The Thespian Spy

by Cheri Champagne

  “Sorry, darling.” Her eyes sharpened. “We have quite run out of time.”

  Without further warning, Mary was across the carriage. She lifted her skirts, straddled his lap, and pulled open the ties of her cloak to reveal her daringly cut red gown.

  Arousal. Swift and hot, and undeniably thrilling. Sensations jolted through him as he stared, wide-eyed at the upper swells of Mary’s breasts. With a grunt of frustration, Mary grabbed his hands and placed one on her left breast and the other at the back of her neck. Gabe’s breath caught in his throat as Mary arched her back and closed her eyes in apparent bliss. Oh Lord.

  He inhaled deeply of her rose scent, the flower coiling in him and catching somewhere near his heart. He could feel the heat of her through his gloves and their layers of clothing. She was hot. And damn it, so was he.

  The door swung open, bringing in a waft of fresh, damp spring air, and Gabe’s arousal fled instantly. This little show was not inspired by a sudden attack of want for him, then. How oddly disappointing.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” the red-faced footman said, averting his eyes. “Should I close the door again?”

  Gabe pasted a cock-sure smile on his lips and patted Mary’s bottom. “Not at all, lad. Off you go, sweetheart, it would appear we’ve arrived.”

  Mary bit her lip seductively as she dismounted and Gabe’s heart skipped a beat. This might very well be more difficult than he had ever imagined.

  Gabe sat back as Mary accepted the footman’s hand and descended the steps, while another held out an umbrella to protect her from the rain. He waited a moment more before following her out.

  As he exited, Gabe looked dispassionately at the grandeur of Kerr House. Mr. Anthony Spencer would not be awed by the red brick façade, grand columns surrounding the portico, myriad glowing windows, countless puffing chimneystacks, and expansive surrounding gardens that, even in the dense sheet of rain, was marvellous to behold. No, indeed.

  “La, what a grand home!” Mary exclaimed, grinning up at the front entrance.

  Gabe gripped her hand from beneath her gaping cloak and wrapped it around his elbow, the footmen flanking them with cover as they strode up the wide staircase. One side of the double-wide front doors opened to allow them entrance. Several footmen in bright, canary yellow livery stood to the right of the door and another man of advanced years in orange livery detailed in yellow—one could only assume he was the butler—stood to the left.

  The scent of melted beeswax and vinegar cleaning solution hit him like a slap to the face upon entry.

  The man in orange bowed. “Welcome sir, madam. Mr. Spencer and Miss White, I presume?” His voice echoed in the grand space.

  “Quite so, quite so,” Gabe said as he took in the ostentatious foyer.

  White marble and gold flake abounded in the two-story entry. A double winding staircase encircled the far end of the room, leading to the second story landing.

  The man held out his hands and Gabe and Mary automatically began handing him their outer wear: Gabe’s hat and gloves and Mary’s gloves and cloak.

  “My name is Mr. Jenkins,” the man said, “I am his lordship and her ladyship’s butler. Do follow me, if you will, and I will lead you to your room.”

  With jovial smiles, Mary and Gabe followed the aging butler up one side of the marble staircase to the second floor. While Mary was fully established in her role, Gabe’s thoughts were consumed with what had just occurred in the carriage. And he was mightily displeased.

  He followed numbly as his thoughts pestered him. Did she behave in such a manner with all the men she came across at the theatre? She was certainly practiced in the art of seduction and the ways of enticing a man, which would lead him to believe that yes, indeed, she had used such wiles with other men. Gabriel was just one of many.

  A thunderous frown crossed his features before he could conceal it. Gabe was grateful that no one had witnessed it. But damn it, Mary’s position as an actress and spy rankled.

  “Here we are, the puce room. One of our finest.” The butler swept one arm into the doorway, allowing Mary and Gabe to enter first.

  The guest bedchamber was indeed puce. Exceedingly puce. The wall coverings, window dressings, bedclothes, carpet, even the furniture’s upholstery were the same dark shade. Without the light coming through the open window and the bright firelight, the room would be black as night with the gloomy trappings and dark wood furniture absorbing any possible natural light the room would hold.

  “La, what a beautiful colour!” Mary breathed, running a fingertip over the puce velvet bed curtains.

  Hardly, Gabe thought. It was a hideous reddish-brown. He did not know very much French, but he knew that “puce” came from the Latin word “pulicem,” meaning “flea-colour.”

  Two footmen entered with their trunks and placed them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “I am afraid that the lady’s maids are all occupied at the moment with the other ladies just arrived and preparing for supper.”

  Mary waved a hand through the air. “Oh, that is quite all right. I am rather used to dressing myself.”

  With a nod, the butler continued. “The washbasin and a fresh pitcher of water are on the washstand under that window there,” the butler pointed to the far wall, then nodded toward the privacy screen in the closest right corner of the room, just before the bed. “That screen conceals the privy and other necessary instruments for your ablutions. The wardrobe is through those doors,” he pointed to the far-right corner of the room, where a set of doors stood closed.

  “Thank you, sir,” Gabe said. “I believe we are able to find the rest on our own.”

  “Very good, sir. Of course. If you have need of anything, please let one of the footmen or maids know, or you are welcome to speak to me or Mrs. Jenkins, my ladywife and housekeeper to Lord and Lady Kerr.”

  “You are too kind sir,” Mary said sweetly.

  The butler nodded. “Dinner will be served in just under two hours, Sir, Miss.” With an eye-crinkling smile the man left, closing the door behind him.

  The latch clicked, echoing through the room.

  “What a sweet man.” Mary veritably floated to her trunk and flipped it open.

  “Indeed.” Gabe finally allowed himself the frown that had been begging for release. He strode purposefully for the decorative puce washbasin and splashed some water from the pitcher inside. The fire in the hearth filled the room with warmth, its light flickering over the chaise and armchairs that sat closest to the fireplace.

  “And how nice that he works in the same household as his wife. That is rather rare, you know.”

  Gabe removed his cravat and pulled open his collar. “How happy for him,” he grunted.

  Mary whirled on him, all fiery displeasure. Gabe fought a groan as he glanced at her reflection in the mirror. He quickly bent, putting his face toward the water.

  “What is it that displeases you so, darling, the kindly elderly man and his wife’s contentment in life, or the calamitous happenstance of your being here with me?”

  Gabe picked up a towel and dabbed at the droplets on his freshly washed face and neck. He could not very well answer her question without sinking deeper into whatever hot water she had placed him in.

  Then her words came back to him… I know that you do not like me… You must become accustomed to being in close quarters with me, touching me…even kissing me. For pity’s sake, you’ve had mistresses, I’m certain, you know what outward appearances would be expected of us at such an event.

  No, Gabe had never had a mistress. Lovers, of course, but never a mistress. Too messy, too needy, and a damn sight too expensive for what one gained in return. He had never been particularly fond of the idea of someone sponging off of him for sex, money, and jewels. It smacked of desperation. He had also never been desirous to put anyone in a position of danger, which, as a spy for the Crown, he would inevitably do. But he did know what would be expected of him on this assignment, for appearances sake. So as
much as he would like to disabuse Mary’s belief that he did not like her, now was decidedly not the time

  She was correct, however, that they should continue this assignment not only as amicable partners, but with a common understanding of what was expected of them.

  He turned, strode back to stand before her, clasping her hands in his. He determinately ignored the jolt of awareness traveling up his arms and the goose flesh that followed in its wake. “My apologies, Mary. My behaviour has been unpardonable.”

  Shock lined her features as she gazed at him in silence.

  He chose his words carefully, for one never knew when one would be overheard. “This journey did not begin as well as it should have, but I am very pleased to be here with you, sweetheart.”

  Awareness dawned and Mary’s surprise turned to understanding. She notched her chin higher and cut him a withering glance. “I should hope so, Tony.”

  He bent to kiss the back of her hands. “Come, darling, we must prepare for supper. Let us unpack.”

  Chapter 12

  Mary slipped the corset over her chemise and held it with one hand against her chest. She did not wish to have to request help from Gabe, but without a lady’s maid available, she had no choice.

  In all the years that she had been an actress and a spy, never once had she had a man perform such a personal service. Most of her own gowns were front lacing and as she often went without a corset or stays, she rarely required help to dress. At the theatre, if a costume required such under garments or if a gown buttoned in the back, she had another of the actresses aid her. But not a man. Never a man.

  She stepped out from behind the puce privacy screen, catching Gabe’s attention with the movement.

  “May I have help with my laces?” she asked.

  He stood in stony silence, his jaw set.

  “Please?” she added.

  With a curt nod he rose from his position on the chaise and strode toward her. She quickly gave him her back. After a brief pause, she felt the tugging of her corset laces as he efficiently tightened them.

  His fingers brushed at her back ever so slightly, but the shock of it was thrilling. Heat radiated off his body and his breath teased the hair of her half-fallen chignon. Mary closed her eyes, briefly allowing the sensation to flow through her.

  She had used intimacies and desire to glean the information she required from men aiding Napoleon, but never had she felt the same passions in return. Always, she had been able to separate her own feelings from her actions with each mark. Being as busy as she was with both her position as an actress and as a spy, she had never been courted by a man, never been a man’s mistress…had never been kissed by a man that was not a mark, but for Gabriel’s kiss when she was the tender age of ten and on-stage kisses with fellow actors. Each moment she had spent with a man had been in service to Crown and country.

  Why did this feel so different? Why was each innocuous touch so intoxicating?

  Mary was very aware of Gabe’s deep breathing behind her, each exhalation seemingly closer than the last and each bringing with it the scent of crushed cloves and the gentle tickle of the springy, curly hair at her neck.

  Mary gasped at the sudden thundering of her blood.

  Gabe’s hands faltered, then hesitated. “Are you well?” he asked, his tone deep and flat.

  Mary cleared her throat, reigning in her composure. “Yes, of course. That last one was a bit tight, that is all. It is well now.”

  Gabe grunted, but did not answer. It was just as well, for she did not wish to explain further. She did not even know if she could explain the sudden maelstrom of…desire—surely not!—that she had just felt. But what else could account for the sudden dampness in her palms, the fluttering of her heart, or the warmth growing in her middle?

  A frown creased her brow. It simply was not possible. She might miss Gabe’s friendship and continue to be hurt by his curt comments, but she did not—could not—desire him on an intimate level. It must merely be her underlying awareness that she was playing his mistress. Indeed, that must be it. It was her character, that was all.

  With one last tug, Gabe stepped back, a waft of cool air rushing in to take his place. “Done. Now, if that will be all…”

  Mary spun to catch him as he stepped away. “Wait!”

  He turned to face her, his expression closed and distant, his blue eyes as hard as ice.

  She flicked her tongue out to wet her suddenly dry lips and his gaze dropped to follow the motion, his jaw tightening. A nervous flutter pushed its way into Mary’s stomach. She hardly knew what to do; was he so dissatisfied with her, then?

  “My gown buttons in the back.” She cleared her throat. “Could you…would you mind buttoning me up?”

  His displeasure was evident in every taut muscle of his body, but he nodded nonetheless.

  As quickly as she could without ruining her dress, Mary stepped into the coquelicot gown. It was the same colour as her travelling frock, but Mrs. McPhee had said it was an attractive shade against her skin and it brought out the red in her hair. Mary was pleased to have brought them with her for the house party.

  After drawing her short cap sleeves up her arms and letting the skirts fall attractively over her hips and legs, Mary put her back to Gabe once more. This time his movements were brisk, each button put through its hole with expert swiftness. Mary hated to think how many times he had performed such a task for a woman. Why it bothered her, she did not know. Gabe was entitled to bed whomever he chose; it was not for her to feel any amount of… No. She would not even put a word to the feeling, for she knew it was not true.

  As the last of her buttons were done up, Gabe swept his hands dispassionately down her sides, straightening the gown for her in what Mary knew he assumed was a helpful gesture. But what it did was send a wave of faintness through her. She bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes to quell the dizziness. Gabe, apparently sensing her distress, gripped her waist tighter.

  “Whoa, Mary. Are you well?”

  Mary forced herself to step out of his reach and turned to face him with a saucy grin.

  “Of course,” she said lightly. “It has simply been too long since my last meal. I am well.”

  He eyed her warily but seemed to accept her excuse. Mary swept past him with a rushed “thank you” and sat at the dressing table across the room to fix her hair.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when Gabe resumed his seat on the chaise. Her stomach was abuzz with nerves, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to change the direction of her thoughts.

  Although she had years of practice of doing her own hair, and was rather quick at creating ravishing curls, her hair was stubborn. However speedy her ability to put it up, it just as easily came down. It frequently fell out of her chignons, but as her pseudonym, Mary White, she needn’t be concerned, for at this particular house party, all manner of wickedness, impropriety, and debauchery was not only accepted, but encouraged.

  Her stomach fluttered once more, and she pushed past it, working her fingers through her hair, until it was done. In mere minutes, she had a smart, attractive twist to her hair with curls draping downward like a weeping willow. She placed several pearl-tipped hairpins throughout her hair then twisted her head to view the effect. It was well, indeed.

  Distraction was just the thing. This was a different sort of role, that was all. Mary was nervous about the job. She merely needed to focus on the familiarity of her performance, mentally separate herself from the fact that she was working intimately with a man that clearly despised her, and complete the mission.

  She opened her rose scented cream and swiped at the bottom of the container, not willing to allow any of what remained to go to waste, no matter how much she looked forward to opening the new scent she had just recently purchased. She rubbed the cream into her hands, dabbing some on her neck.

  With a grin on her lips, she reached into her green velvet box and pulled out a string of pearls from among her other jeweller
y and placed them about her collar, followed by a matching bracelet. She raised her gaze to look once more at her reflection in the looking glass, but her breath caught on a gasp.

  There was Gabe gazing back at her reflection, stark hunger in his gleaming eyes. Mary’s heart flipped over then began to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs. Her breath came fast, her chest rising and falling with each ragged gasp. She could feel her breasts swell with want in some sort of anticipatory instinct, while her mons flooded with welling desire.

  Then, with a blink, the expression was gone. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, replaced by genial contentment.

  His mask was firmly in place, but Mary could not forget that expression. Indeed, the look of raw want on his features was etched in her memory. But what should she make of it?

  Her own desire began to recede, and she willed her heart to return to its normal rhythm.

  “Shall we?” He held out his arm.

  Mary forced a smile and took in his attire. He was dressed appropriately for dinner in a black coat and trousers, starched white shirt with lace cuffs and collar, and green striped waistcoat with an emerald cravat pin winking jauntily at the base of his neck.

  Mary swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat—what of that? “I should love to, darling.”

  It took them several minutes, and the help of a footman, to find the parlour where all of the guests had gathered to wait for supper.

  They spotted the butler just outside the door, awaiting the guests so as to announce them as they entered.

  “Ah, Mr. Spencer and Miss White, how very good that you have found your way here.” The butler smiled. “I trust your room is to your liking?”

  “It is very well, indeed,” Gabe said, inclining his head in appreciation.

  The old man’s wrinkles deepened with his smile. “I shall announce you.”

  * * *

  What a supremely odd butler, Gabe thought. Very unlike any other he had seen in the house of a Lord of the realm.