The Thespian Spy

by Cheri Champagne

  “Oh!” Boxton turned to gaze at his lordship, his green eyes wide and almost frightfully zealous. “You would not believe what Mary is capable of, Kerr. She does things that are simply…indescribable! The movement of her hips—”

  “Don’t give away the enjoyment of it with your ham-fisted descriptions, Boxton,” Reddington cut in. “Let it be a surprise.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. But I’ll wager you have never seen the like.”

  “I’ll take that wager,” Lord Kerr said.

  Gabe wanted to slap the cocksure smile off of Boxton’s face.

  “One hundred quid.”

  Kerr raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain you can afford to lose such a sum?”

  Boxton laughed loudly, his voice echoing off the walls of the large room. “I can afford to win such a sum, I assure you.”

  Lord Kerr turned to look at Mary. “What say you, Miss White? Should I take the wager?”

  Mary winked at him. “That, my lord, is for you to decide.”

  He pursed his lips for a moment then nodded at Boxton. “You have yourself a wager. One hundred pounds that this young actress cannot do anything that I have not yet seen.”

  Boxton clapped his hands in premature victory.

  It took all of Gabe’s will not to howl his fury to the room. Each word these idiots spoke brought his anger higher. Hell, Gabe could not recall a time when he felt as angry as he has in the past four and twenty hours.

  He must be ill. Perhaps he had the ague; he certainly felt warm. But no. The ague would not make one angry. Mayhap he was going mad. Madness was not found in his family, but he supposed it must begin with someone.

  One of Jackson’s mistresses giggled as he kissed his way up her neck, cutting the sudden silence and breaking into Gabe’s maudlin thoughts.

  “Who is game for a hunt this morning? The weather is fine if not a bit damp from yesterday’s rain, eh wot?” Mr. Piper leaned back in his chair and pulled out his snuffbox.

  Lord Pondridge tapped his lap and his mistress rose from her seat beside him to straddle his thighs. “I do not ride…a horse.” He winked and his mistress tittered.

  Gabe suspected that Pondridge didn’t ride because he was always too drunk to stay atop his mount.

  “I love a good hunt.” The Viscountess Kerr dabbed daintily at the corners of her lips then placed her napkin beside her plate.

  “Capital!” Mr. Piper clapped his hands in one loud crack.

  Lord Kerr swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Once we’ve concluded the morning meal, everyone that wishes to ride ought to don the proper attire. It would seem that a hunt is on.”

  * * *

  An hour after the morning meal, Mary pulled Gabe’s earlobe into her mouth, scraping the little nub against her teeth as her tongue lapped simultaneously. She behaved as the other mistresses did, casually draping over her lover’s lap, toying with his lapel, hair, and teasing him with lips and tongue. She attempted, with all her might, to act as though Gabriel were just another “mark” and allow her body to move without her emotions being entangled. But as much as Mary tried, she could not be detached from what her body was doing with Gabe.

  He was warm and hard, and he smelled of clean skin and the arousing gentle scent of soap and cloves. Touching him and smelling him did something to her senses that compelled her to not only continue, but to do more. Much, much more.

  Gabe’s voice rumbled as he spoke, the vibrations tickling her lips as she kissed the underside of his unshaven jaw.

  Good heavens!

  Male laughter cut through her shameful musings and she turned to see young Eleanor standing in the middle of the parlour, evidently having brought in a refill of the men’s refreshments. Gratefully, most of the house party guests had joined the hunt, so there weren’t many witnesses to Eleanor’s embarrassment. But Mary was there. And she did not like what she saw.

  Lord Pondridge pinched her bottom while Lord Sheffield gripped the poor girl’s wrist, tugging her closer to him.

  “Come and play with us, pretty gel. We won’t hurt you.”

  The grimace on Eleanor’s face and the way she clawed at his punishing grip with her other hand told Mary that he was indeed hurting her.

  Lord Sheffield pulled harder, forcing Eleanor to fall onto his lap. “There, dearie, now we can have some fun.”

  A flash went through Mary’s mind of that day long ago…

  “Wha’ should we do with ‘er? Eh?”

  “I think weee should t-up ‘er, wot, wot?”

  A shiver went down Mary’s spine and she was on her feet before she could give credence to the thought. She moved purely on instinct.

  “Pardon me, your lordships, but I have need of Eleanor’s services.”

  “Aw, come now, Miss White, surely you can spare her for a few minutes.”

  Mary moved her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I am afraid not. You see, if I am to perform this evening I must have my costume readied. Eleanor is taking the place of my lady’s maid while we are in residence and I simply must have her assistance.”

  Eleanor scrambled from Lord Sheffield’s lap the instant he released her, a look of such relief on her features that Mary felt an ache in her chest for what this girl must routinely suffer.

  With a curtsey, Mary led Eleanor from the room. They traversed the halls in silence, passing other maids and footmen scurrying about to clean their masters’ chambers. The upstairs maid cleaning Mary and Gabe’s bedchamber nearly bumped into them as she rushed from the room.

  “Beg pardon, miss.” She was gone before Mary had the chance to reply.

  Mary preceded Eleanor into the room and pulled a small trunk from beneath the bed and placed it atop the newly straightened counterpane.

  “This is—”

  “Beg pardon for interrupting, miss,” Eleanor placed a tentative hand on Mary’s arm, then quickly pulled it back. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me, your rescuing me like that.”

  Mary would ordinarily have brushed off the effusive thanks, but not only did she wish to earn the maid’s trust, but something about her compelled Mary to help. So she was honest. “Someone once saved me from such a fate. I simply wished to repay the favour.” She tapped the trunk with both hands. “Now. This is my trunk of costumes.”

  She opened the lid, an array of colourful, sheer fabrics, chained coin-shaped metal circles, and ankle and wrist cuffs overflowing the box.

  Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Cor!” she said breathily.

  “I have not yet decided which one I will wear, so do you think you can manage to choose for me, and prepare it for this evening?”

  “O’ course, Miss White. I would be happy to.”

  Chapter 18

  Gabe watched Mary’s swaying bottom with a lustful gaze as she left the room with the maid. He told himself it was purely because it was what his character would do, but somewhere in the back of his mind Gabe knew that was a lie.

  It felt shameful, the way his body reacted when Mary was near…when Mary was touching him, licking him, kissing him. It was a natural response to such petting and teasing, but damn it, this was Mary!

  His body wanted her; there was no question of that. It was his mind…his mind that told him it was wrong. His mind that rebelled whenever she pressed her sweet bottom over the hardness in his lap. His mind that told him she was untouchable.

  It was a shame that his mind was right.

  His gaze turned upwards as the butler appeared in the parlour’s doorway.

  “The Marquess of Hale and his lady,” he announced.

  Mr. Jenkins stepped aside with a bow so low that Gabe thought uneasily that the old man might not be able to right himself again.

  From behind the butler came a sturdy-looking man of middling age, though rather robust in health, with greying brown hair and black eyes. He was dressed as any respectable lord would; his shirt was crisply white, his waistcoat of the finest silk, his coat and trousers a popularly chosen midnight b
lue, and his cravat pin as black as obsidian. Beside him stood the woman that was obviously his mistress. She was a young, frightened woman with cropped, short black curls and a demure brown travelling frock. Her eyes cast downward as her lover greeted the room with an affable smile.

  Lord Hale wore a mask of wellness and congeniality, but Gabe sensed something dark lurking deep within. One look at him and Gabe understood why he was on Hydra’s list of traitorous suspects.

  “Greetings!”

  The lords Sheffield and Pondridge rose and greeted the newest arrival. Abiding by propriety, Gabe rose from his seat and bowed as well.

  “Who is this?” Hale pointed at Gabe.

  “My name is Mr. Anthony Spencer, my lord.”

  Hale grunted.

  Lord Pondridge took a gulp of his brandy and smiled unsteadily. “Spencer here is with the legendary actress, Miss White.”

  “The devil you say?” Hale’s eyebrows rose. “That’s another bet at White’s that I’ve lost. Tell me, is she as good as they say?”

  Gabe swallowed down some bile as he affected a grin. “Better.”

  “Lucky man, lucky man, wot? Where the devil is everyone? I was told this was a house party, not a boring week of watching men lay about.”

  Lord Sheffield laughed, his belly jiggling. “A few of the ladies have gone for a turn about the garden and the others are out for a hunt.”

  “Ah.” Hale turned to his mistress. “Sit.”

  As his mistress did as he demanded, perching carefully on the edge of a chair, Hale went to the sideboard and poured himself a healthy dram of whisky before sitting on the chaise. Hale then snapped his fingers and pointed to his lap, his mistress obediently moving to sit upon his thighs.

  Where is Mary?

  Gabe bowed to the room. “Please excuse me, my lords.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and exited into the corridor in search of Mary. He traversed the halls that led to their bedchamber, each moment seemingly taking longer than the last. He finally reached their room and went inside. Neither Mary nor the maid was anywhere to be seen.

  He cursed under his breath and returned to the hall. He took several long strides down the corridor when he heard the telltale murmuring of voices coming from one of the adjacent rooms.

  His senses alert, Gabe sidled up to the door and pressed his ear to the cool wood.

  “Oh!” Mary’s lowered voice said. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve missed you.”

  Gabe felt his stomach flutter with…anger, he was certain, at the muffled male voice that replied. He and Mary were partners on this assignment. They were meant to be lovers, and he had no intention of being cuckolded, even if it was an artificial romantic alliance.

  Without waiting another moment, Gabe burst into the room, the door crashing against the wall as it swung violently open.

  Mary betrayed nary a flinch, but a footman dressed in unsightly green livery leapt to protect her, stepping in front of her, ready to defend Mary from the noisy intruder. But the moment Gabriel saw the golden-eyed man with whom she stood, he felt the complete fool.

  He quickly closed the door behind him and entered the room to stand before Mary and the footman. “Sir Bramwell Stevens. My apologies. I did not know you would be here.”

  He shook his fellow spy’s hand.

  Stevens grinned. “What the devil did you think was happening in here, Gabe, to make you crash in like that? And please, it’s just Stevens. I don’t like this Sir nonsense.”

  “Nothing, I assure you,” Gabe lied.

  “Stevens’ pseudonym is ‘Smithe,’” Mary said. “Hydra informed us that he was a footman for the Marquess of Hale, if you will recall.”

  Gabe affected a mock half bow. “Anthony Spencer at your service. You already know Mary White.”

  Stevens’ lips curved up in a half smile. “Indeed, I do.” He lifted Mary’s hand to his lips and gave it a lingering kiss.

  Mary giggled, her other hand coming up to cover her perfect, smiling mouth.

  Damn Stevens, anyway. He was as bad as Hugh and Colin, the incorrigible flirts.

  Gabe grabbed Mary’s free hand, pulling her to his side and away from Stevens. “That is enough of that. From this point on, we do not know each other.”

  Stevens bowed. “Of course, sir.”

  Gabe turned to Mary. “We have some searching to do.”

  With another wink, Stevens slunk from the room, leaving Gabe and Mary alone in the guest bedchamber. It was an exact copy of their room, except this one was ornamented not in puce, but sunshine yellow. It was too cheery for Gabe’s current mood.

  He was suddenly very aware that he was still holding Mary’s hand…and that he rather enjoyed the sensation. He quickly released her.

  “Shall we begin with the downstairs study?” He forced a smile.

  “Of course.” She linked her hand around his elbow. “Do you know the way?”

  “Not at all, but I imagine it should not be difficult to find. Is it not the room with a desk, a chair, and correspondence and such?”

  * * *

  Mary sent Gabe a sideways glance for his sarcasm. They continued down the hall, searching, for Lord Kerr’s study as insouciantly as possible. This assignment would be simpler if they had come as servants, as they could come and go from rooms and bedchambers without inquiry. Mary knew better than to question Hydra’s methods, however, and her role as Miss White the actress has already been established.

  As much as Mary had been enjoying the sweet torture of Gabriel and the excitement of the hunt for Bonaparte’s spies, she was concerned. Anthony Walstone, the Viscount Boxton was at the house party, and that boded ill. Despite having given him a warm greeting, Mary hated to admit that she was frightened of the green-eyed devil.

  “This one,” Gabe murmured in her ear.

  She jumped slightly at the interruption to her thoughts. Goodness, had they reached the study already? She did not even recall descending the stairs.

  “Are you well, Mary?” Gabe gazed down at her, a concerned frown marring his perfect brow.

  Mary forced herself to smile. “Of course, Tony.”

  She entered first into the empty study. It was perfectly ordered, not a single item out of place. A large mahogany desk stood in the centre of the square room, and a tall leather wingback chair behind it. One grand rouge brocade rug lay on the floor, nearly covering the entire surface of the room.

  Despite the tidy appearance, the room held the odour of books, cigars, and cheap brandy.

  Gabe let out a low whistle and Mary shushed him.

  “What?” Gabe feigned innocence. “I’ve never seen a study so immaculate before.”

  “We had best be careful of what we touch. Someone as fastidious as this likely takes particular notice of the precise placement of their things.”

  He conceded the point with a nod. “Let us set to work.”

  Mary watched as Gabriel walked toward the bookshelves that lined the right most wall and ran his fingers along the spines, testing the books for a potential latch. His hands were strong and nimble as he moved. She imagined they’d be just as capable on her.

  Stop it, she admonished herself. Shaking herself and focusing on her task, Mary slid her hands around the edges of the chaise lounge and rectangular table that stood before the left wall. Besides nails and the edges of the upholstery, Mary found nothing.

  She quickly moved on, examining the wide sideboard that sat against the wall behind the desk between two large paintings that stretched from ceiling to the dark wood planked floor. She opened the cabinet door.

  * * *

  Abandoning the bookcase, Gabe turned his attention to the desk and opened the bottommost left side drawer. He tapped it from the underside, noting the solid thunk. He moved to the next drawer, and then the next, each knock leading to the same thunk. He finally reached the topmost drawer, but it would not open.

  “Mary,” he whispered.

  She looked up from wher
e she searched in the vases on the fireplace mantle.

  Gabe extended a hand. “One of your hair pins.”

  Mary hurried over, pulling a pin from her coiffure. Gabe accepted it with a nod then placed it in the lock.

  “Shouldn’t you use two?” Mary whispered in his ear, the warm, womanly rose scent of her very nearly making him dizzy.

  “For locks in doors and safes, yes, but this…particular lock…” he bit his lip as he concentrated on his task, “aha!” He looked at her with a grin. “Just requires one.”

  He slid the drawer open to find it empty. Undeterred, Gabe reached beneath the drawer and knocked. Clunk. He looked up at Mary with a triumphant smile before searching the underside of the drawer for a finger hole. He found it and slid his finger inside then pressed the latch within. Click. The top of the hidden compartment popped open and Gabe lifted it to examine the contents.

  Mary sighed in disappointment. “Nothing but lists of items purchased.” She reached in and fingered through the slips of parchment. “The modiste, the tailor, cobbler, bookshop, milliner…” she sighed once more, “this is not at all what we are searching for.”

  Gabe frowned, frustration riding him, as he looked at the entirely innocent documents. Blast it! He had been so certain…

  Carefully replacing the bills and closed the drawer, he used Mary’s hairpin to lock it. He quickly turned his attention to the bookshelves. Mary had already searched for an opening mechanism, but men had been known to hollow out large tomes and hide documents within. Finding the thickest book on the shelf, Gabe withdrew it and flipped it open. Nothing. He found another and opened it. Nothing.

  “Gabriel—er, Tony,” Mary said in hushed tones. “What do you make of this pedestal?”

  Gabe turned to see Mary gesture to a tall, cylindrical, dark oak pedestal that reached about waist height. It stood in the far-left corner of the room, and an enclosed display case on top that held what appeared to be a rare book. His lordship’s prized possession no doubt.

  “Lord Kerr must value that book a great deal,” Mary murmured thoughtfully.