Nearly a fortnight later, Mary’s back rubbed against the squabs as the carriage jolted around a corner. The rumble of carriage wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves was muffled by the dirt road on which they rode. They were only minutes outside of London with their long ten-hour journey still ahead of them. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was alight with early morning colour…or rather, most of the sky. Bright pinks, purples, and reds shone through the window on one side of the carriage, while the other held the portentous gloom of an oncoming rain.
Gabe had wanted to take the journey in two legs, five hours per day with one restful night in between. If one could call a night spent next to Gabriel restful. It would have required a night’s stay at a roadside inn and Mary couldn’t abide it. Upon arrival at the house party, she would be required to act as his mistress—in the public eye only—thus their sharing a bedchamber. On the journey, however, it was not strictly necessary, and rather an unnerving prospect for Mary.
All night. Alone. With Gabe…in a bedchamber. Mary had thought that she was prepared for the intimacies required of her but behaving in such a way with Gabe felt distinctly… Goodness, she didn’t know how it made her feel. Uneasy? No. Nervous? No. Anxious? Not exactly. Eager? She didn’t think so.
Well, whatever the name of the emotion roiling within her, it boded ill for their assignment unless she could harness it in her grasp, could take control of her tumultuous emotions and not allow them to dictate her actions.
Her chest pressed against her tight corset as she inhaled the combined scent of her rose cream and Gabe’s aroma of fresh soap and crushed cloves filling her lungs.
This assignment was very important to King and Country, not to mention the lives of the many men in the war. Mary could not let them down.
The past fortnight had been filled with costume fittings for her and fittings and language practice for Gabriel. Mary let her gaze slide upwards toward the man himself as the carriage rounded a gentle turn. He was attired exactly as his position required of him: finely tailored blue superfine tailcoat that matched the startling blue of his eyes, dove grey waistcoat and breeches that seemed to make his hair appear darker, crisp white starched cravat and shirt, lace cuffs, and high-topped hessians polished to a shine. His curling brown hair was tousled just so. He was Mr. Anthony Spencer, youngest son of Sir Peter Spencer, ne’er-do-well, gambler, and man foolhardy enough to attend a house party without invitation on the arm of an actress.
But he was still Gabe to her—the handsome, bewitching, heartbreaking scoundrel Gabriel Ashley.
Tightening her cloak further against the early morning chill in the coach, Mary slid to one side of her seat and turned her gaze out the window. It was much safer than staring at her fellow passenger. Indeed, but for the sky, the passing rolling hills, trees, and shrubbery, there was not much to see but for her own reflection in the glass.
She pressed closer to blow her breath against the glass and wrote her name in the condensation.
Then, of course, her mind wandered. And where else would it wander to—again—but the man seated across from her? Curse him for dominating her thoughts. But no matter how much she cursed him, there he was.
She closed her eyes and briefly allowed herself to remember. The warm summers in his secret spot in the forest, having alfresco luncheons out among the flowery blooms, chasing each other over the meadow, cooling their feet in the lake bordering his uncle’s estate. It had been heaven being friends with him as children. She had loved him since the first day they had met, and even for a short time after he left.
His abandonment had been truly heartbreaking. She had built their future up in her mind for so long that suddenly learning that he did not return her feelings had crushed her more than she cared to remember. She might despise him now, but as much as she hated to own to it, somewhere deep inside her was that young girl with hope in her heart.
Her eyes snapped open to see her own reflection gazing back at her in the window. She would not allow herself to dig that deeply into her core. She was liable to not like what she found there.
She had hoped sometime after her recruitment in intelligence training that she and Gabriel could become friends once more. But those hopes were dashed anew with every unkind word he uttered to her.
The equipage slowed to take another turn, and her shoulder pressed into the side of the carriage before it righted itself and picked up speed once more.
Mary covered a yawn with the back of her hand, her eyes watering in exhaustion. She had not slept well last night but for thoughts of Gabriel…
Gabe had believed that she did not belong in the school from the first. He was adamant that she was not capable of completing assignments as the other spies, and he certainly had never said anything positive about her position as an actress. It hurt that he did not believe in her.
Her lower lip trembled embarrassingly and she tried to hide it by turning her face further into the window. She hoped that Gabe hadn’t noticed, but then, what should it matter? He had no interest in what she thought or what she felt. It was times such as these that she wished she visited her father more often. He always knew the right thing to say to brighten her downtrodden moods.
A small smile replaced her dour expression. She knew what Papa would say if he could hear her morose thoughts… Come on now, Mary, my pigeon. Lift up that chin and face your troubles head-on. Troubles are afraid of bravery. Be brave and you will conquer all.
Her chin turned up a notch. She’d agreed to this mission, and she would prove to Gabriel that she was just as capable as the other female operatives.
* * *
Gabe watched discretely from across the carriage as an array of emotions played across Mary’s face. He felt a little part of him break inside when he saw her chin tremble, but only moments later it was replaced with a small grin.
Then his heart stopped entirely, for he had the sudden, intense urge to kiss the smile from her lips. What would her lips taste like? He wondered. He burned to find out.
But once he did solve the mystery of what taste her lips held, he knew he could not stop there. He would want to taste her neck, to trail his lips downward and over her collarbone. He’d kiss the valley between her breasts, trail his tongue over the sensitive tips of her nipples, then move downward into…no. He shook his head in an attempt to knock that thought out.
Gabe brought one ankle up to rest upon his opposite knee, deliberately covering the ill-timed bulge in his breeches. The carriage interior still remained dim, but Gabe could not take the risk that Mary would see, for then she would know the direction of his debauched thoughts.
What was the matter with him? There was the fact that he had not been with a woman in nearly a month; perhaps that was his problem. He sighed. He would not get the opportunity for the next fortnight, either, for he was supposed to have a mistress in Mary and he was on a mission to root out French spies and recover some very important documents. He most certainly was not going to fraternize with the enemy.
His hooded gaze flicked over Mary once more. Her cloak covered her gown, but Gabe knew what was beneath. Their costume maker had spent days creating their wardrobes. Ordinarily Gabe wore clothes befitting a gentleman farmer: nothing foppish, no lace, and muted colours. Mary typically wore modest dresses of faded colour over well-worn half boots, her costumes as an actress aside.
Today, however, they were in character. Gabe was an English dandy and Mary was…well, she was…indecent. The red gown beneath her cloak only brightened the colour of her hair and the low décolletage all but revealed the tops of her areolas.
The optimistic appendage in his breeches leapt. Damn, but he should have taken himself away from her. Far away. He was some kind of fool for allowing this farce to continue from the first. He should have stood by his assertions and refused to allow Mary to attend.
Another thought that had been plaguing him for the past fortnight reared its ugly head once more. Mary had seemed zealous in her desire to take on the assignment with Colin over him. Could it be that she wished to partner with Colin with the hope to begin an affaire in truth with the man?
The thought made him ill. Mary as Colin’s mistress? A shiver travelled down his spine and a pit settled heavily in his gut. Gabe knew enough of Colin’s prowess with women to know that it was entirely possible that Mary had taken it into her head to be infatuated with the man. But Gabe didn’t like it.
A shudder wracked Mary’s body and Gabe turned his attention to her once more. Her eyes had slipped closed but her body still trembled. Was she cold? Had she fallen asleep?
“Mary?”
She shivered again but there was no response. He sat up to remove his coat before leaning forward and draping it over her, tucking it under her chin. He resumed his seat and closed his own eyes. It was to be a long journey and he would prefer to be in unconscious oblivion and rise at least somewhat rested than sit here lusting after a woman that he could—should—never have in his bed.
* * *
The Bonaparte spy sat in the leather wingback chair behind the large mahogany desk, looking through correspondence.
“Other guests have arrived, wot?” his man asked in an irritatingly cheerful manner.
“It would appear so,” the spy said. “Mr. Jenkins has the maids and footmen bringing luggage up to the rooms as we speak. There are several more to come. As a matter of fact, I am looking through their correspondence at this very moment.” The crinkle of parchment echoed through the quiet study as the spy opened a new missive. “The actress, Miss White, is to arrive before supper, but… What is this?”
“Eh wot?” The man withdrew an elaborate, gold inlaid snuffbox from his inner breast pocket, and flipped it open.
“The actress is bringing her protector, it seems. A Mr. Spencer. Do you know him?”
“Can’t say as I do.” He dipped his overlong little finger nail into the white powder and brought it to his nose.
“Hmm. Better tell the others to keep an eye on him.”
“Very good, very good.” The man sniffed and snorted before scratching at his bulbous nose. “But, uh, do you think it was wise to invite so many of us here? Seems suspect, eh wot?”
The Bonaparte spy laughed cruelly. “No, idiot. A house party is not suspect, it is expected. If I arranged the meeting at a pub or club, that would be suspect. A house party is the perfect façade. The meeting will go on as scheduled.”
“Very good, very good.”