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 the 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.
Anger and irritation burned quickly in a fiery twister in his gut when he saw who had come calling. “Reddington, Boxton,” he hissed, his jaw clenched. “What can I do for you?”
“Spencer, ol’ chap!” Boxton leaned on the door’s frame. “Come to see if dear Mary has had her fill of you.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched ever tighter, the grinding of his teeth echoing in his ears.
Reddington licked his lips eagerly. “Thought p’raps we could have a private performance.”
Gabe desperately wanted to knock their heads together, breaking both of their curst, handsome faces.
Instead, Gabe winked and grinned, running his fingers through his wet hair to slick it back, and allowing his robe to gape open slightly, deliberately revealing a patch of curling chest hair. “I’m afraid I’ve worn her out, gentlemen.”
As much as he hated to do it, Gabe opened the door wider, giving the two scoundrels a view of Mary on the bed. As awareness of Gabe’s implication dawned, neither man looked happy. In fact, both wore menacing expressions of hostile predators. Dark, hungry, and desperate.
Self-preservation and protectiveness bloomed in Gabriel’s chest. “Perhaps tomorrow evening she will not be so fatigued,” Gabe said. He knew that he and Mary would not be in residence tomorrow evening and he would rather these men be pacified now with hopes for the morrow than both furious and ravenous enough to intrude upon their solitude and Mary’s rest this evening.
Wolfish smiles lit the cads’ faces as they gazed past him at Mary. Gabe hated the invasion of her privacy, and quickly narrowed the opening of the door so the men were forced to look at Gabe.
“Do you give your word that we can have a go at her on the morrow?” Reddington licked his lower lip.
Gabe expanded his lungs in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Yes.”
“Say it,” Boxton spat.
Gabe turned his sardonic gaze on the reprobate, abusive rake and lied through his teeth. “I give my word.”
* * *
A great shiver ran through Mary as something brushed her cheek. She felt herself frown, her bottom lip curling out in the likeness of a child’s pout. She did not wish to wake.
A light puff of air on a silent laugh brushed her cheek next. “Mary.” It was Gabe, whispering in her ear, the warmth of his body as he leaned over her, the smell of his sandalwood soap, and cloves on his breath…
He filled her senses.
Mary liked it.
She turned on her back and slowly opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the dim firelight that lit the room.
Startling blue eyes gazed back at her. “It is time.”
Time? Oh! “Yes, of course.”
Suddenly Gabe was gone. And so was her warmth. She sat up, one hand to her hair as it had gone wild in her sleep. She really should plait it as most ladies did, but she had never been one to habitually bind her hair.
Gabe had retreated to his solitary game of cards at the table once more, and Mary set about preparing herself. She pulled one of her travelling boxes out from beneath the bed and flipped open the lid. Pushing aside a selection of white, lacy underthings, she reached for what she sought: the false bottom to her box. Within that lay an array of weaponry: a pistol, gun powder, shot, knives, even darts. She retrieved a leather strap and sheath, a dagger, and from beneath it all, a simple, front-buttoning black bombazine frock that she used especially for sneak-work. She placed the items atop the coverlet at the foot of the bed then closed and replaced her travelling box.
The hairs at the base of her neck prickled and Mary glanced up, catching Gabe’s gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat. In his eyes was something wild and unpredictable that sent both excitement and tingling nervousness through her. Goodness. His gaze held hers, deep blue and unmoving. Mary’s heart began to thud in her chest and her breath came fast.
He wore all black and his hair still held the dampness of wash, the ends curling into tight ringlets.
Gabe’s gaze turned heated, and her palms grew damp. Mary had caused many a man’s arousal and was familiar with the expression on a man’s face in that state. But on Gabriel it felt different. Suddenly, she lost her nerve. Breaking eye contact, Mary turned her attention to her task.
She rose from her kneeling position on the floor and gathered her things, retreating behind the privacy screen.
Coward.
With a silent sigh, Mary set to dressing herself. She slid the knife inside the sheath, then attached it to the long leather strap. With an unnecessarily surreptitious glance around her hidden corner, she lifted the skirts of her night rail and wrapped the strap tightly around her upper thigh.
She had not been prepared for how Gabe’s stare would make her feel. Could he truly have been aroused or was he simply skilled at affecting the image of an aroused man? Was it part of his act? If so, why would he do it when it was just the two of them alone in the room? Had she simply imagined arousal in his gaze? But no, she was far too practiced to have been fooled. Could he truly have been aroused by the sight of her kneeling on the floor in her night rail? It did not make sense. Gabriel was proficient at disguising his true feelings, if he had not wished Mary to know it, then he would have hidden it.
But that would mean… Impossible. Gabe had wanted Mary to see the arousal in his expression?
Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. There could be only one reason for him to allow his feelings to be seen. He wanted her.
Her heart raced, pounding and skipping along happily within her foolishly hopeful chest.
She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Gabe had seen her perform this evening; he was simply reacting as she had intended all the men to do. He was male, after all; it was not about her, personally, but the movement of her body and what it made his man-parts feel. She must remember that. This evening was about their assignment, not about passion or heated glances.
In the interest of a hasty return to bed once they made their escape from the house party and retired to an inn, Mary kept her night rail on in the place of a shift and donned her charcoal frock over top. Dressing in her nighttime spy attire was as welcome as returning home. It was comfortable, it was safe, and it did not suffocate her with corset, stays, or innumerable, hot petticoats. She felt free, powerful, and entirely dangerous.
She felt like a spy.
She finished buttoning herself up and straightened her long sleeves and bodice, and with renewed confidence Mary rounded the side of the screen. Without a glance in his direction, she strode directly toward her dressing table and sat to gaze at herself in the reflective glass, then set to work on plaiting her hair and tying it into a sensible knot at the base of her neck.
Satisfied with her modest appearance, Mary rose and turned to face Gabriel. His gaze was already on her, but the heat had dissipated.
Mary nodded with mute meaning and they broke off to snuff any lit candles about the bedchamber. Ever silently, they quit the room to stride side by side down the dark corridor, vigilantly careful not to make a sound.
The moan of a cat was carried through the air from behind a door, though Mary suspected it was not a cat. The tick-tock of clocks echoed through the still house giving Mary the eerie feeling that the grand, femininely appointed building had a heartbeat. Tick-tock, bu-bum went the heart, though only she and Gabe flowed through the wide halls.
Mary had the ludicrous urge to look over her shoulder for ghosts or ghouls, despite her certainty that they were alone. Perhaps the building judged her for spying on its masters.
A light touch brushed her arm and she turned her gaze to Gabe as he crept along beside her.
He pressed a finger to his lips, the signal for silence—did he think she would shout?—then moved his finger to tap his ear. Listen.
Voices. Very low, very quiet, but there were indeed voices coming from further down the hall, belowstairs.
She nodded in understanding and they sped their pace.
Painstakingly precautious as they were and the groaning steps of the grand staircase notwithstanding, they arrived at the Kerr House study without incident.
Gabe turned the knob and swung the door open on silent hinges before closing it soundlessly behind them.
Her eyes, having long adjusted to the darkness, immediately spotted something troublesome. Her heart froze in her chest as she swung her head toward Gabe, who stood stony-faced beside her. The pedestal was open and the strong box was gone.