The Thespian Spy: The Seductive Spy Series: Book One

by Cheri Champagne

  Mary cursed her unavoidable chin quiver as she made her way to the dungeon’s door. Damn Gabriel Ashley and his ability to make her feel so many dratted emotions all at once.

  * * *

  Gabe watched as Mary strode purposefully toward the dungeon door, her chin quivering, and the ill feeling in his chest spread at an alarming pace.

  He had hurt her. He hated that he hurt her. But confound it, she was right; now was most decidedly not the time to discuss it.

  He bent to retrieve his destroyed waistcoat, and within it the vital code deciphers, maps, and documents outlining stratagems.

  They stepped out onto the cool, dingy landing of the stairwell and Mary hurried past him to close the dungeon’s door behind them.

  “Lock it, if you will,” she said.

  With a nod of comprehension, Gabe turned and, using Mary’s hairpins, slid the lock into place.

  Someone would eventually come looking for them, but for the moment, they needed as much time as they could get to make good their escape.

  Gabe took the first step of the dungeon’s stairs and grit his teeth at the jolt of pain in his thigh.

  Mary cringed as she looked at his bleeding leg. “Are you well enough to run, do you suppose?”

  He gave her a half grin, the metallic zing of his blood still filling his mouth. “My injuries are not half as bad as they appear. My chest and face sting, I will grant you, but I am entirely capable of running.”

  With a curt nod, Mary turned on her heel, picked up her skirts, and sprinted up the jagged stone staircase. She paused half way up to retrieve something that had presumably fallen, then continued on her way.

  Anxious to be on his way, Gabe followed.

  * * *

  The dash to Kerr House had not been as painful as Gabe had initially feared. Lady Kerr was either inexperienced in inflicting true pain, or she had merely intended to begin with minimal torture. Regardless of the reasoning, Gabe was grateful for his mobility and lack of serious wounds.

  In fact, what pained him the most was his chest…and not the injuries upon it.

  Sir Bramwell Stevens’ words came back to haunt him. “I’ve seen the way you treat her, as though she is incapable of making her own decisions or of conducting her life in a manner of her choosing… You constantly berate her for being an actress. Not once have you congratulated her on a job well done. Not once have you encouraged her.”

  The sun shone down hotly on his back as they snuck through the gardens of Kerr House. They hid behind shrubberies and slunk around hedges when they heard a servant, a guest, or gardeners nearby, each pause in their flight giving them further reason for concern.

  “Mary,” he whispered as they ducked behind a rosebush.

  “Shh!” She frowned at him.

  His conscience gnawed at him. He must get this out now. “Mary!” he hissed.

  She pressed her index finger against her lips in a gesture for silence.

  “I am sorry, Mar—”

  “Not now, Gabe,” she whispered in return before scurrying along the trellis and into the recessed doorway leading into the back parlour.

  “I must speak to you.” He followed her into the doorway.

  Ignoring him entirely, she pressed a hand to the glass of the French-style door and looked within.

  “Mary…”

  Her head shot around as she pinned him with a fierce glare. “Shh!”

  He missed her playfulness. Yes, they were attempting to make their escape from an estate full of traitors who would all most assuredly kill them on the spot if they knew who they truly were, but the Mary he had once known would have found humour in their current circumstance. He, half nude and bleeding, her in a scanty costume, her breasts all but entirely nude, crouching and scurrying through the garden… In all probability, if they were spotted they would be branded insane and thrown in Bedlam.

  He must have laughed, for Mary stared at him wide-eyed and angry. “Shh!”

  She put her hand to the latch on the French doors and pressed. The doors swung open on silent hinges and they both slipped into the nauseatingly pink floral parlour.

  The house was abuzz with activity, but gratefully none of it was in the parlour. Pots banged and dishes clanged in the kitchens, the sound echoing through the halls.

  There was no hiding his state of dress, but Gabe straightened his shoulders and wore his blood with pride as they strode through the corridors to their guest bedchamber. Good fortune was with them, and nary a single person saw them en-route.

  Gabe and Mary both released a sigh of relief as the door closed and locked behind them. The room was bright—and still so startlingly puce—and the air was warm from the low burning fire.

  Mary turned to face him, tossing a dark green clump of fabric to the ground. It must be the clearly missing portion of her costume. “You dolt!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She huffed an exasperated breath at him then turned to retrieve her trunks from beneath the bed. “You are silent all across the hills and fields until the precise moment that we needed to be silent. Then, of course you decide it’s the perfect opportunity for you to strike up a conversation with me.”

  Gabe found his own trunk that he’d packed that morning, and placed it atop the bed, flipping open the lid. “I meant to apologize, Mary,” he said defensively. “You did an admirable job of rescuing me, as difficult as it is to admit to requiring a rescue.”

  He carefully removed the documents from his balled waistcoat pocket and gently placed them in the hidden compartment at the bottom of his trunk.

  She released a barked laugh of true mirth. “Ha! I slapped you, Gabe. I pulled your hair and beat you. You believe that to be admirable?”

  The corner of his split and bleeding mouth curved up in a grin. “I admit that you could have been a little lighter with your abuse, but such a display in that particular circumstance was necessary. Unfortunately. You did precisely what was required of you in order to gain my freedom. You could easily have barged in with guns held high and killed the lot of them, but it would have blown your cover and ruined our chance to discover who their contact is. This way, you maintained the illusion of your innocence, which will benefit you later.”

  Mary demurely nodded her head as she fastened the buckles of her trunks. “Thank you for saying that, Gabe.”

  He was momentarily distracted by the gentle sway of her breasts as she tugged on the leather straps.

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you ought to change…”

  She looked down at herself and laughed. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  Mary fled behind the privacy screen and Gabe released a breath in a silent whoosh. His conscience had been weighing on him and he felt lighter after having apologized.

  He quickly strode to the washbasin and splashed some cool water over a washcloth and began to wipe himself down. He had just completed washing the blood off his face when a thought struck him.

  “If we are somehow successful in reaching the stables without being caught, how do you suppose we commandeer a carriage without the stable boys knowing? And the servants? The guests?” He shook his head. “Damn it, Mary, we may have to leave on foot. We would never make it off the front drive before we are caught, drawn, and quartered.”

  Her lilting laughter came from behind the screen, as well as a grunt and the shifting of fabric. “I have taken the liberty of arranging a curricle prepared.”

  “But—” Gabe straightened, water dripping from his swollen chin. “How did you—?”

  “Stevens.”

  “Ah. But where are we to put our trunks? Curricles are not equipped with—”

  “There are newer models, I assure you, that have compartments in the back for smaller trunks. If Lord and Lady Kerr do not have the newest model, we will simply have to put them by our feet or sit atop them. Come, Gabriel, use your imagination.”

  He nodded in silent agreement and continued to clean his wounds. He would have to strip the cloth f
rom the bed in order to bind his wounds, but such was fine with him, as he would not have to wait long before they reached an inn, where he could dress his wounds properly.

  Chapter 30

  A groan escaped Evelyn as she brought a hand up to cup the back of her aching head.

  What happened?

  Her eyes snapped open as it all came rushing back to her. Mr. Spencer, if that was his true name, had escaped! He pushed her, the bastard!

  Ignoring the ache to her bottom and the throb in her head, she rose, blinking as her vision briefly spotted. She pressed a hand to the filthy, damp wall of the dungeon, pausing to regain her composure.

  Her gaze settled disdainfully on her hired brute and her eyes narrowed. Abandoning her spot near the wall, she strode purposefully over to his prostrate form and gave him a swift kick to the ribs.

  “Up! Up, damn you!”

  He groaned.

  “Wake up, you oversized, mindless beast. Wake up and go after that bloody bastard and his idiot woman!”

  Evelyn went to the dungeon’s door and pressed the latch.

  Nothing.

  She shoved. Nothing.

  “No,” she breathed, the sound swallowed up in the think air of the death chamber.

  She pressed the latch and shoved simultaneously, pressing her shoulder firmly against the thick wood.

  Nothing.

  “No!” she screeched, hitting the door with her hands that still bore the stain of Spencer’s blood. “You bastard, you bastard, you bastard!”

  * * *

  “Are you certain you wish to—?”

  “Good heaven’s, Gabriel, right now it is our only option. I refuse to leave my costumes behind.” Mary set her jaw, giving Gabe a look that meant she was serious. She heaved a heavy breath, taking in the scent of hay, leather, and manure.

  “Best listen to what she says, my friend. Mary is like to box you in the nose if you make her abandon her costumes.” Stevens grinned as a horse whinnied and stomped in a nearby stall.

  “But to sit on them?” Gabe argued. “The curricle is high enough and, moreover, it is dangerous. Adding height where there wasn’t before could very well send you tumbling off the back.” His eyes lit with worry and Mary felt her stubbornness melt a little. A very little.

  She sighed. “The horse Stevens set free for the other stable hands to chase is likely to have been caught by now. We haven’t the luxury of another distraction without causing further suspicion. Gabe, we have tarried long enough. Lady Kerr and her men will have roused already and others will be alerted to their plight. We have mere moments. I have saved you once today, already, I simply do not have the strength to do so again.”

  Stevens raised an eyebrow. “When I return to London, I expect a full account of what occurred between Lady Kerr and the two of you.” He turned his gaze on Gabe. “Especially you. Looks like she beat the bloody—”

  “Oi! You tread on dangerous ground, man.” Gabe lifted Mary’s trunk onto the curricle’s seat and shifted it to her side.

  Mary sidled up to Stevens and winked. “It wasn’t all her.”

  Stevens’ jaw dropped and Mary laughed. Gabe muttered something unintelligible, which made Stevens laugh, the loud, guttural sound rumbling through her chest.

  “You two are going to cause a bloody scene,” Gabe grumbled.

  Stevens suddenly wrapped his arms around Mary and dipped her in an exaggerated flourish, bussing her quickly on the cheek. “I shall miss you, my dear friend!”

  Mary could not help the startled giggle that escaped as she raised a hand to her falling coiffure. She had missed Stevens; he never failed to put a smile upon her lips.

  He righted her just as Gabe grabbed her bodily and placed her in the curricle seat. Gabe settled himself on the seat beside her, the motion sending awareness skittering along her nerves. How could she still have such feelings for the dratted man after the way he had behaved last evening?

  He apologized, Mary. Perhaps he truly is sorry for the events of last night, as well?

  Beside her, he gripped the horses’ reins in his hands. Mary tied her loose hair back into a serviceable knot at the base of her neck.

  “Safe journey!” Stevens raised a hand to salute them.

  Mary smiled and waved in response.

  Gabe flicked the reins and the two bays jolted the curricle forward at a trot, sending Mary backwards. She caught herself on the side of the vehicle and on Gabe’s regrettably injured shoulder. He hissed a breath, but caught her with his free hand.

  “I told ye it was dangerous,” he gritted out, his jaw clenched.

  Mary righted herself, but kept a hand firmly settled on the curricle’s side. “I am fine. I merely was not expecting such a quick start.”

  She could see the muscles of his jaw tighten and she forced herself to look away. Let the man be angry. The grouch.

  She turned her face up to the afternoon sun, allowing the warmth to wash her worries away, if only for a moment. She watched the scenery pass by, trees, crops, estates… What—?

  “Gabe!”

  “Aye?”

  “This isn’t the way to London. We are going in the wrong direction!”

  “Aye.”

  She huffed an exasperated breath. “Why are we not returning to London? The ride to London is no less than ten hours from Kerr House, surely you would wish to—”

  “Aye, lass, but I willnae take ye there just yet.” She opened her mouth, but he continued in his deep brogue, “I willnae take ye there because Lady Kerr’s brutes are like te follow the curricle’s tracks…and the horses’ fer that matter. We will journey an hour West toward Brighton and send the curricle back. From there we will acquire alternate equipage and take the long road back te London.”

  Mary shut her mouth and thought on it. It was a sound plan. Dash it.

  With one hand still gripping the side of the curricle, Mary sat back and decided to enjoy the rest of the journey.

  “I’ve always wanted to visit Brighton,” she said.

  “We willnae be visiting, Mary. Donnae make yerself known te others tha’ we come across. Keep te yerself and let me do the talking.”

  Mary sat bolt upright and gave him a mock salute. “Aye laddie!”

  There his jaw went, tightening again.

  “You will lose your teeth if you continue grinding them,” she said. “Grind them to a dust, you will.”

  He sent her a scathing sideways glance, but remained silent. It was just as well. This way she could enjoy the clip clop of the horses’ hooves and the gentle rumbling of the curricle’s wheels.

  * * *

  “It is about bloody time someone released us,” Lady Kerr grumbled hoarsely as Cecil Piper opened the creaky dungeon door. “I have been shouting for over an hour, curse you!”

  “I’m so sorry, my lady. Damned hard to hear you from the drawing room, eh wot?”

  Evelyn ground her teeth together at his oft-repeated expression, the irritation of it nearly driving her mad. But for the moment, she must put it from her mind. They had more important issues at hand.

  “Gather the others for an emergency meeting,” Evelyn ordered, storming up the narrow stairwell leading from the dungeons. “We have much to discuss.”

  * * *

  “No man has ever returned her attentions and no man has ever given her the affection that she damned well deserves,” Stevens had said.

  Gabe tied the last of the bandages around his chest. Since entering their bedchamber in the inn just a few miles outside of Brighton, they had been silent. Not a word was exchanged between Gabe and Mary as they performed their ablutions and as Gabe tended to his many wounds. He sat in the only chair in just a towel tied tightly around his waist, the injuries on his leg and chest cleaned and bound, and his swollen face thoroughly washed.

  They had sent Lord and Lady Kerr’s borrowed equipage back, and a carriage was being prepared for them. It left them plenty of time to clean themselves up, possibly sleep, and prepare for the journey t
o London.

  He looked over his shoulder at Mary as she washed the dust of travel from her beautiful, faintly freckled, heart-shaped face. What had possessed him to become so cross with her on the short journey to this roadside inn?

  Having washed, Mary wheeled herself about to give him the full force of her irritated gaze. “How could you treat those nice gentlemen like that?” she asked, finally breaking their silence.

  Those nice gentlemen had gawked and salivated over Mary the moment they had entered the innyard. They had looked her up and down and saw her as fair game.

  “They were rude to ye,” he grumbled. Damn his miserable temperament.

  “And Stevens? And our marks?” Mary stepped closer to him, her hands on her hips in the position of a schoolmarm. A dashed attractive schoolmarm. “Was it truly necessary to behave in such a way? You were supposed to be Mr. Anthony Spencer, rakehell, ne’er do well, and inveterate gambler, not unconscionable grouch and grumbling recluse. Why, you spent the majority of the house party glaring at the other men with jaw clenched and the remainder of the time harping at me.”

  Gabe’s heart tripped over itself as she spoke, his stomach in ludicrous knots.

  “It is no wonder they pegged you as a spy,” she continued. “Good heavens, Gabriel, did you not stop to think—”

  Gabe burst. “I was jealous!” he shouted over her litany of charges against him.

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized they were true. My God, I was jealous! Truly, fully jealous. He had thought those feelings were merely akin to jealousy and perhaps concern for Mary’s wellbeing, not the full, incensed jealousy that he now realized raged through his body.

  Mary’s mouth had dropped open and Gabe cursed soundly.

  He opened his mouth to assure her that the feeling would pass and he would be his normal self soon enough, but something else entirely came out. “I want ye. I never allowed myself te believe it, or even think it until these past few days, but it is true. I have never liked ye te continue on as an actress and a spy because, in part, I was concerned fer yer safety, but if I am truly honest…I detested the thought of ye with another man. I still do. Everrah time ye flirt with a man, touch him, whisper to him, or allow him te gaze at ye as a stallion does a mare, I feel it,” he pressed a hand to the bandages covering his stomach, “here.” He shook his head. “I cannae name all th’ feelings tha’ ye rouse in me, Mary, but I knoo fer certain that I desire ye.”