“My apologies, Mary. Though…” Gabe thought of the men on the evening previous, wolfishly sniffing after Mary’s skirts. “I do not believe you should search the house alone.”
She huffed an exasperated breath and bent to put on her other stocking. “I hardly require a governess to follow me about.”
Gabe forced himself to focus on the conversation rather than be distracted by her luscious breasts and his eagerly aggressive arousal.
He must convince her that whoever the spies might be within this house, none were to be trifled with. “If you are caught, Mary, you must have a means of escape. If we are together, a plausible reason for being in an odd part of the house would be easier to concoct. If you are discovered venturing off alone, you will become suspect immediately.”
She rose, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she gently chewed on the soft flesh. “You make a fair argument.”
Gabe’s gaze lowered to her newly swollen and glistening bottom lip as she spoke.
My God, wha’ is wrong with me? Mary is nae fer ye, lad, Gabe told himself. Yer supposed te be convincing Mary tha’ spying is too dangerous, nae lusting after her like a randy lad with his first promise of soft female flesh.
A light knock sounded at the door, disrupting his inner rebuke.
“Come,” Mary called.
The door opened to reveal a timid, softly rounded maid of medium height and dull auburn hair hidden beneath a mobcap. She quietly shuffled in, curtsied, and held her hands nervously in front of her abdomen.
Mary, obviously sensing the maid’s distress beckoned the girl to her. “Thank you for coming…”
“Eleanor Mable, Miss. You can call me Eleanor.” The maid curtsied, sending a shy sideways glance toward Gabe, then quickly averting her gaze.
“Eleanor. Thank you.” Mary motioned toward the wardrobe. “Would you be so kind as to help me into the tyrian purple morning gown?”
With another uneasy glance at Gabe, the maid did as she was bid and turned to look in the wardrobe.
Gabe wished he could put the girl at ease and let her know that unlike the other male guests at the house party, he had no interest in taking advantage of the female staff. Poor gel likely got harassed more often than not in her position. She was a handsome female with an attractive face and shy, if not fearful disposition. Just the sort to attract the wrong sort of man.
But Gabe was in character. He was Anthony Spencer; a carefree rake who did not spare a second thought for the help or their thoughts, needs, or feelings. They were there only to serve.
So, Gabe settled in, propped his back with the bed’s pillows and watched as his mistress and the lady’s maid covered up Mary’s sinfully alluring curves, all the while trying to rein in the inconvenient lust that rode him nigh to the brink of madness.
* * *
Gabriel was very adept at playing his role of lover for the sake of public opinion. He sat, unmoving and fairly brimming with arousing predatory covetousness, as he brooded from the bed.
Mary wished she knew what he was thinking. Probably lamenting ever having agreed to this scheme and wondering how quickly he could extricate himself from her presence.
The thought made her frown at her reflection in the mirror.
“Is it not to your liking, miss?” the sweetly dispositioned maid asked, a troubled expression marring her handsome features.
Mary forced a smile. “Oh no, dear, I was simply lost in thought. My hair is perfectly suitable.”
“I could try somethin’ different. Maybe looped braids?”
“I am very happy with the way you are doing it.” Mary’s smile deepened. “I am partial to curls.”
Eleanor’s face brightened as she turned back to her work.
As though by habit, her gaze slid sideways—to nothing. She blinked and returned her attention to the mirror. She’d never even noticed the habitual motion before, but now that she didn’t have her conch shell to look at—which sat on her chest of drawers at home—the habit was rather more apparent. Odd as it was, the shell brought her comfort and a sense of calm; it reminded her of a time when she was truly happy with Gabriel.
The devil himself shifted in her bed, and Mary willed her gaze to remain on her own reflection, as Eleanor’s hands worked magic with her untamed hair. And decidedly off of Gabe’s muscled chest. Lord what a chest. How was it even possible for a man to have a chest such as his? How did a man’s body even get so…so…powerful? She had seen many a man’s nude body in her position, but never had she seen a man with as many muscled hills and dips as Gabe possessed. He had not an ounce of fat or droopy skin anywhere on his person, she was certain.
One—obviously depraved—part of her wanted nothing more than to run her hands, lips, and tongue over every muscled mound of his torso until every square inch had been explored and tasted. While the other—clearly more sensible—part of her told her wicked half to shut it, forget about Gabriel and his stunningly, arousingly beautiful body, and turn her attention back to her assignment, because she knew that there was absolutely no chance that Gabe would return any sort of positive sentiment, let alone wish to bed her.
The moment that thought entered her mind, she regretted it.
Bedding Gabriel.
If the feelings he brought out in her were any indication, it would indeed be pleasurable. She was attracted to the blasted man, but if she possessed any amount of good sense, she should flee from him as fast as she could go. Their assignment notwithstanding, something compelled Mary to torture herself by staying close to him.
Focus, Mary. Spies abound.
She turned her open, trusting gaze up to Eleanor as the maid put the finishing touches on her chignon. “How did you come to be a lady’s maid, Eleanor?”
“Oh, I’m not, miss. I’m a downstairs maid, but since there’s so many ladies needin’ their hair done and gowns mended, I was sent up to ‘elp.”
Mary nodded in understanding. “I’ve toyed with the idea of giving up the theatre and becoming a maid,” she lied. “How do you find the work?”
Eleanor’s fingers froze as her gaze turned down and a telling blush stained her cheeks. Poor girl.
“You do not have to fear being honest with me, dear,” Mary soothed.
With an oddly wiggled shake to her head, Eleanor continued working with Mary’s hair. “The work is not hard if’n you ‘ave good shoes and a sturdy back, miss. It’s the—” her gaze flicked upward toward Gabe’s reflection in the mirror as he sat relaxed in the bed. The maid’s lips pressed tightly together before her tongue darted out nervously to wet them. “The work is right fine, miss.”
Mary would have questioned her further, but her behaviour toward Gabe spoke volumes where her words did not. Eleanor was afraid of men…for reasons Mary suspected were deleterious to the maid’s self-worth, emotional stability, and disposition.
Mary suddenly very much wished to eviscerate Lord Kerr for allowing such despicable behaviour to take place in his home and for not taking better care of his staff.
“There you are, miss.” Eleanor stepped back to admire her work. “Pretty as a paintin’.”
Mary smiled at the maid’s flattery. “Thank you, Eleanor. It takes magic fingers to tame my hair.”
“It were nothin’, miss. Will that be all?”
Mary had scared her off with her questions, then. Her smile slipped, but she put it firmly back in place. “Yes, thank you. You may go about your duties, Eleanor.”
The maid curtsied and hurried past the bed and out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
The moment the latch clicked, Gabe leapt from the bed, his bare feet hitting the floor silently as he dashed across the room to the wardrobe.
Mary swivelled in her seat at her dressing table to look at him. “Good heavens, you’re in a hurry.”
“It takes you women so damned long to get yourselves put together,” Gabe grumbled.
“I beg your pardon, but you were fully able to get yourself dressed whil
e Eleanor was helping me.”
He rejected her comment with a quick jerk of his head. “Would ruin the illusion and break me from character.”
Mary chewed her bottom lip. “I see your point.”
Gabe stepped into his fine dove grey breeches, leaving the falls open while he pulled a shirt over his head and tucked them into the top of his breeches.
“What about a valet?” Mary asked.
Gabe paused while buttoning his falls. “Now I see your point.” A heartbeat passed before he shrugged one shoulder and retrieved a cream coloured waistcoat from the wardrobe. “It is quicker when I dress myself. Besides, I cannot abide by someone fussing over every detail of my wardrobe.”
Mary nodded as Gabe began buttoning his waistcoat over what Mary now knew to be a remarkably beautiful chest.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” She ignored the nagging jealousy at the back of her mind at the thought that he might be going to see Lady Kerr.
You should not be jealous. Ninny.
He gave her an odd frown that was lined with an emotion that Mary could not quite interpret. “You are dressed. We must break our fast, then begin the search for those documents.”
“Ah,” Mary brightened. “I had thought about that as I lay abed last night, and I thought that an excellent place to start might be the guests’ bedchambers.”
Gabe froze in the act of pulling on his coat, a fearsome frown marring his features and turning his blue eyes as cold as ice. “I think not.”
“Whyever not?” Mary asked in disbelief. “Surely you see the cleverness of the thought. Any man with sense would hide those documents somewhere close to them, and where is more personal than a man’s bedchamber?”
If it were at all possible, his scowl darkened even more. He pointed a finger at her. “I will not have you sneaking into men’s bedchambers, do you hear me?”
“But it is—”
“I said no. It is too dangerous for a woman to do such a thing. If anyone is to search the men’s bedchambers, it will be me.”
“But what excuse will you have for being there? If I were to search, then at least I have the option to flirt my way out of any suspicion they may harbour for me. You will…what? Use brute force?”
His jaw clenched. “I will think of something.” He pulled a cravat from the chest of drawers and slid it under his shirt collar. “First we will search the study.”
Mary scoffed. “That is far too obvious.”
Gabe clucked his tongue then whispered, “You are not thinking like a spy, Mary.” He finished tying his simple cravat knot then turned to sit on the edge of the bed where he had placed his hessians. “Have you considered that there might be hidden drawers? Secret compartments? A strong box?”
Mary twisted her lips in thought. “But would not a cautious spy already be aware of the opposition’s knowledge of such hiding spaces and therefore take precautions to protect their secrets?”
Gabe stepped into his shining black hessians, then stomped his foot to the bottom of the boot. “We will search anyway, if not to rule it out,” he grunted.
Mary stood, her tyrian purple morning gown settling around her. It was not a colour that she had ever worn before, but the modiste had certainly chosen a colour that made her grey eyes sparkle. Mary supposed that had been the objective.
Gabe spared her not a glance as he stood to run his hands through his curling brown hair. Would that she could do her hair so easily and have it look as fine.
“We will do our searching together.”
Mary tilted her head to observe him better. “If that is your desire, then so be it.”
His hands stilled then dropped to his sides as he turned to stare at her. Barely banked fire burned behind his eyes. She wished she could hear his thoughts.
He abruptly stuck his elbow out to her. “Shall we go down to break our fast?”
Chapter 17
Gabe felt himself tense as they neared the morning room. The sound of uninhibited laughter and answering titters echoed through the hall. It would seem that they were not the first guests to awaken.
Pasting a self-assured smile on his lips, he affected a jackanapes swagger and pushed open the door to the breakfast room. A nauseating waft of the presumably inedible fare curled up to his senses and he hid a cringe.
Without breaking stride, he led Mary into the grand, lavishly appointed morning room. This one was more absurd than the others they had seen of yet. The walls were draped in gilt wall hangings, the white floors were polished to such a high shine that they reflected everything in the room as though it were a mirror, and small cupids holding fruit smiled down on them from the painted ceiling.
Egad.
They greeted the others in the room but halted when a new man rose from his seat at the table.
“Mary!” The man boomed as he spread his arms wide and strode toward them.
Mary smiled in return and accepted his buss to her cheek. Gabe clenched his jaw to keep from loudly protesting and sweeping Mary from the room.
“Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” the cad with auburn hair and striking green eyes asked.
Mary’s grin widened at the curst man. “Of course! Tony, this is Mr. Anthony Spencer.”
Gabe’s confident expression slipped as he was momentarily nonplused.
“Tony, this is Anthony Walstone, Viscount Boxton.”
“Two Tonys, eh wot?” Mr. Piper laughed from his seat at the long table.
Gabe affected the appropriate bow and said the customary things, all the while he was seething at the knowledge that this man and Mary already knew each other. The question was, how did they know each other? Did they have an association such as the one Mary had with Lord Reddington?
Perish the thought.
Gabe had heard of Boxton through his dealings—or incidents—with Hydra’s family. Hydra’s sister, Miss Annabel Bradley—now Lady Devon—had been courted by the man over the past season. From what Gabe had gleaned, Boxton was a right bastard and ended up forced into a loveless marriage after being caught doing unspeakable acts to his loathsome future wife.
“Tell me, how do you know each other?” Gabe cursed his quick tongue the moment the words escaped his mouth. He did not want to know the answer to that question.
A slow, predatory grin grew on the man’s lips and Gabe felt his pulse begin to hammer in his temples.
“Oh, we go way back, don’t we, love?” He winked at Mary, and Gabe had to resist the urge to punch the man in the nose. “But I thought you would not take on a protector, Mary.” He turned to Gabe with a jaundiced eye.
Mary gazed at Gabe with adoration, her hand running up and down his coat sleeve. “Tony knew precisely what to say and what to do to alter my opinion on that score.”
“Do stop,” Lord Reddington grumbled around a mouth full of food from his seat at the table. “You’ll make us all jealous.”
“Yes, come in and eat,” Lady Kerr intoned from her seat beside her husband at the head of the table. “I saved a seat for you, Mr. Spencer.”
Lord Boxton raised a critical eyebrow at Gabe. “It seems that my lover has taken a liking to you…” his gaze flicked to Mary and back, “and the woman whose favours I, and dozens more, have very nearly begged for. You must be something special, indeed.”
Damn. He had not meant to attract so much attention. That would not be conducive to their anonymity once this assignment concluded.
He shrugged a shoulder and affected a confidence he didn’t feel. “What can I say? I learned some very interesting things while living abroad.”
“Will you lot quit your blathering and sit your arses down to eat?” Lord Sheffield wheezed, his extra chin jiggling as he spoke. “The food is getting cold and your chatter is setting me off my feed.”
“And that’s damned difficult to do!” Mr. Piper laughed.
Gabe silently gripped Mary’s elbow and led her to the sideboard where they both filled their plates. Nothing appeared or smelled appetizing in
the least, but he swallowed past his repugnance and selected the lesser of the evils: nearly spoiled fruit and a slice of toast.
He sat next to Lady Kerr as she had requested, and Mary sat between the scurrilous devils, Reddington and Boxton. She smiled and flirted as she ate, laughed or turned her warm grey eyes on them when they whispered something in her ear, and batted her lashes at what Gabe could only assume were appropriate times. Damn them. Damn them all.
Why did it bother him so? Could it truly just be that he did not wish for Mary to be hurt? He was not certain that he wished to learn the answer to that question. He had best not dwell on it.
“We have ruins on the grounds of Kerr house, Mr. Spencer.” Lady Kerr leaned in close to him.
Gabe forced himself to swallow down the dry toast. “Do you, indeed?”
She nodded, her black hair remaining perfectly in place with every movement. “We do,” she purred. “You must come for a private tour.”
“I should like a private tour, my lady,” Lord Pondridge said, a Machiavellian gleam to his eye, while pouring a dram of brandy into his goblet.
“Drinking at this hour, Pondridge?” Mr. Jackson raised a perfectly manicured brow across the table at the hawk-like Lord.
Pondridge waved a fork at the man and his twin mistresses, one on each knee. “Whoring at this hour, Jackson?”
With a wink and a wicked grin, the slender, red haired dandy laughed. “Touché.”
“Speaking of which,” Reddington put in, “you said you might perform for us, but what must we do to convince you to perform for us tonight, Mary?”
“Yes, Miss White,” Mr. Piper spoke before she could respond. “We have heard so much about your fascinating skills, it would be a shame not to honour us with a sample.”
Boxton’s eyebrows rose nigh to his hairline. “Perform?”
Mary’s smile was a bewildering combination of demureness and seductiveness. Bloody perfect. “If you wish it, then I shall dance tonight.”
“Dance, is it?” Lord Kerr sipped at the steaming coffee in his cup.
The Thespian Spy Page 13
