Mr. Jenkins swung open the door to the parlour and announced in a carrying voice, “Mr. Anthony Spencer and Miss Mary White.” He quickly retreated from the room, allowing Mary and Gabe to pass…into the den of wolves.
As they entered the room, each pair of male eyes was riveted on Mary. Not that Gabe could blame them; she was stunningly beautiful in her dinner gown. Gabe, himself, had to rein in his inappropriate lust at the sight of her. But the fact that Mary’s beauty was obvious did not make Gabe feel any better about other men eying her with lust.
The room only held nine people, but it felt like so much more. Two men remained seated at their entrance, both hindered by the large-breasted women on their laps. The remaining two men stood, along with three women. Of the two women standing, the buxom brunette was very obviously a female of ill repute, while the other looked to be a woman of good standing. And the third…
The tall, black haired woman glided toward them with a predatory smile on her lips. “Welcome to my home,” her voice flowed over them like silk. “I am Evelyn Black, the Viscountess Kerr.”
Gabe affected a deep bow as Mary curtseyed beside him. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” they said in unison.
She nodded serenely in return. “Likewise, I’m sure.” Turning, she gestured toward one of the men with a woman on his lap. “Allow me to introduce my husband, Lord Kerr.”
The man in question bounced the blonde tart who laughed merrily and gripped him tighter.
The Viscountess laughed at her husband’s infidelity as though he were a mischievous young lad. “As you can see, we are all very open here.”
Evidently, Gabe thought. But then, he had expected such displays at this particular house party. Which was just one more reason that he was thankful that he was the one to accompany Mary, and not Colin. It was also another reason why he should have taken himself far, far away from Mary. She was too tempting by half.
Lady Kerr winked. “We hope you are able to keep up with us.” Before giving them a chance to respond to that lewd innuendo, she continued, “The other man with his mistress on his lap, and the ever-present Scotch in his hand, is Lord Pondridge.” The man paid them no mind as he kissed a path up his mistress’ neck. “This fine gentleman is Mr. Cecil Piper.”
The man with nondescript brown hair and dark eyes bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, eh wot?”
“And the last gentleman in the room,” Lady Kerr continued after their bow and curtsey, “is someone I believe you are already very familiar with, Miss White…”
An absurdly handsome man approached from across the room, a charming smile on his lips. He had desirable blond hair and deceptively laughing green eyes. Gabe hated him on sight.
He hated him more as the cad gripped Mary’s hand in his. But instead of kissing the backs of her fingers, the man had the audacity to lean in to kiss her cheek…and linger there far longer than strictly necessary, even for such an intimate gesture.
“Lord Reddington,” Mary breathed. “I am so pleased to see you again.”
“Oh, my darling, Mary, do call me James. You know how I love to hear my name on your talented tongue.”
Mary’s lips curled in an infuriating smile. Gabe’s gut churned.
“James,” she purred.
The man’s eyes rolled backward briefly, and Gabe could swear that red began to spot his vision.
“I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation.” Reddington looked pointedly at Gabe. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”
“Oh yes!” Mary jumped as though she had forgotten he was there. Damn her. “This is my very good friend Mr. Anthony Spencer. Tony, this is Lord Reddington.”
The man frowned, but mirrored Gabe’s bow. “Very good friend, is he?”
Mary had the grace to appear shamefaced. “Yes.”
Reddington placed a hand dramatically over his heart and staggered as though struck.
“You wound me, Mary!” His behaviour was playful, but Gabe saw the steel in his eyes. The man gripped Mary’s hand tighter. “I thought you would be ‘no man’s mistress.’”
Mary nodded apologetically. “It seems that I was persuaded.”
Reddington tugged her closer to him. “Perhaps you could be swayed in your choice of protector?”
That was it. Gabe had seen enough. He stepped forward and slid one arm around Mary’s shoulders, pulling her into his body. “She has protection enough at the moment, your lordship, but she thanks you for your kind offer.”
Frosty green eyes glinted at him from between sandy blond eyelashes.
“Dinner is served,” Mr. Jenkins intoned from the doorway.
Just in time. Gabe had been tempted to pound the fellow’s face and spirit Mary far away. But that would be counter-productive to their purpose.
Focus, Gabe. We are here to uncover a French spy and recover stolen documents.
The eleven of them paired off by rank. With the customary male to female pairs—with one odd woman out—the low-ranking females outnumbered the ranking males.
Lord and Lady Kerr led the group to the dining room. Much to Gabe’s chagrin, Lord Reddington paired with Mary, while Gabe was saddled with a Mrs. McArthur, Reddington’s mistress.
The dining room was just as ostentatiously appointed as the other rooms he’d seen in the home. Two chandeliers hung high above them and bright sconces lined the gilt and green velvet covered walls. The couples took their seats at the table, which glittered with silverware and sparkling flutes of champagne.
Gabe sat between Mrs. McArthur and their hostess, with Lady Kerr on his right. Mary sat directly across from him between Reddington and the hawk-like Lord Pondridge.
A hidden rear door to the dining room burst open, five footmen entering in a row, each holding two dishes. They positioned themselves each between two guests, then, in unison, placed the dish in front of the diners.
Gabe looked down at his dish. It was a bowl of what Gabe assumed was intended to be brown onion soup. But what sat before him was murky broth with floating bits of onion, coated in a thick layer of an abnormal oily substance.
Good God. Even he could create a better soup than this. Of course, he’d learned to cook from his mother at a young age, and held a great fondness for it, but he was by no means a famed cook.
The soft clinking of spoons against bowls and muttering voices filled the expansive dining room as Gabe dipped his spoon reluctantly into his “soup” and took his first taste.
The liquid sloshed nauseatingly on his tongue. Though his taste buds—and sense of self-preservation—rebelled, he forced himself to swallow. Indeed, it was far worse than he’d first assumed.
Gabe’s gaze flicked upward to see how Mary was enjoying the first course and his stomach roiled threateningly. Mary sat happily in intimate conversation with Lord Reddington, their heads close together, thick as thieves, each ignoring their revolting onion oil water.
Reddington’s gaze slipped downward to Mary’s plunging décolletage before he whispered something in her ear. Gabe fought the thunderous scowl that threatened.
Lady Kerr leaned toward him and Gabe reluctantly pried his gaze from Mary’s distressing circumstance to turn his attention to the lady at his side. “Do tell me, Mr. Spencer, how you convinced Miss White to become your mistress; I was under the impression that she would not take on a protector.”
Gabe gave her a toothy, cocksure smile, still seething over Mary’s apparent admirer. “The same way I have gotten all of my mistresses into my bed, my lady.” He winked at her. “Considerable skill.”
“Mmm.” Her voice had a throaty resonance. “My lover has yet to arrive to this little house party… Perhaps you should pay a visit to my bedchamber so you can show me just how considerable your skill is.” She ran a finger around the rim of his shirt collar, scraping the underside of his jaw with her nail.
Gabe hid a grimace at the sharp pain.
Blazes. She could very well have drawn blood.
Swallowing
down his revulsion, Gabe forced his smile to grow and his eyes to warm.
He opened his mouth to inform her that he would consider her offer—though Lord knew he would never sleep with a woman not only so high above his station but one so overpoweringly irritating—but his reply was cut off by deep, boisterous laughter. Through the main dining room doors came five late-arrivals.
The scraping of chairs echoed through the room as the diners rose to greet the guests.
The first man to enter was a nearly forty, portly, well-dressed fellow, likely of the peerage. He entered with a petite, young, red haired woman who was very clearly his mistress, for she hung adoringly on his arm. Behind them was another man, though this one was vastly different from the first, where the former was tall and round, this man was short and slender. Gabe gazed at him with a critical eye. He was likely not a peer but dressed far above his station. He, very like Gabe’s disguise, was dandified in his attire. He must have a wealth of funds, as he entered with a woman on each arm. Both were buxom blondes and both tittered unattractively as Gabe bowed over their hands.
Lady Kerr moved to stand beside Gabe, “Mr. Spencer, this is Lord Sheffield and his very good friend, Lady Kellings.”
Gabe bowed to the rotund Lord Sheffield. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord, my lady.” Gabe bent over Lady Kellings’ hand, but before he could pull away, she extended her slender fingers to rub them across his lips.
Taken aback by such a brazen gesture, Gabe missed the name of the blonde mistresses of the second gentleman. He sketched a brief bow, nonetheless. He did not fail to catch the name of the gentleman, however.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jackson,” Gabe bowed to the short, slender man with orange hair.
Gabe then watched as the group was introduced to Mary. She was perfect, her character completely in place. Of course, she lived her actress persona more often than Gabe cared to contemplate.
Her lips curved seductively upward at something Lord Sheffield mumbled quietly to her and Gabe clenched his jaw. It was time to uncover the traitors here and take Mary away from this place entirely.
Chapter 13
Mary took another bite of the nearly inedible jugged hare that sat mostly uneaten on her plate. The others around the table seemed not to notice the ghastly fare, but Mary certainly did. Goodness, even the stews that her mother used to make with little to no food and scarcely any broth were more appetizing than the slop currently sitting on her plate.
A heated waft of breath brushed her cheek and Mary suppressed a shiver of disgust.
“You look ravishing in red, dearest,” Reddington whispered against her ear. “I scarcely recall if I have said as much already this evening, but I confess your beauty quite addles my senses.”
He had been bothering her throughout the entire meal, but Mary accepted it as her due. She must encourage the men enough to discover their hidden truths, after all. She was here on an assignment and she would succeed. No matter what.
Mary put her fork down and turned to smile up at Lord Reddington with a demure tilt to her brows.
“Why, James, you flatter me.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Upon my life, I do not.”
A group of footmen entered and removed the diners’ plates, while a second group entered to put another odious course in its place. It seemed to be an attempt at partridge fricassee, but Mary was not certain.
She hastily took a sip of the deep red wine in her glass and replaced it on the table. For a moment she watched in a daze as the candlelight played on the swirling liquid.
“My lovely Mary,” Reddington’s lips touched her ear, “tell me you feel it, too…this heat.”
Alarm shot through Mary’s stomach, but she carefully hid it. Hydra had said that this man was not respectable and likely had ill intentions, and she was inclined to believe him. The nightmare of her experience as a youth flashed through her mind… You will suffer for this…
As the memory of that night assailed her, she did as she always did and used her fear to fuel her determination.
A sense of peace stole over her as she considered her plans. Reddington wished to have her as his mistress, as much was evident. She could never give herself to Reddington—not willingly anyway; she morally refused to give her body to a traitor of the crown. Mary would rather give herself to a man she loved…whenever and whomever that would be. She was, however, more than willing to use any other means necessary to garner the required information. Perhaps she could tease it out of him.
She turned to Reddington with a sultry tilt to her lips, her eyes filled with desire. Then a voice cut through her awareness.
“Mr. Spencer,” Mr. Piper called from down the table, a piece of partridge balled to one side of his open mouth, “why is it that I have never heard of you before now? Seems a trifle odd, eh wot?”
Mary looked at Gabe, who was unfazed by the inquiry. He returned her gaze with a coldness to his eyes that she had never seen on him before. The sight sent a shiver of unease down her spine. His frigid expression swiftly changed to one of self-assured complacency as he turned his head to look down the table.
“Yes,” Lord Kerr put in, his expression stony and his gaze suspicious, “do enlighten us on your mysterious past, Mr. Spencer.”
Gabe’s lips cracked a slow smile. “I wouldn’t say it’s mysterious,” he began. “I spent thirteen years travelling with my uncle in the Americas.”
“Mmm,” Mrs. McArthur hummed. “Adventurous, indeed.”
Lord Sheffield swallowed his bite of partridge, then asked, “What made you decide to leave from the first? Did you not enjoy life in England?”
Gabe’s smile turned sly, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “There was an inn near my familial home that employed a very lovely barmaid…”
A few of the men around the table began exchanging grins and knowing glances.
“Needless to say, a few months after reaching my eighteenth year, my father felt it was necessary to ship me off.”
“So now you are returned,” Lord Kerr said before sipping at his coffee. He swallowed. “What brought you home after thirteen years?”
“My uncle left this earth to meet the good Lord, and I made the decision to return. Father was not happy to accept his ne’er-do-well son back into his home, so I took residence here in London. Alas, I met Mary a sennight ago and was enchanted.”
“Aye, Mary does enchant,” Reddington put in. “We must convince her to put on a performance while she is here.”
A chorus of encouragement from the men filled the room and Mary feigned modesty. She had anticipated the request and had Mrs. McPhee create two new costumes for just such an occasion. He was playing perfectly into her plan.
With a shy nod, Mary affected acquiescence. “If you wish it, then I shall.”
“Huzzah!” Reddington exclaimed.
Mary caught Gabe’s cold gaze from across the table and another shiver ran down her spine. She fought down her own frown as she turned back to her meal. A pox on Gabe and his ever-present disapproval.
“What happened to your face, Spencer?” Mrs. McArthur said from beside him. She ran her index finger along the line of the red scar on the side of his face, her eyelids heavy. “It looks frightfully dashing.”
“That story is not so amusing, I’m afraid. I stumbled through my previous mistress’ home one evening after a night of revelry and found myself in the kitchens with hunger gnawing at me. A dashed stool came from nowhere and I fell, slicing myself on the way to the floor.”
“I love the Americas,” Lord Sheffield said, either oblivious to the change of subject or ignoring it. “I’ve been there several times myself; I never could get enough of their women.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a laugh from some of the other guests. “In fact, there was this one woman—”
Mary missed the remainder of his lewd anecdote as dessert appeared before her. Immediately her mouth began to salivate. This must be why Lord
and Lady Kerr kept their cook in their employ. The smell alone was enough to make Mary swoon.
Practically famished from a lack of eating the dinner’s courses, she dipped her spoon in the exquisite lemon cream and brought it to her mouth. Oh heavens! The explosion of lemon zest, the citrus zing, and the sweetness of the cream combined to make the most sinfully delicious dessert she had ever tasted.
Reddington’s lips brushed the underside of her ear as he breathed, “Keep making sounds like that and I will have to tup you right here…in front of everyone.”
Mary’s eyes snapped open—when had she closed them?—and realized that every man seated at the table had his gaze on her. She must have made a noise, but she was not certain what that noise was. Clearly it had been loud enough to gain the attention of the table.
Mortification would have swamped her had their shock-lined expressions not enhanced her purpose. Lowering her gaze to her bowl, Mary determinately ignored them and returned to her delectable dessert.
Slowly, the others resumed their private conversations and bawdy joke telling.
“Mary, say you will come to me tonight.” Reddington’s scotch-scented breath wafted around her.
The man’s whispering in her ear had become vexing, indeed. She put a placating smile on her face as she turned to him. “I do not believe that Tony would take kindly to my abandoning him in a strange home.”
Reddington inclined his head toward Gabe’s seat across from them. “I do not think it would be such a hardship. It seems as though your Tony is occupied.”
Mary’s gaze swung toward Gabe and her stomach plummeted. He was indeed occupied. Lady Kerr leaned so far over him that she may well be on his lap. The woman ran her fingers repeatedly up and down his chest and over his smoothly shaven jaw, whispering in—nay, biting—his ear. He laughed charmingly at something she said, and Mary’s stomach knotted. Goodness, could she be jealous? Of another woman with Gabriel?
Oh dear. She must rein in her emotions immediately. Jealousy had no place in the heart of a spy, and she certainly could not afford to make any mistakes. For all she knew they were surrounded by the enemy. Any leak in her façade, any misstep, could put their lives in jeopardy. Whatever her apparent soul-deep feelings toward Gabe, she must let them go. He’d crushed her heart years ago, surely she could stomach seeing him with another woman—any woman. Indeed. She should hate him, not be harbouring amorous feelings for him.
The Thespian Spy Page 10
