The Thespian Spy

by Cheri Champagne

  Lady Kerr stepped closer to the brass tub, her gaze darkening ominously. “Are you a spy?”

  Mary thought quickly. She widened her eyes and dropped her jaw in apparent shock. The tingling warning of danger travelled up her spine, and apprehension filled her heart. “A spy! I promise you, my lady, I would never divulge your delightful décor ideas to another’s household. Or perhaps you dread my telling others of your cook’s delicious desserts?” She contrived a convincing expression of honest concern. “Truly, I do not have many acquaintances among the women of the gentry. I would never reveal your household secrets. I swear it!”

  A dangerous smile began to form on the lady’s lips. “I see I was mistaken. My apologies for interrupting your bath, Miss White.”

  She turned on her slippered toes and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. Mary’s eyes narrowed. The lady had tried startling a confession out of Mary, but Mary was not easily rattled. Astonished, yes, at the woman’s daringly direct question, but certainly not rattled. In fact, she now felt more determined than ever to uncover the traitors among these guests, and to investigate Lady Kerr in particular. The woman was a traitorous villain, and Mary would find proof, not only for the sake of King and Country, but to prove to Gabriel that she was as capable an agent as any man.

  She rose from the bath and hastily dried herself, then pulled the costume from where it hung in the wardrobe and draped it across the foot of the bed. Mary slipped the scanty purple drawers up her legs; though they should hardly be considered drawers, and scanty was a word not strong enough to describe the small patch of fabric with thin, corded rope holding the material together. Mrs. McPhee must have designed them as a way to cover her most private area without requiring a large bolt of material wrapped around her hips, but the revealing nature of them was shocking, even to Mary.

  She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass. Indeed, it perfectly hid the pertinent parts. Although the edges of her derrière poked out from beneath the material over her bottom, the fit was superb.

  Her bodice—if one could call it that; “Modesty patches” was a better description—was simply two round patches of the same purple cotton, just enough to cover the circular dials of her nipples, held together with material that had been woven into a thin rope to wrap twice around her ribcage and knot in the front. It was scarcely enough fabric to keep her from being entirely nude, but for her purposes and the sake of their assignment, Mary would wear the revealing costume.

  Mrs. McPhee had outdone herself with the detail. Mary scarcely knew how she had accomplished such a feat with only a fortnight to work.

  Reaching for the first and second of five silver chains, Mary fastened them around her hips, hundreds of small coins jingling and clinking as she did and gasped at the coldness of the metal as it touched her warm skin.

  The third chain was fastened just under her breasts, as it was meant to dangle just below the layers of bodice that she was to wear. Next, she donned layer after layer of sheer royal purple skirts. The thin, transparent skirts were meant to come off one layer at a time as she danced, slowly revealing her body beneath, until only one thin skirt remained.

  She smiled at her reflection. Once she had completed dressing, had done her hair, and had darkened her eyes with charcoal, her costume would have the precise impact for which she had aimed. Bravura.

  Chapter 20

  Gabe pulled his watch from his pocket and flicked it open. Ten of eleven. He covered a yawn with the back of his lace-bedecked wrist. It was early by society’s standards, but Gabriel had never liked society’s version of time.

  The furniture in the pink floral drawing room had been moved about, giving space before the hearth for Mary’s performance. Everyone had found a seat in lightly-stuffed pink floral armchairs, settees, or on a lover’s lap.

  Gabe had dropped out of the conversation shortly after Lady Kerr had returned to the room. The men spoke of women, drink, and cards. Frivolous conversation for frivolous minds.

  Gabe just waited. Mary was abovestairs in their bedchamber readying herself for a humiliating display of hedonism.

  He shifted his seat in the uncomfortable armchair. He rested one elbow upon the armrest and crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to find a more pleasing position.

  “I am absolutely certain, Kerr,” Boxton’s voice cut through Gabe’s thoughts, “that you will hand one hundred quid to me by the end of the night.”

  Lord Kerr shook his head. “I do not expect to lose that wager, Boxton.”

  Lord Reddington chuckled, bouncing his mistress, Mrs. McArthur, on his knee. “I imagine you will enjoy yourself enough, Lord Kerr, that you will ultimately forget that you had entered into the wager from the first. Mary has the ability to take one out of one’s self.”

  Gabe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing the lot of them in rather coarse language.

  Suddenly, the room fell silent, the only noise was the faint chafing of fabric on fabric and the light, rhythmic breathing of the parlour’s occupants.

  Gabe’s gaze caught on Mary as she entered and wouldn’t let go. A lightweight, drab, grey woollen cloak covered her from shoulders to the tips of her toes, and a faint jingling reached his ears as she moved.

  She halted in the centre of her performing space and lowered the hood to reveal her chignon. Her hair shone a deep red, backlit by the blazing fire in the hearth. Her expression was one of seductive determination, and it was entirely unsettling.

  Ever so slowly, Mary began to slide the cloak from her shoulders, revealing the dark purple, sheer layers of fabric that Mary deigned herself able to don before a room full of men.

  A collective gasp cut through the silence of the room as the cloak fell entirely to the floor.

  Gabe was stunned. Mary’s middle was wholly exposed, from the underside of her breasts to well below her navel. All that graced that area in between were silver chains with dangling coins that jangled when she moved. The purple skirts reached the floor, but with the firelight glowing behind her, they could all see the outline of her legs. Her arms were visible beneath the long, flowing sleeves, capped by silver embroidered cuffs at the end. And her bodice… Oh Lord, her bodice… Not only was it indecently low, but it was evident that there were very few layers of sheer material concealing her, as Gabe could see dark round disks of some fabric or another covering her nipples.

  His heart slammed in his chest. Good God!

  With a flirtatious smile upon her lips, Mary began to move. Although move was hardly the word to describe the painfully alluring movement of her body. Tease, seduce, dumbfound, and stun were much more accurate.

  She kept one knee continuously bent, but alternated from one to the other, the movement forcing each hip to alternately flick upward. Her upper body remained still, and her stomach moved in a bewitching rhythm, causing the coins to jingle to the beat of an alluring tune.

  Despite himself, Gabe’s body began to betray him. His blood thrummed with desire, and heat built under the collar of his shirt, spreading throughout his body. Just the movement of her body was enough to send his lust into frenzy.

  What she did next only added to his frustrated desire.

  With slow, deliberate movements, and with her hips still flicking and coins still jingling, Mary unknotted one layer of her skirts and let it gradually slide through her fingers.

  Gabe’s heart hammered unmercifully in his chest as he watched, enthralled as she turned on the spot, giving him a perfect view of her derrière and continued her flicking. My God, the flicking! With each movement of her hips, her bottom bounced…and with each bounce, his mind thought very licentious thoughts. Mary bent over the side of their bed… Mary bent over a chair, a desk, a table… Hell, Mary bent over anything; the world was rife with possibilities.

  She turned back around, the gauzy purple material still in her hands and the epitome of seduction written across her features.

  Then his desire waned.

  Mary strode sw
ayingly toward Lord Boxton and draped the fabric across his shoulders as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. The cad’s hands rose to grip her waist and Gabriel saw red.

  Damn! He had been spellbound by her performance just as the other men had been. How could he have allowed himself to become so enraptured by her that he forgot where and with whom he was?

  The bitter taste of resentment began to filter its way through him. He didn’t like the other men sharing in the performance.

  Mary drifted away from Boxton to remove yet another layer. One of the men in the room whispered “my God” beneath his breath, but Gabe heard him. One man even groaned aloud. And Gabe hated it.

  He let his gaze roam around the room and what he saw made him ever more furious. Each man watched Mary with hunger, devouring her with their eyes; several even licked their lips, damn their hides. The women, while not watching in lust, were still very much captivated by each movement.

  Gabe’s indignant gaze returned to Mary. Her hips swayed, her stomach rippled, and her hands had begun to roam her own form in between the removal of each skirt layer. Now, as the volume of her skirts diminished, he noted that she wore naught but silver embroidered purple cuffs at her ankles and bared feet.

  Abruptly, the anger that had wound its way through his heart since the moment that Mary had walked through the doors of Grimsbury Manor washed away. He wanted to glare furiously at her, to berate her, to blame Mary for joining the Secret Service, becoming an actress, and for attracting other men, because that was familiar. But what he felt was sad. She’d been corrupted. This was not the same Mary that blushed so easily and played in the open fields with him as children.

  His heart sank further.

  How many men had been so delighted by this display of hedonism that they retired with her to their beds? Gabe wagered there were far too many.

  Perhaps Colin was right; perhaps Gabe should just take her into his own bed and be done with it. For too long, Gabe had held on to a deep, hidden belief—nay, hope—that Mary was still the same girl from his youth, but this overtly seductive woman was not someone that he knew. This woman was not his Mary, which led him to a distressing conclusion.

  He needed to say goodbye.

  Making love to Mary would satisfy this desire for her that had been growing within him, and it would officially put to rest any notion of his “rescuing” her from men lusting after her. For then he would be one; he would join the ranks of men that’d had the pleasure of taking “Miss Mary White” to his bed.

  He watched as she slid her hands over her womanly curves and up until she reached her hair. With one strategic, gentle tug, her hair dropped in rivulets down her back and over her shoulders.

  Yes. He would most definitely enjoy bedding her. And he was certain that she would agree to a night with him, if her kisses were any indication.

  Mary started a new combination of her flicking and circular hip motions, each doing delectable things to the soft flesh of her stomach.

  All that remained of her skirts was one layer, so thin as to be insignificant. Each man in the room, excepting Gabriel, wore one or more of her skirt layers over their shoulders. He tamped down on the irritation that swamped him after that realization.

  Never mind them, he told himself, you will have her in your bed and those traitorous scoundrels will not. Of course, he would have to bide his time with taking her; finding and acquiring those documents took precedence over his lust for Mary. But, he was certain, bedding her would be all the more worth it for the wait.

  Several more minutes passed in which the only sounds in the pink, floral drawing room were heavy breathing and the tinkling of Mary’s chained silver coins. Gabriel watched, enraptured, as Mary captivated the room.

  Soon, her performance was at its conclusion. She entered her final stance, the backs of her hands touching high above her head, her chest extended outward, her hip cocked, and one knee bent. Her audience remained silent for several moments, so stunned by her remarkable talents that they did not react.

  Mary’s expression became unsure, and Gabe was released from his stunned silence. He clapped his hands loudly, the others quickly following suit. There were several shocking whistles and shouts of “Brava!” and “Encore!” as the audience rose to their feet.

  Gabe watched as Lord Kerr indiscreetly handed several bank notes to Lord Boxton, apparently having lost their wager.

  * * *

  Mary wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders as Lord Reddington attempted to slide his hand within.

  “Come, Mary,” he whispered hotly into her ear. “I promise to give you as much pleasure as you can handle…and then some more. Come to me tonight.”

  Mary smiled as warmly as she could. “You know I cannot.”

  “I am sure—”

  “Shall we retire, sweetling?” Reddington appeared distinctly disgruntled as Gabe appeared beside her. “I find myself in dire need of rest.”

  She looked up at Gabe with her heart in her eyes as his arm slid around her waist. “But of course, my dear Tony.”

  Reddington scoffed, dismayed, as Tony ushered her from the room.

  Mary could feel the tension from Gabe as they walked to their bedchamber. He had been displeased with her position before this evening; she could not fathom the vehemence of his disapproval after witnessing her performance. She supposed she had no choice but to endure a stern set-down once they reached their bedchamber.

  The door came up far too quickly and Mary stood aside while Gabe pressed the latch.

  She entered, busying herself with finding a night rail and performing her ablutions in preparation for sleep. Several minutes passed in silence while she readied herself. She donned her night rail and wrapper, then removed herself behind the privacy screen with her toiletries.

  And yet…Gabriel said nothing.

  She paused in the midst of aggressively brushing tooth powder over her teeth to peek around the privacy screen. There sat Gabriel at the small round table, quietly practicing his patience. He casually flipped over a card and furrowed his brow in concentration.

  Mary’s eyes narrowed. What is he playing at? Why was he not berating her for her poor life decisions? Why was he not telling her that she could not and should not continue on in this manner? Something was not right.

  She concluded her ablutions and rounded the screen.

  “I believe I will take a nap before we set out,” she said, watching him carefully for any sign of his ill feelings.

  His gaze remained fixed on his cards. “As you will, Mary.”

  Her eyebrows rose, but she remained silent. There was something distinctly odd about Gabe’s behaviour, but Mary could not determine precisely what that was.

  She should not complain, however. At the very least she should be pleased that she was not currently receiving a set-down.

  Hastily removing her wrapper and draping it over the foot of the bed, Mary slid between the bedclothes and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 21

  Gabe flipped over another card and groaned. He scarcely noticed what cards were what anymore. He was certain that Mary had fallen asleep already, yet still thoughts of her persisted. After witnessing her seductive performance, he could not get her out of his mind. He had told himself that he would wait until after their assignment had been completed before he took Mary to his bed, but something inside was urging him to join her in the bed now.

  He glanced again toward the bed. She lay sprawled across the mattress, her hair splayed out in every direction. Affection warmed his heart as memories of her running free across fields of bluebells, her hair flying in the wind behind her, crossed his mind’s eye.

  He shook himself. Enough of this. Mary had made it quite clear that their past friendship was now dissolved, and any affection that she once held for him had long since withered away. She was not a friend. She was not a lover…though he would soon change that.

  Gabe rose and strode to the washbasin. He splashed in some chilled water from t
he puce porcelain pitcher, then began to disrobe.

  He soaped the washcloth and scrubbed it vigorously over his bared skin. If one was to make love to a handsome woman, one must be clean. As he had no access to a bath for the moment, he would make do.

  They would find the documents tonight in the strong box, have Mary create forgeries and carefully replace them, pack their meagre belongings, make their excuses, and spirit themselves away to the nearest inn so he may spend the entirety of the night—should the lady be amenable—making love to Mary in every way that his depraved mind had imagined over the past countless hours.

  Quickly scrubbing his face, neck, and chest, he then moved to his arms and torso, working down his legs to his feet, dipping the cloth into the water and soaping it every few scrubs.

  His stomach buzzed with anticipation, both for the near completion of their assignment, and for what he hoped to do with Mary.

  Once his body had been thoroughly washed, he bent forward, dunking his head into the soapy washbasin. He blindly grabbed the soap and scrubbed it into his hair, ensuring that every strand had been washed, then rinsed.

  He cast a sidelong glance at Mary’s slumbering form, and despite the chilled air spreading gooseflesh across his skin, Gabe’s body responded to the thought of being with her. His lips stretched in a mirthless smile as he continued his ablutions.

  It took mere moments to dry himself before he removed the washbasin from its resting spot and tossed its contents out the opened window.

  Just as he found his long blue velvet robe and slipped his arms into the sleeves, a knock sounded at the door. Alarm rippled through him.

  His gaze flew to the clock on the fireplace mantle as he tied the knot at his waist. It was well past one of the clock; evidently this was not a social visit.

  Alertness heightening his senses, Gabe cast one more glance at Mary’s sleeping form before he strode to the door. He stood with his shoulder to the wall, blocking the view of Mary from the door, before he opened it just enough to see who stood on the other side.