squabs as the carriage jolted around a corner. The rumble of carriage wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves was muffled by the dirt road on which they rode. They were only minutes outside of London with their long ten-hour journey still ahead of them. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was alight with early morning colour…or rather, most of the sky. Bright pinks, purples, and reds shone through the window on one side of the carriage, while the other held the portentous gloom of an oncoming rain.

  Gabe had wanted to take the journey in two legs, five hours per day with one restful night in between. If one could call a night spent next to Gabriel restful. It would have required a night’s stay at a roadside inn and Mary couldn’t abide it. Upon arrival at the house party, she would be required to act as his mistress—in the public eye only—thus their sharing a bedchamber. On the journey, however, it was not strictly necessary, and rather an unnerving prospect for Mary.

  All night. Alone. With Gabe…in a bedchamber. Mary had thought that she was prepared for the intimacies required of her but behaving in such a way with Gabe felt distinctly… Goodness, she didn’t know how it made her feel. Uneasy? No. Nervous? No. Anxious? Not exactly. Eager? She didn’t think so.

  Well, whatever the name of the emotion roiling within her, it boded ill for their assignment unless she could harness it in her grasp, could take control of her tumultuous emotions and not allow them to dictate her actions.

  Her chest pressed against her tight corset as she inhaled the combined scent of her rose cream and Gabe’s aroma of fresh soap and crushed cloves filling her lungs.

  This assignment was very important to King and Country, not to mention the lives of the many men in the war. Mary could not let them down.

  The past fortnight had been filled with costume fittings for her and fittings and language practice for Gabriel. Mary let her gaze slide upwards toward the man himself as the carriage rounded a gentle turn. He was attired exactly as his position required of him: finely tailored blue superfine tailcoat that matched the startling blue of his eyes, dove grey waistcoat and breeches that seemed to make his hair appear darker, crisp white starched cravat and shirt, lace cuffs, and high-topped hessians polished to a shine. His curling brown hair was tousled just so. He was Mr. Anthony Spencer, youngest son of Sir Peter Spencer, ne’er-do-well, gambler, and man foolhardy enough to attend a house party without invitation on the arm of an actress.

  But he was still Gabe to her—the handsome, bewitching, heartbreaking scoundrel Gabriel Ashley.

  Tightening her cloak further against the early morning chill in the coach, Mary slid to one side of her seat and turned her gaze out the window. It was much safer than staring at her fellow passenger. Indeed, but for the sky, the passing rolling hills, trees, and shrubbery, there was not much to see but for her own reflection in the glass.

  She pressed closer to blow her breath against the glass and wrote her name in the condensation.

  Then, of course, her mind wandered. And where else would it wander to—again—but the man seated across from her? Curse him for dominating her thoughts. But no matter how much she cursed him, there he was.

  She closed her eyes and briefly allowed herself to remember. The warm summers in his secret spot in the forest, having alfresco luncheons out among the flowery blooms, chasing each other over the meadow, cooling their feet in the lake bordering his uncle’s estate. It had been heaven being friends with him as children. She had loved him since the first day they had met, and even for a short time after he left.

  His abandonment had been truly heartbreaking. She had built their future up in her mind for so long that suddenly learning that he did not return her feelings had crushed her more than she cared to remember. She might despise him now, but as much as she hated to own to it, somewhere deep inside her was that young girl with hope in her heart.

  Her eyes snapped open to see her own reflection gazing back at her in the window. She would not allow herself to dig that deeply into her core. She was liable to not like what she found there.

  She had hoped sometime after her recruitment in intelligence training that she and Gabriel could become friends once more. But those hopes were dashed anew with every unkind word he uttered to her.

  The equipage slowed to take another turn, and her shoulder pressed into the side of the carriage before it righted itself and picked up speed once more.

  Mary covered a yawn with the back of her hand, her eyes watering in exhaustion. She had not slept well last night but for thoughts of Gabriel…

  Gabe had believed that she did not belong in the school from the first. He was adamant that she was not capable of completing assignments as the other spies, and he certainly had never said anything positive about her position as an actress. It hurt that he did not believe in her.

  Her lower lip trembled embarrassingly and she tried to hide it by turning her face further into the window. She hoped that Gabe hadn’t noticed, but then, what should it matter? He had no interest in what she thought or what she felt. It was times such as these that she wished she visited her father more often. He always knew the right thing to say to brighten her downtrodden moods.

  A small smile replaced her dour expression. She knew what Papa would say if he could hear her morose thoughts… Come on now, Mary, my pigeon. Lift up that chin and face your troubles head-on. Troubles are afraid of bravery. Be brave and you will conquer all.

  Her chin turned up a notch. She’d agreed to this mission, and she would prove to Gabriel that she was just as capable as the other female operatives.

  * * *

  Gabe watched discretely from across the carriage as an array of emotions played across Mary’s face. He felt a little part of him break inside when he saw her chin tremble, but only moments later it was replaced with a small grin.

  Then his heart stopped entirely, for he had the sudden, intense urge to kiss the smile from her lips. What would her lips taste like? He wondered. He burned to find out.

  But once he did solve the mystery of what taste her lips held, he knew he could not stop there.
He would want to taste her neck, to trail his lips downward and over her collarbone. He’d kiss the valley between her breasts, trail his tongue over the sensitive tips of her nipples, then move downward into…no. He shook his head in an attempt to knock that thought out.

  Gabe brought one ankle up to rest upon his opposite knee, deliberately covering the ill-timed bulge in his breeches. The carriage interior still remained dim, but Gabe could not take the risk that Mary would see, for then she would know the direction of his debauched thoughts.

  What was the matter with him? There was the fact that he had not been with a woman in nearly a month; perhaps that was his problem. He sighed. He would not get the opportunity for the next fortnight, either, for he was supposed to have a mistress in Mary and he was on a mission to root out French spies and recover some very important documents. He most certainly was not going to fraternize with the enemy.

  His hooded gaze flicked over Mary once more. Her cloak covered her gown, but Gabe knew what was beneath. Their costume maker had spent days creating their wardrobes. Ordinarily Gabe wore clothes befitting a gentleman farmer: nothing foppish, no lace, and muted colours. Mary typically wore modest dresses of faded colour over well-worn half boots, her costumes as an actress aside.

  Today, however, they were in character. Gabe was an English dandy and Mary was…well, she was…indecent. The red gown beneath her cloak only brightened the colour of her hair and the low décolletage all but revealed the tops of her areolas.

  The optimistic appendage in his breeches leapt. Damn, but he should have taken himself away from her. Far away. He was some kind of fool for allowing this farce to continue from the first. He should have stood by his assertions and refused to allow Mary to attend.

  Another thought that had been plaguing him for the past fortnight reared its ugly head once more. Mary had seemed zealous in her desire to take on the assignment with Colin over him. Could it be that she wished to partner with Colin with the hope to begin an affaire in truth with the man?

  The thought made him ill. Mary as Colin’s mistress? A shiver travelled down his spine and a pit settled heavily in his gut. Gabe knew enough of Colin’s prowess with women to know that it was entirely possible that Mary had taken it into her head to be infatuated with the man. But Gabe didn’t like it.

  A shudder wracked Mary’s body and Gabe turned his attention to her once more. Her eyes had slipped closed but her body still trembled. Was she cold? Had she fallen asleep?

  “Mary?”

  She shivered again but there was no response. He sat up to remove his coat before leaning forward and draping it over her, tucking it under her chin. He resumed his seat and closed his own eyes. It was to be a long journey and he would prefer to be in unconscious oblivion and rise at least somewhat rested than sit here lusting after a woman that he could—should—never have in his bed.

  * * *

  The Bonaparte spy sat in the leather wingback chair behind the large mahogany desk, looking through correspondence.

  “Other guests have arrived, wot?” his man asked in an irritatingly cheerful manner.

  “It would appear so,” the spy said. “Mr. Jenkins has the maids and footmen bringing luggage up to the rooms as we speak. There are several more to come. As a matter of fact, I am looking through their correspondence at this very moment.” The crinkle of parchment echoed through the quiet study as the spy opened a new missive. “The actress, Miss White, is to arrive before supper, but… What is this?”

  “Eh wot?” The man withdrew an elaborate, gold inlaid snuffbox from his inner breast pocket, and flipped it open.

  “The actress is bringing her protector, it seems. A Mr. Spencer. Do you know him?”

  “Can’t say as I do.” He dipped his overlong little finger nail into the white powder and brought it to his nose.

  “Hmm. Better tell the others to keep an eye on him.”

  “Very good, very good.” The man sniffed and snorted before scratching at his bulbous nose. “But, uh, do you think it was wise to invite so many of us here? Seems suspect, eh wot?”

  The Bonaparte spy laughed cruelly. “No, idiot. A house party is not suspect, it is expected. If I arranged the meeting at a pub or club, that would be suspect. A house party is the perfect façade. The meeting will go on as scheduled.”

  “Very good, very good.”

  Chapter 11

  The first thing Mary became aware of was warmth. She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed the comfort of the carriage’s gentle rocking and the calming warmth that engulfed her. She listened to the muffled clip clop of the horses’ hooves and the wheels rolling over dirt and gravel, the pitter-patter of rain atop the carriage’s roof, the gentle snore of the—just a moment—snore?

  Mary’s eyes snapped open. A frown crossed her brow as she attempted to assess the situation with her mind still in a sleepy fog. She looked at the empty seat across from her and her frown deepened. Is that my seat?

  Another snore came from above her head and Mary started. Who— Before she could finish the thought, she tipped her head upward to see Gabriel, eyes closed and mouth agape. Further awareness crept up her spine as she realized that Gabe’s arms were wrapped tightly around her. Oh goodness!

  Before allowing herself to think on just how contented she had felt, she gently pried his arms from around her and very nearly leapt to the opposite seat. It had been many years since she had felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but she was most certainly familiar with the sensation. She had crept onto his seat—onto his lap—while she was sleeping, for pity’s sake! And he in his shirtsleeves, of all things.

  When had that happened? She glanced around the carriage and saw his rumpled coat in a heap upon the floor.

  “That won’t do,” she mumbled.

  As silently as she could, Mary bent to retrieve the rumpled coat, shook it out, then leaned to drape it across Gabe’s chest.

  Just as she stretched her arms out, the carriage hit a rut, jolting her forward and onto Gabe’s chest.

  “What?” Gabe sputtered, his arms rising in defence.

  “Shh—shh,” Mary soothed. “I’m sorry to wake you.” The blush already staining her cheeks flamed brighter as she pulled away to resume her seat. She adjusted her skirts then folded her hands primly on her lap.

  Gabe brushed off the awkward moment by putting on his coat and placing his tall hat on his head. He pulled out his pocket watch and examined the timepiece.

  “How long has it been since we last changed horses?” he asked, his English accent impeccable.

  “I don’t know. I only just woke, myself.” Mary raised a hand to pat at her falling coiffure. She must look affright.

  It was customary for females to wear bonnets whenever they were out of doors, but Mary often eschewed that particular practice. It had been said by many that it was the red in her auburn hair that fuelled the fiery, defiant nature in her. Mary was not so certain. But as she was wont to refuse to wear a bonnet, so was her pseudonym, Miss Mary White. It was daring, bold, improper, and yes, defiant.

  “Do not bother to fix your hair,” Gabe interrupted her thoughts.

  “Whyever not?”

  He scratched a finger over the still-fresh scar along his jaw as he glanced out the window. “I believe we are nearing Kerr House. It works well with our characters that you appear dishevelled. The other guests will assume that I had my way with you on the journey.”

  The moment the words had left his mouth, he appeared to regret them. The air in the carriage became thick, forcing Mary to simply nod her agreement and gaze out the window to the sleeting rain. More than once, Gabe shifted his position in his seat.

  How were they to complete this assignment if they were not comfortable behaving as man and mistress? Mary was an accomplished actress—if she said so herself—but even moments ago she could not stop the blush that rose to her cheeks at having nestled closely to Gabe so innocently in her sleep. Something must be done. They were nearing Kerr House and had very little time left t
o discuss it.

  She licked at her dry lips and sat straighter in her seat. “This will not do.”

  His dark brows met above his crystalline blue eyes. “What will not do?”

  “The discord between us. It is palpable!” He appeared stunned for a moment, and she continued. “Do not look so surprised, Gabriel, I know that you do not like me, and believe me incapable of doing my duty to the Crown—about which,” she pointed a finger at him, “I mean to disprove you. But if we are to even come near to being successful in this scheme, we must be believable as man and mistress.” She raised her hand to stop him from interrupting. “You must become accustomed to being in close quarters with me, touching me…even kissing me. For pity’s sake, you’ve had mistresses, I’m certain, you know what outward appearances would be expected of us at such an event.”

  Gabe appeared positively ill.

  “Lord, you’re very nearly green, Gabe, are you feeling well?” He gave her a jerky nod and she continued. “Very well. But you understand my meaning, yes? We must push past our hard feelings and act as though we are very thoroughly absorbed in each other.”

  The carriage rolled onto the gravelled drive to the estate and Mary hurriedly finished what she wished to say. “You shall call me Mary, darling, dearling, sweetheart, or some other pet name, and I shall call you ‘Tony’ or a pet name of my choosing. Though now that I think on it, is there a name you would wish me to call you?”

  * * *

  Gabe gazed at Mary in a state of disbelief and partial arousal.

  She thought he did not like her? That he believed her unfit to be a spy? She had it wrong. All wrong. It was because he did like her that he thought she should not be a spy…and perhaps that was also the reason that he wished to be away from her. Not for lack of esteem, but for too much of it.