Curse it. She was a spy. And she had work to do.
* * *
Gabe took a deep swill of his wine and wished it were something stronger. Lady Kerr and Mrs. McArthur would not leave him be, and he had work to accomplish. Lady Kerr was all but on his lap and her offers for sex were becoming anything but subtle. Mrs. McArthur, however, had placed her hand on his thigh sometime during the course of the hideously unpalatable jugged hare and had not removed it since. In fact, she seemed to be sliding it ever so slightly upward with each passing minute.
He must focus on the mission at hand… If only these curst women would desist their pawing and petting and let him concentrate on discovering who had stolen the documents.
The suspected traitors that Hydra had named were, firstly, the Marquess of Hale, though he had yet to arrive and Sir Stevens was reportedly already watching him for suspicious behaviour. Secondly, the Viscount Kerr—
Gabe turned his gaze to the head of the table, two seats to his left. The Viscount appeared at his ease, resting against the back of his chair, a glass of wine in one relaxed hand and a spoon in the other. He exuded confidence and held himself in the manner of a man entirely assured of himself and his position. Gabe believed Hydra justified in his suspicions of Kerr. The man had to be hiding something.
The third suspect listed was the Earl of Reddington.
His gaze flicked toward the blasted Earl and again he felt a jolt of displeasure through his gut. The man was a scoundrel and a rogue and Gabe wished Mary would keep well enough away from him.
Lady Kerr said something provocative in his ear and Gabe gave a responding noncommittal grunt.
Mary tittered at something the cad whispered in her ear and Gabe frowned. Lord knew what despicable acts she had had to perform for the man in order to receive an invitation to this sennight of sin.
“Goodness,” Lady Kerr murmured in his ear, “what a severe look upon your handsome face.” She leaned in closer. “Forget about the actress, darling, and leave her to James. My lover would not mind sharing me…”
Gabe did not hear the rest of the lady’s sentence, as Reddington sidled closer to Mary, raising his arm to drape it over the back of her chair. He cupped the back of her head, mussing her striking auburn hair, then pressed his lips to her neck in a series of small kisses.
Gabe saw red. Anger, swift and blistering, sizzled its way through him, forcing him to his feet, his chair scraping against the wooden floor and gaining him the attention of the other guests.
Thinking quickly, Gabe pasted a genial smile on his lips and clapped his hands together jovially. “I believe I would enjoy a glass of port and a good cigar.”
“Here, here!” Mr. Jackson waved a bejewelled hand toward the dining room door. “Send the ladies off to the parlour or somesuch and leave us to our port, cigars, and manly conversation.”
“So we can talk about how good the ladies are between the bedclothes,” Lord Pondridge flapped his hand drunkenly, his blinks slow and heavy. Gabe supposed he could be trying to wink suggestively, but he was not certain.
Lady Kerr rose, forcing the men and the remaining ladies to their feet. “Come, ladies, let us adjourn to the drawing room and leave the men to their manly business.” She turned, leading the ladies from the room, but looked over her shoulder at them just before her exit. “Say only kind things about us will you gentlemen? We women have excellent hearing and are unforgiving upon receiving scrutiny.”
With one last wink from Lady Kerr, the women were gone, Mary with them. Gabe was grateful to see them go. Not only was it a relief from Lady Kerr and Mrs. McArthur, but also from the startling torture of seeing Mary flaunt her charms and flirt with dangerous men.
Gabe resumed his seat as a footman placed several boxes of cigars and a flagon of port upon the table.
“Fine ladies, eh wot?” Mr. Piper brought his snifter of port to his lips and took a drink.
The viscount bit the end of his cigar, spitting the tip on the floor beside his chair. “Fine, indeed.” He reclined in his seat, his shrewd gaze encompassing every man at the table.
Gabe poured himself a dram of port and lit his own cigar. He had never been one to drink to excess or enjoy filling his lungs with smoke, but for the purposes of his character, he knew he must.
“Are yourshs twinths, Jack…son,” Lord Pondridge inquired, his words slurred and his eyes half-lidded, “or just shishers?”
Mr. Jackson’s self-satisfied smile grew at the inquiry about his mistresses. “Twins, as a matter of fact. Found them at Lady Haversham’s.”
“Is that across the road from Madame Bordeau’s?” Lord Sheffield asked, his chins wagging.
Gabe was familiar with both houses of ill repute. They were known for their excellent drink and their clean women. Gabe had frequented them with Colin and Hugh on countless occasions, though seldom partook in the female company within. There was just something not quite…right in his mind about paying for a woman’s attention; it smacked of desperation, and Gabe preferred to know that the lady is actually interested in him and not his money.
Mr. Jackson inclined his head. “Indeed, it is. Has the best women.”
“I much prefer actresses and opera singers, myself,” the Viscount Kerr drawled. “The thrill of the chase.”
“And they’re less costly, eh wot?” Mr. Piper grinned.
“And skilled,” Reddington threw his head back. “Good God, you lot haven’t the faintest idea what that woman is capable of.”
Gabe wrestled with his mounting rage, fighting to keep his expression one of calm and neutral confidence.
“I’ll wager Spencer does,” Lord Sheffield wheezed, wiggling his thick eyebrows suggestively.
“You lucky sod,” Reddington grumbled. “You must share her.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “Must I?”
“I understand your reluctance,” the devil incarnate said. “If I had access to that woman’s charms—and remarkable abilities—on a nightly—nay, daily—basis, I guarantee that we would not leave the bedchamber for months. She is unique, to be sure.
“But indeed, we all share here,” he continued. “You’re welcome to have a go at my mistress in exchange for a night with Mary.” Reddington took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke upward. “Mrs. McArthur does some amusing things with her titties.”
Gabe choked down a draught of his port in an attempt to swallow past the tightness in his throat, and the fury scorching him. What was happening to him? Why did he feel such intense…feelings when it came to the thought of Mary with other men? The answer hung just out of reach.
Gabe already knew that Mary was unique, but not in the way this cad implied. Mary was a free spirit, a talented actress, and a loving, caring, and extraordinary woman with a wealth of heart and knowledge. She was so far beyond the reach of all the men in this room. Hell, all the men in London. She did not deserve to have these witless, self-admiring, traitorous scoundrels salivating over her.
But that was not what his character would do. If they were discovered, their lives would be in great peril. He must be Anthony Spencer, despite how it galled him to do so.
“I suppose that decision would be up to the lady in question,” Gabe drawled. “I can hardly arrange a rendezvous on her behalf.”
A slow, predatory smile grew on Reddington’s lips and Gabe immediately regretted his answer. He should not encourage the villain to pursue Mary…nor should Mary urge him on with her feminine wiles.
He took another gulp of his port and a deep draw on his cigar. What had happened to his plan to convince Mary to end her spy life? Had he not vowed to make her see the error of this life she led?
He shook his head. He knew what happened. This damned assignment. He had a feeling that something like this would occur; Mary would be objectified and hunted by the predators of the house party.
They should never have come.
Chapter 14
Mary nearly choked on her own saliva as she fought to cont
ain the shock of these women. She liked to think of herself as a relatively open individual, but these women were discussing things that were…well, vulgar. She knew for certain that no woman in polite society discussed such things, but aside from being shocked at their bold crudeness, Mary found the conversation almost amusing. Particularly due to their setting.
The group of nine ladies sat in a semi-circle facing a low-burning fireplace in an all pink, all floral drawing room. The walls were papered in the same floral print as the cushions and carpet. It was a highly feminine and overwhelmingly delicate setting for such a lewd discussion. And how odd that they would gather here; Mary thought that drawing rooms were reserved for greeting callers.
“I have never allowed a man to do that,” a buxom brunette, whose name Mary had missed, said.
“Whyever not?” a thickset, handsome blonde woman asked, shock lining her features. “It is highly pleasurable.”
“But your tits?” The brunette appeared unconvinced.
“Come now,” the Viscountess Kerr put in, “be adventurous! It is ever so enjoyable and it gives you a great view.”
Lady Kellings pouted. “I think Lord Sheffield would kill me if we tried it.”
Mary tittered along with the other women. Mary despised tittering, but her grin was natural and wide.
Lady Kellings sat forward. “I am serious!”
The women laughed harder, Mary’s laugh becoming genuine.
“Not only is my bosom too small for his cock to fit in between, but the weight of his body would surely crush the life out of me.”
Roars of laughter echoed off the walls of the drawing room. Mary wiped a tear that had gathered at the corner of her eye, the awkward image the woman’s words provoked causing her to laugh harder, despite the crude nature of it.
As the laughter died down, Lady Marpol, Lord Kerr’s mistress, turned to the Viscountess Kerr. “Speaking of men’s sizes, your husband is rather small.”
Lady Kerr grunted, “I know. I’m surprised you put up with him at all.”
Lady Marpol shrugged. “I do not mind so much, but sometimes I wish I could find another, larger…”
“Oh yes, I know. My lover is larger—though not by much—but he has yet to arrive and I am in dire need of entertainment. Which brings me to the question I have been positively bursting to ask all evening…” She turned to Mary with a look of unnatural earnestness. “What is it precisely that enamoured Mr. Spencer to you?”
Something about Lady Kerr’s intensity struck Mary ill. As much as she wished to call Lady Kerr a traitor and have her taken into custody by the crown simply for her attraction to Gabe, she knew she couldn’t. But instinctively, Mary knew this was a baited question and much hung in the balance of her answer. Which brought her to another dilemma. Would the ladies see through her falsehood if she answered as her true self? Or would they believe the lie as truth?
“His prowess? His charm? His handsome appearance?” Lady Kerr continued.
Mary thought quickly. The answer was simple. She was not Mary Wright, spy. She was Miss Mary White, actress extraordinaire and great seducer of men, legendary for her ability to bring a man to fulfillment without a single touch, and mistress to Mr. Anthony Spencer, gambler and Lothario.
She must also be careful of how she presented herself among these women. They may be open to any manner of debauchery and often silly, but that did not mean that they were not capable of treason. Particularly Lady Kerr. If Mary wished to avoid suspicion herself, she must exude not only the erotically sophisticated actress, but a dimwitted one, as well.
So, the issue remained; what would Mary White say?
She thought quickly, the patter of rain upon the room’s windows the only sound breaking the fraction of a second of silence.
“La, what a question! Have you seen the man?” Mary winked. “Tony not only has the body of a Greek god, but,” she closed her eyes in apparent rapture, her face tilted up to the ceiling, “knowledge of a woman’s body, and stamina that is unrivalled by any other of my lovers. Superior in every sense.” She waived a hand through the air. “That, and straight, white teeth. I cannot abide a man with dirty, uneven teeth.”
The ladies tittered, but Mary noted the shrewd sharpness in Lady Kerr’s coldly laughing eyes. Mary’s suspicion heightened. Something was definitely not right about Lady Kerr.
“Oh, Lord, neither can I!” Mrs. McArthur exclaimed, a cringe on her lips
“I once had this lover that knew…”
Mary listened with half an ear as one of Mr. Jackson’s blonde mistresses began an open discussion about past lovers. Mary added in her own answers on occasion, and laughed and smiled where appropriate, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
She must find an opportunity to speak with Gabe about her suspicions of Lady Kerr. Now that she thought on it, she should also speak with him about the dark looks he had been giving her over supper. He needed to learn to control his facial expressions, if not his temper.
“The evening may now begin!”
Mary caught herself from jumping at the booming voice from the doorway. She turned to see a grinning Lord Reddington strutting into the room, his arms akimbo. The other men swiftly followed.
Oh dear. Gabriel’s expression was thunderous.
Mary leapt to her feet and hurried over to him. His expression did not alter as she pressed her hands to his chest and raised her lips to his ear. “Be careful of your expressions, Tony. You give too much of yourself away.”
Thank goodness he listened, for his expression turned to one of congenial contentment.
“What say we play a game of whist?” Lord Sheffield wheezed, his nose whistling as he breathed.
Lord Kerr sat at the round table in the far-left corner of the room with a deck of cards already in his hands.
“Play,” Mary whispered to Gabe.
With one last enigmatic glance at Mary, Gabe sat between Sheffield and Lord Kerr as Mr. Piper sat across from him. Mary was at a loss as to what to do until Lady Kellings lowered herself to Lord Sheffield’s lap. Of course.
With an ease belying the sudden fluttering in her stomach, Mary moved to stand between Gabe’s legs and then sat upon his right thigh, her left arm draped lazily across his shoulders.
There was no denying the sudden heat she felt. Gabe was hot all over through his clothes, and his warmth sent shivers of tempting delight through her. Dash it all! Mary did not wish to feel such tinglings and melting dampness in private places when it came to Gabriel. He was not fond of her and she was certainly angry with him. Indeed. Very cross.
Oh pooh. Who was she trying to fool? Sitting on Gabe’s lap was very nearly a dream come true. She only wished it wasn’t, for she knew that along this path lay another broken heart. It had already happened once with Gabriel, it was inevitable that he would break her heart again if she gave him the chance.
For now, however, she was Tony Spencer’s mistress in tandem with her job as a spy. Perhaps—perhaps she could use this card game to her advantage as a way to lure the other men into confiding in her. Yes, what an excellent plan!
* * *
Gabe clenched his jaw and played his two of hearts. Was it a two? Or was it an eight? Blast. He didn’t know. He was far too distracted by Mary’s tongue in his ear.
Good God!
Her fingers played with his cravat pin before she trailed them down the front of his waistcoat and down to his—
His eyes rolled briefly backward before he choked on his own saliva.
Mr. Piper laughed openly at him, “She’s too much for you, wot? Quite the tigress from what I hear.”
Gabe fought a scowl as he continued to cough. Mary’s “legendary” prowess with men was not something that Gabe wished to discuss. Nor listen to. Ever.
Having concluded his fit of coughing, Gabe gripped Mary’s wrist, removing her hand from its precarious place on his upper thigh and returned it to her own lap.
Her lips brushed his ear and his cock leapt in response. Da
mn the woman but she was addling his brain something fierce.
“It is your turn,” she whispered. Bloody hell, he could smell the lemon cream on her breath, which only fuelled his ill-timed lust.
Ye cannae have Mary, he told himself. Mary is no’ fer ye.
He played his ace of spades, but damn if he knew what card was played last or what was trump.
Mr. Piper groaned. Gabe supposed it was a bad card to play, then, if his partner was disappointed.
“That was the last rubber,” Lord Sheffield said around his cigar. “Kerr and I win!” He panted happily as he bounced Lady Kellings on his lap. The poor woman’s teeth rattled with the movement.
“I think I’ll drown my sorrows in my latest mistress, wot?” Mr. Piper rose from his seat.
“What is her name, anyway?” Lord Kerr drawled.
Mr. Piper raised an eyebrow. “She has large breasts. Does her name matter?”
Gabe forced himself to laugh jovially along with the other three men while he was privately disgusted with the man’s comment. Gabe felt sorry for any woman ill-fated enough to become his mistress.
“Is there room for me to play?” Lady Kerr appeared beside them, her hand on the back of Mr. Piper’s chair.
“Indeed,” Lord Sheffield grinned wolfishly, the crease in his chins deepening. “Have a seat, if you will, my lady.”
Lady Kerr sat across from Gabe as his partner while Lord Kerr shuffled and dealt the cards. Gabe tried with all his might to concentrate on the game and the other players. He should be watching for anything suspicious or malevolent in their behaviour, not lusting after his faux mistress. Mary knew the high stakes of this assignment, so why was she doing everything in her power to distract him from their purpose?
The Thespian Spy Page 11
