Mary took another bite of the nearly inedible jugged hare that sat mostly uneaten on her plate. The others around the table seemed not to notice the ghastly fare, but Mary certainly did. Goodness, even the stews that her mother used to make with little to no food and scarcely any broth were more appetizing than the slop currently sitting on her plate.
A heated waft of breath brushed her cheek and Mary suppressed a shiver of disgust.
“You look ravishing in red, dearest,” Reddington whispered against her ear. “I scarcely recall if I have said as much already this evening, but I confess your beauty quite addles my senses.”
He had been bothering her throughout the entire meal, but Mary accepted it as her due. She must encourage the men enough to discover their hidden truths, after all. She was here on an assignment and she would succeed. No matter what.
Mary put her fork down and turned to smile up at Lord Reddington with a demure tilt to her brows.
“Why, James, you flatter me.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Upon my life, I do not.”
A group of footmen entered and removed the diners’ plates, while a second group entered to put another odious course in its place. It seemed to be an attempt at partridge fricassee, but Mary was not certain.
She hastily took a sip of the deep red wine in her glass and replaced it on the table. For a moment she watched in a daze as the candlelight played on the swirling liquid.
“My lovely Mary,” Reddington’s lips touched her ear, “tell me you feel it, too…this heat.”
Alarm shot through Mary’s stomach, but she carefully hid it. Hydra had said that this man was not respectable and likely had ill intentions, and she was inclined to believe him. The nightmare of her experience as a youth flashed through her mind… You will suffer for this…
As the memory of that night assailed her, she did as she always did and used her fear to fuel her determination.
A sense of peace stole over her as she considered her plans. Reddington wished to have her as his mistress, as much was evident. She could never give herself to Reddington—not willingly anyway; she morally refused to give her body to a traitor of the crown. Mary would rather give herself to a man she loved…whenever and whomever that would be. She was, however, more than willing to use any other means necessary to garner the required information. Perhaps she could tease it out of him.
She turned to Reddington with a sultry tilt to her lips, her eyes filled with desire. Then a voice cut through her awareness.
“Mr. Spencer,” Mr. Piper called from down the table, a piece of partridge balled to one side of his open mouth, “why is it that I have never heard of you before now? Seems a trifle odd, eh wot?”
Mary looked at Gabe, who was unfazed by the inquiry. He returned her gaze with a coldness to his eyes that she had never seen on him before. The sight sent a shiver of unease down her spine. His frigid expression swiftly changed to one of self-assured complacency as he turned his head to look down the table.
“Yes,” Lord Kerr put in, his expression stony and his gaze suspicious, “do enlighten us on your mysterious past, Mr. Spencer.”
Gabe’s lips cracked a slow smile. “I wouldn’t say it’s mysterious,” he began. “I spent thirteen years travelling with my uncle in the Americas.”
“Mmm,” Mrs. McArthur hummed. “Adventurous, indeed.”
Lord Sheffield swallowed his bite of partridge, then asked, “What made you decide to leave from the first? Did you not enjoy life in England?”
Gabe’s smile turned sly, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “There was an inn near my familial home that employed a very lovely barmaid…”
A few of the men around the table began exchanging grins and knowing glances.
“Needless to say, a few months after reaching my eighteenth year, my father felt it was necessary to ship me off.”
“So now you are returned,” Lord Kerr said before sipping at his coffee. He swallowed. “What brought you home after thirteen years?”
“My uncle left this earth to meet the good Lord, and I made the decision to return. Father was not happy to accept his ne’er-do-well son back into his home, so I took residence here in London. Alas, I met Mary a sennight ago and was enchanted.”
“Aye, Mary does enchant,” Reddington put in. “We must convince her to put on a performance while she is here.”
A chorus of encouragement from the men filled the room and Mary feigned modesty. She had anticipated the request and had Mrs. McPhee create two new costumes for just such an occasion. He was playing perfectly into her plan.
With a shy nod, Mary affected acquiescence. “If you wish it, then I shall.”
“Huzzah!” Reddington exclaimed.
Mary caught Gabe’s cold gaze from across the table and another shiver ran down her spine. She fought down her own frown as she turned back to her meal. A pox on Gabe and his ever-present disapproval.
“What happened to your face, Spencer?” Mrs. McArthur said from beside him. She ran her index finger along the line of the red scar on the side of his face, her eyelids heavy. “It looks frightfully dashing.”
“That story is not so amusing, I’m afraid. I stumbled through my previous mistress’ home one evening after a night of revelry and found myself in the kitchens with hunger gnawing at me. A dashed stool came from nowhere and I fell, slicing myself on the way to the floor.”
“I love the Americas,” Lord Sheffield said, either oblivious to the change of subject or ignoring it. “I’ve been there several times myself; I never could get enough of their women.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a laugh from some of the other guests. “In fact, there was this one woman—”
Mary missed the remainder of his lewd anecdote as dessert appeared before her. Immediately her mouth began to salivate. This must be why Lord and Lady Kerr kept their cook in their employ. The smell alone was enough to make Mary swoon.
Practically famished from a lack of eating the dinner’s courses, she dipped her spoon in the exquisite lemon cream and brought it to her mouth. Oh heavens! The explosion of lemon zest, the citrus zing, and the sweetness of the cream combined to make the most sinfully delicious dessert she had ever tasted.
Reddington’s lips brushed the underside of her ear as he breathed, “Keep making sounds like that and I will have to tup you right here…in front of everyone.”
Mary’s eyes snapped open—when had she closed them?—and realized that every man seated at the table had his gaze on her. She must have made a noise, but she was not certain what that noise was. Clearly it had been loud enough to gain the attention of the table.
Mortification would have swamped her had their shock-lined expressions not enhanced her purpose. Lowering her gaze to her bowl, Mary determinately ignored them and returned to her delectable dessert.
Slowly, the others resumed their private conversations and bawdy joke telling.
“Mary, say you will come to me tonight.” Reddington’s scotch-scented breath wafted around her.
The man’s whispering in her ear had become vexing, indeed. She put a placating smile on her face as she turned to him. “I do not believe that Tony would take kindly to my abandoning him in a strange home.”
Reddington inclined his head toward Gabe’s seat across from them. “I do not think it would be such a hardship. It seems as though your Tony is occupied.”
Mary’s gaze swung toward Gabe and her stomach plummeted. He was indeed occupied. Lady Kerr leaned so far over him that she may well be on his lap. The woman ran her fingers repeatedly up and down his chest and over his smoothly shaven jaw, whispering in—nay, biting—his ear. He laughed charmingly at something she said, and Mary’s stomach knotted. Goodness, could she be jealous? Of another woman with Gabriel?
Oh dear. She must rein in her emotions immediately. Jealousy had no place in the heart of a spy, and she certainly could not afford to make any mistakes. For all she knew they were surrounded by the enemy. Any leak in her façade, any misstep, could put their lives in jeopardy. Whatever her apparent soul-deep feelings toward Gabe, she must let them go. He’d crushed her heart years ago, surely she could stomach seeing him with another woman—any woman. Indeed. She should hate him, not be harbouring amorous feelings for him.
Curse it. She was a spy. And she had work to do.
* * *
Gabe took a deep swill of his wine and wished it were something stronger. Lady Kerr and Mrs. McArthur would not leave him be, and he had work to accomplish. Lady Kerr was all but on his lap and her offers for sex were becoming anything but subtle. Mrs. McArthur, however, had placed her hand on his thigh sometime during the course of the hideously unpalatable jugged hare and had not removed it since. In fact, she seemed to be sliding it ever so slightly upward with each passing minute.
He must focus on the mission at hand… If only these curst women would desist their pawing and petting and let him concentrate on discovering who had stolen the documents.
The suspected traitors that Hydra had named were, firstly, the Marquess of Hale, though he had yet to arrive and Sir Stevens was reportedly already watching him for suspicious behaviour. Secondly, the Viscount Kerr—
Gabe turned his gaze to the head of the table, two seats to his left. The Viscount appeared at his ease, resting against the back of his chair, a glass of wine in one relaxed hand and a spoon in the other. He exuded confidence and held himself in the manner of a man entirely assured of himself and his position. Gabe believed Hydra justified in his suspicions of Kerr. The man had to be hiding something.
The third suspect listed was the Earl of Reddington.
His gaze flicked toward the blasted Earl and again he felt a jolt of displeasure through his gut. The man was a scoundrel and a rogue and Gabe wished Mary would keep well enough away from him.
Lady Kerr said something provocative in his ear and Gabe gave a responding noncommittal grunt.
Mary tittered at something the cad whispered in her ear and Gabe frowned. Lord knew what despicable acts she had had to perform for the man in order to receive an invitation to this sennight of sin.
“Goodness,” Lady Kerr murmured in his ear, “what a severe look upon your handsome face.” She leaned in closer. “Forget about the actress, darling, and leave her to James. My lover would not mind sharing me…”
Gabe did not hear the rest of the lady’s sentence, as Reddington sidled closer to Mary, raising his arm to drape it over the back of her chair. He cupped the back of her head, mussing her striking auburn hair, then pressed his lips to her neck in a series of small kisses.
Gabe saw red. Anger, swift and blistering, sizzled its way through him, forcing him to his feet, his chair scraping against the wooden floor and gaining him the attention of the other guests.
Thinking quickly, Gabe pasted a genial smile on his lips and clapped his hands together jovially. “I believe I would enjoy a glass of port and a good cigar.”
“Here, here!” Mr. Jackson waved a bejewelled hand toward the dining room door. “Send the ladies off to the parlour or somesuch and leave us to our port, cigars, and manly conversation.”
“So we can talk about how good the ladies are between the bedclothes,” Lord Pondridge flapped his hand drunkenly, his blinks slow and heavy. Gabe supposed he could be trying to wink suggestively, but he was not certain.
Lady Kerr rose, forcing the men and the remaining ladies to their feet. “Come, ladies, let us adjourn to the drawing room and leave the men to their manly business.” She turned, leading the ladies from the room, but looked over her shoulder at them just before her exit. “Say only kind things about us will you gentlemen? We women have excellent hearing and are unforgiving upon receiving scrutiny.”
With one last wink from Lady Kerr, the women were gone, Mary with them. Gabe was grateful to see them go. Not only was it a relief from Lady Kerr and Mrs. McArthur, but also from the startling torture of seeing Mary flaunt her charms and flirt with dangerous men.
Gabe resumed his seat as a footman placed several boxes of cigars and a flagon of port upon the table.
“Fine ladies, eh wot?” Mr. Piper brought his snifter of port to his lips and took a drink.
The viscount bit the end of his cigar, spitting the tip on the floor beside his chair. “Fine, indeed.” He reclined in his seat, his shrewd gaze encompassing every man at the table.
Gabe poured himself a dram of port and lit his own cigar. He had never been one to drink to excess or enjoy filling his lungs with smoke, but for the purposes of his character, he knew he must.
“Are yourshs twinths, Jack…son,” Lord Pondridge inquired, his words slurred and his eyes half-lidded, “or just shishers?”
Mr. Jackson’s self-satisfied smile grew at the inquiry about his mistresses. “Twins, as a matter of fact. Found them at Lady Haversham’s.”
“Is that across the road from Madame Bordeau’s?” Lord Sheffield asked, his chins wagging.
Gabe was familiar with both houses of ill repute. They were known for their excellent drink and their clean women. Gabe had frequented them with Colin and Hugh on countless occasions, though seldom partook in the female company within. There was just something not quite…right in his mind about paying for a woman’s attention; it smacked of desperation, and Gabe preferred to know that the lady is actually interested in him and not his money.
Mr. Jackson inclined his head. “Indeed, it is. Has the best women.”
“I much prefer actresses and opera singers, myself,” the Viscount Kerr drawled. “The thrill of the chase.”
“And they’re less costly, eh wot?” Mr. Piper grinned.
“And skilled,” Reddington threw his head back. “Good God, you lot haven’t the faintest idea what that woman is capable of.”
Gabe wrestled with his mounting rage, fighting to keep his expression one of calm and neutral confidence.
“I’ll wager Spencer does,” Lord Sheffield wheezed, wiggling his thick eyebrows suggestively.
“You lucky sod,” Reddington grumbled. “You must share her.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “Must I?”
“I understand your reluctance,” the devil incarnate said. “If I had access to that woman’s charms—and remarkable abilities—on a nightly—nay, daily—basis, I guarantee that we would not leave the bedchamber for months. She is unique, to be sure.
“But indeed, we all share here,” he continued. “You’re welcome to have a go at my mistress in exchange for a night with Mary.” Reddington took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke upward. “Mrs. McArthur does some amusing things with her titties.”
Gabe choked down a draught of his port in an attempt to swallow past the tightness in his throat, and the fury scorching him. What was happening to him? Why did he feel such intense…feelings when it came to the thought of Mary with other men? The answer hung just out of reach.
Gabe already knew that Mary was unique, but not in the way this cad implied. Mary was a free spirit, a talented actress, and a loving, caring, and extraordinary woman with a wealth of heart and knowledge. She was so far beyond the reach of all the men in this room. Hell, all the men in London. She did not deserve to have these witless, self-admiring, traitorous scoundrels salivating over her.
But that was not what his character would do. If they were discovered, their lives would be in great peril. He must be Anthony Spencer, despite how it galled him to do so.
“I suppose that decision would be up to the lady in question,” Gabe drawled. “I can hardly arrange a rendezvous on her behalf.”
A slow, predatory smile grew on Reddington’s lips and Gabe immediately regretted his answer. He should not encourage the villain to pursue Mary…nor should Mary urge him on with her feminine wiles.
He took another gulp of his port and a deep draw on his cigar. What had happened to his plan to convince Mary to end her spy life? Had he not vowed to make her see the error of this life she led?
He shook his head. He knew what happened. This damned assignment. He had a feeling that something like this would occur; Mary would be objectified and hunted by the predators of the house party.
They should never have come.