The Thespian Spy: The Seductive Spy Series: Book One

by Cheri Champagne

  Mary pulled away from him the moment she felt his breath quicken, and with one last heavy-lidded glance, she spun about to make her way back through the crowd, exaggerating the sway of her hips. She knew he would follow. No man of his ilk could deny his curiosity when a woman made such a bold statement.

  Winding her way through the side and back corridors, she passed the scene painting and storage rooms, the Royal Saloon, and several other dressing rooms before she reached her own. The room was of generous size and stringently tidy. A chaise and a French privacy screen concealed two corners of the room, and the third was filled with her wardrobe, dressing table, and looking glass. The walls were a pale pink, though devoid of any art. The light in her dressing room was deliberately dim, with only one sconce and a candelabra lighting the space.

  Mary moved to stand near the chaise and turned in time to see Lord Reddington hurry into the room after her.

  “Do close the door, Lord Reddington. I trust you would not wish us to be observed by every passer-by.”

  His breath came rapidly as he closed the door.

  “Have a seat, won’t you?” She indicated the chaise.

  “I believe I was promised an unforgettable experience.”

  Insolent pup. “And indeed, you shall receive one. Sit.”

  He did as she demanded and draped himself casually on the lush red velvet cushions.

  Cocking her hip to the side, she slowly pulled her thin shawl from her elbows, and ran the fine material through her hands before stopping to grip each end in a tight fist. She approached him slowly, swaying her hips with each step, and leaned deeply over him, bringing her breasts alluringly close to his face. It was only as she drew away that he realized that she had tied his wrists together with her shawl.

  “What—?” His jaw dropped open on the word as she put her hands to her front-opening bodice and began to pull the ribbons loose. “Ooooh…”

  Dipping one knee, she flicked the opposite hip upward, then did the same on the other side. Dip, flick, dip, flick.

  She began a rhythm with her hips as she pulled her gown away to reveal the sheer material of her chemisette. It did little to cover her as it hugged her curves like a second skin, but that was the object. Beneath the chemisette were two strips of material, one covering her breasts and the other wrapped around her hips and bottom, completely covering her feminine area.

  The seduction had the desired effect. Her quarry was enraptured by her movements, utterly captivated by the swivel of her hips. And the evidence of his interest strained the falls of his trousers.

  Excellent. This is going to be easy.

  She stepped out of the gown that had pooled at her feet, and she brushed it aside with her slipper-clad toes.

  “Where,” he gritted out, “where did you learn to do that?”

  “This?” She flicked her hip.

  Ever so slowly, she ran the backs of her fingers over her hips, trailing them lightly over her waist, up the sides of her breasts, neck, and further, until her wrists touched high above her head.

  Lord Reddington licked his already glistening lips and nodded jerkily.

  She saw no harm in telling him—at least part of the truth. “As a young girl, I came across an actress from a foreign land. She taught me all there is to know about this style of dance. She had been part of a harem for many years.”

  “H—harem?”

  She winked saucily at him. “Yes.”

  Then she began to dance.

  * * *

  Gabe brought the mug of ale to his lips and took a long swill before plunking it back down, the contents splashing over the rim and onto the polished tabletop. He sat in a private dining room of Brooks’ Gentleman’s Club; it was a favourite meeting place for Gabe and his select few friends, as it afforded them privacy and anonymity when they used their aliases.

  The dining room was of diminutive size, with just one round table that sat four and a sidebar with liquor and assorted cured meats and cheeses. Gabe was certain that if he stood in the centre of the room and stretched his arms out from his sides, he could touch each wall with his fingertips. It was, in essence, a cupboard. But it served their purpose and the keeper of the establishment ensured that this room was always available for Gabe and his friends’ use. The walls and ceiling were covered in dark wood and were lit by candles on the sidebar and table.

  Gabe took another gulp of the bitter ale. He would much rather it be a scotch, and he would much rather drown his sorrows in an entire bottle, but he had to report to Hydra at dawn and did not wish to be ill from drink.

  Bloody hell.

  Only one woman had ever shaken him in such a way and Gabe suspected that only one woman ever would. Mary. The chit never listened to him. If only he could make her see that she was wasting her life away with sneak-work…

  “Something is weighing in your thoughts, my friend. Feel at your ease to unburden yourself to me.”

  Gabe lifted a sardonic eyebrow to his long-time friend, Colin Greene, and took another gulp of ale.

  “You are welcome to believe me insincere,” his friend continued, “but I assure you I am in earnest. We have been friends—the best of friends—for many years, and I—”

  “Ye sound like a wee lassie, speaking of feelings so,” Gabe grumbled, interrupting. He knew he was being an arse, but he didn’t care.

  Colin took a quaff of his brandy and grinned. “That may be so, old chum, but speaking of feelings never fails to win favours from the fairer sex.” He winked at Gabe over the rim of his snifter.

  Gabriel shook his head. His friend was nothing if not popular with women. “Quite right.” Gabe’s lips curved upward in a tight grin. “You and Hugh were always very popular with women.”

  The light in Colin’s dark eyes dimmed slightly at the reminder of their missing friend.

  Gabe, Colin, and Hugh Haddington had been the best of friends since they began their spy education at approximately the same time.

  “Have you heard any news from Hydra?” Colin asked.

  Gabe shook his head. “I’ve expressed my concerns to Hydra on countless occasions since the night of Hugh’s disappearance. I had even volunteered to be a member of his search team, but Hydra insisted that I remain at my post.”

  As much as he adored his position in his life as a spy, Gabe would surrender everything just to find Hugh alive and well again. Gabe certainly hoped that the men sent searching for him would find him soon.

  “To Hugh,” Colin muttered, tipping his snifter.

  Gabe nodded. He hoped that Hugh had found himself a woman and eloped, rather than what Gabe suspected after the attacks on their fellow men.

  He lifted his gaze to observe his friend across the table. Colin was dark where Hugh was light: his hair, eyes, and humour.

  Much like Gabe, Colin was recovering from a recent attack. Gabe was uncertain of the details but knew that Colin had taken a dagger wound to his back on his last assignment.

  As distressing as his life in the Secret Service, tonight Gabe’s thoughts were on a different troubling subject. Tonight his thoughts were on—

  “Miss Mary Wright,” Colin blurted.

  Gabe’s gaze shot to his friend. “Pardon?”

  Colin shook his head. “You have not heard a word that I’ve said, have you?” He thumped his snifter a little too hard on the tabletop and frowned at Gabe. “You might have successfully—albeit briefly—distracted me, but I will not be pushed aside. I gave you the opportunity to speak freely, but you did not take that chance. Now I have to be blunt with you, to the devil with the consequences.”

  Gabe didn’t know what to make of his friend’s abrupt displeasure, but as he was stunned into silence, he waited for Colin to continue.

  “It has been seven years, man! Yes, she is in a demanding field of work, and yes, she likely beds a different man every night, but what right have you to dictate what she does with her assignments—or with her body for that matter? She chose to accept Hermes’ offer of a certai
n education; she was not forced into it against her will.” Colin’s frown deepened. “If you had wanted to save her from this life—from herself, or so you say—then you should have taken her to bed and taken her to wife years ago and been done with this entire mess. But you didn’t, because you’re a coward.”

  “Oi!” Gabe bristled.

  “No.” Colin pointed a finger at him. “I’m not finished with you yet and it’s about time that you listened to the advice that I’ve been giving you. You have been miserable since she walked through the doors of the Brampton Estate and I’m tired of looking at your dour expressions. I would say this is from only my perspective, but everyone who knows you sees it as I do. You have two choices,” he marked them off on his fingers. “One, you forget about Miss Mary Wright; tup a whore, bed some married or widowed chits, join an orgy, I don’t care. But do whatever it takes, bed as many women as you can to rid her from your thoughts…”

  “And choice number two?”

  “Take Mary for your own.” Colin tossed the last finger of his brandy down his throat with a slight grimace, and then rose. “Until you make a decision, do me a favour and don’t seek me out.”

  With that, Colin straightened his coat and disappeared through the dining room door. Had he just lost a friend? Gabe allowed that quick shot of pain to briefly hit his heart. Colin would come back.

  Take Mary for your own. Gabe ran Colin’s words through his mind as he was left alone in the small room. But as alluring as the idea was, Gabe knew that he could not be with Mary. He had ended the friendship that they’d shared many years ago and there was no chance of rekindling it now. Most particularly after the way he’d treated her over the past years. He was beastly, he would admit, but damn it, she would not listen to reason!

  He shook his head. Bedding Mary—even if she would accept him—wouldn’t solve anything. He was not consumed with thinking of her because of any desire for her, but for a concern for her safety. Colin did not know of what he spoke. What Gabe needed to do was to find a way to convince her that being a spy was too dangerous.

  There had been moments in the past years that he’d thought that perhaps he and Mary could share a professional working relationship and he could accept her presence in the Secret Service, but something always happened to change his mind. Too damned often, men were hurt, killed, or abducted. Hell, Gabe had nearly died on his last mission, Greene had been stabbed in the back, and Hugh was bloody well missing entirely! No. It was far too dangerous for Mary to live this life.

  He would think of a way. This evening was the last performance of Lovers’ Vows, so he knew that Mary would not have an assignment for some time. During her hiatus, Gabe would go to the country on his own assignment, taking a much-needed break from being around her. By the time he returned, he would have had the time to think of a way to convince her.

  Yes. A solid plan, indeed.

  Chapter 8

  “Good God! Miss White, you must become my mistress.” Lord Reddington rose from his seat on the chaise, his wrists still tied and the damp spot on the falls of his trousers evidence that her plan had worked.

  Mary was rather surprised at how quickly her task had been completed. Ordinarily it took men at least a half of an hour to be fulfilled without a single touch, but Lord Reddington had found completion within ten minutes.

  She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “I am mistress to no one.”

  “Then you must say yes. Be my mistress.”

  She had been propositioned by many men and her answer with Lord Reddington would be the same as the others. Mary shook her head. “I will not become a mistress. I prefer the freedom to choose.”

  “Then I shall come again tomorrow. And the day after…”

  Curses. The man was determined. Though…that might work to her advantage.

  Mary slipped her chemisette over her mostly nude form and sidled up close to him. “La, what a persistent man. You may come back, Lord Reddington,” she said in a throaty whisper, “but my answer will remain the same.” As she pulled away, she slid her scarf from around his wrists and draped it over the decorative mirror of her dressing table.

  She heard him stand behind her before she felt his body press against her back, his arms curving around her middle to pull her tightly against his front.

  “Please, dearling, call me James. I long to hear my name on your lips.” He spun her in his arms, turning her so he could see her face as she spoke.

  The corner of her mouth curved up. “James,” she whispered.

  “Mmmm,” he hummed, squeezing her tighter against him. “Louder.”

  She reached around her back to clasp one of his hands in hers, forcing him to loosen his grip. Bringing it slowly upward, she used his hand to caress her hip, her waist, and then between their bodies to graze her chest, finally reaching her deliberately chosen final destination. She lightly grazed his fingertips over her pouted lips, then she pulled his forefinger into her mouth and bit the tip. “James.”

  A grunt of satisfaction escaped him as he pulled her to him once more. He wedged his face in the soft area between her neck and shoulder and inhaled deeply. “A good friend of mine is hosting a house party in a fortnight.” His voice was muffled against her skin. “Tell me you will accompany me.”

  She placed her most charming smile on her lips. “That, my lord, I will most certainly do.” She lifted an eyebrow as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “However, I will not go as your mistress and I insist that we arrive separately.”

  “Come now, love, you don’t know what you’re missing.” His liquor-scented breath wafted over her and she suppressed a grimace. Ever since her horrifying experience all those years ago, she had a vehement distaste for all spirits, particularly those riding upon the breath of a man.

  Mary raised an eyebrow once more and began to pull away from him.

  He tightened his hold. “I concede!” he said almost desperately. “I concede, minx.”

  She dazzled him with a bright smile. “I would be delighted to attend. Thank you.”

  Suddenly, the door swung open and a man tumbled in, falling to the floor. Startled, they both jumped. Lord Reddington released her, causing Mary to stumble backward.

  “I say!” Lord Reddington exclaimed, red faced.

  The man staggered awkwardly to his feet, the stench of brandy seeping from his clothing and filling the air around him.

  “I say, get out, sir! This room is taken!” Lord Reddington removed the hat still resting on his head and placed it discretely over his pelvic region as he stepped away from Mary.

  The intoxicated man looked around, bleary eyed, at his surroundings. His bright clothing was rumpled, but of fine quality, his black hair was wavy and haphazardly styled atop his head, and he sported the dark outline of several days’ growth of beard.

  Mary stepped toward the confused man with a mind to help, but Lord Reddington placed a hand on her arm to hold her back.

  “Did you hear what I said, sir?” Lord Reddington’s voice darkened.

  The man turned bloodshot blue eyes in their direction, his gaze sweeping them both from head to toe. A slow grin spread across his lips. “Oooh…I geddit.” He brought a hand up to touch the tip of his index finger to his nose, but missed and poked himself in the eye. “Bl—bloody hell!” He blinked rapidly, losing his balance and knocking into the stool in front of her dressing table. “Shhhh!”

  He righted himself again, though still unsteady. “Having a liddle fun, eh?” He winked both eyes, his grin growing to show perfectly white teeth. “I don’ wanna interrupt!” He wiggled his fingers suggestively and suddenly Mary felt the urge to smile.

  The intoxicated man turned to leave but tripped over his own foot and fell face down onto the floor.

  Lord Reddington cursed soundly and stepped forward, clearly at the end of his patience.

  “No,” Mary stopped him. “Leave him. I know how to deal with drunken men. I can summon some of the stagehands to assist with re
moving him.”

  His lordship looked from Mary to the man lying unconscious on the floor, clearly wishing to take his leave, but reluctant to appear uncaring. “It would be unseemly for me to leave you alone here with him.”

  “Oh, la!” She smiled broadly at him. “I assure you, Lord Reddington, I am fully capable of handling myself with this man. The moment you take your leave, I shall summon a stagehand.”

  Mary felt the urge to laugh at the look of relief that crossed his features. Evidently expending any effort not involved in a seduction was unworthy of his time. His indolence in this instance was rather to her advantage.

  “If you are certain,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “I am certain.”

  “Very well. I shall send ‘round a messenger with the details of the house party.”

  Mary ran her hand down his arm to gently squeeze his lace-clad wrist. “I wait with bated breath, my lord.”

  With one last glare at the slumbering, inebriated man and his hat still placed strategically over the falls of his trousers, Lord Reddington made a hasty departure. Mary waited until she heard his footfalls fade far down the corridor before she closed and locked her dressing room door.

  Turning, she placed her hands on her hips. “Must you have arrived so early, Hydra? I despise having to make excuses.”

  A low rumble emanated from the heap upon the floor before the grinning and decidedly sober Sir Charles Bradley rose to his feet to face her, his gaze carefully focused on her face. Hydra had seen her thusly on several occasions during assignments and he always had the graciousness to not draw attention to her scanty attire.

  “It says little for the man that I anticipated an early evening for you, Mary.”

  Poorly hiding her grin, Mary clucked her tongue at him as she strode to the privacy screen to retrieve her dressing robe. “That is ungenerous of you, Hydra.”

  He laughed. “Indeed, it is.” His laughter died as he quickly sobered. “Despite the soft side that he may show potential lovers, Mary, the man is a villain.”