Mary tightened the ribbon of the embroidered cuff on her wrist. This costume was vastly different from that of yesterday’s.
The purple and silver of last evening were put to the side for this evening’s deep, forest green. The gauzy material clung to her breasts and ribs, leaving nothing to the imagination, then flared at her shoulders to drape loosely until gathered at her wrists beneath her cuffs.
The costume was designed in such a way that instead of using a bolt of material beneath the gauze to cover her breasts, it had an elaborately beaded and embroidered vest that went overtop. The bodice of the costume barely covered her nipples but allowed her audience to feast their eyes on the outer globes of her breasts.
She was entirely bare from beneath her ribs to just above the auburn hair covering her mons. There, the gauzy material began again, sitting low on her hips and decorated with bells and coins, to drape in long, flowing, layered skirts with a long slit through each layer that ran up to the middle of her right thigh. The bottom half of her costume incorporated a green version of the scanty protection for her feminine area that she had worn last evening.
Her hair and makeup was fashioned in precisely the same way as in yesterday’s performance, and once more she thought to forego the use of additional jewellery.
Opening the jar of her rose scented cream, Mary scraped out the very last of it and rubbed it into her hands.
With a last glance in the mirror, Mary turned to attend to her other task this afternoon. Packing.
She pulled her trunks out from beneath the bed and began to place things hurriedly within. She had very few moments before she was expected belowstairs and she knew she would likely not have much time after they exchanged the documents to pack all of her belongings.
Mary dashed over to the wardrobe and began removing frocks by the armful and carting the heavy mass of material back to her trunks. She scarcely spared a thought for wrinkling or damaging them, for Mrs. McPhee—bless her—would be glad to repair any gown that was damaged.
In an act of forethought, Mary selected one dark, front-fastening day dress and hid it in the corner of the room behind the privacy screen, along with a fresh pair of woollen stockings and a chemisette.
She moved to the chest of drawers and withdrew an armful of her underthings and brought them to her trunks.
Heavy footfalls in the hallway arrested her. Her heart beat erratically in her chest as she frantically closed the trunks and slid them back to their place beneath the bed.
With a nervous smile upon her lips, Mary dusted her hands together and then pulled her cloak off a hook near the door. It was time for her performance.
* * *
Gabe discretely entered the rear door of Kerr House after having taken a detour through the gardens so as to not be observed coming from the stables by any other guest. He closed the door quietly behind him and made his way quickly through the halls toward the billiards room.
He’d turned down the last corridor when Mr. Jackson and his blonde mistresses exited the dining room to his right.
“Oh! Good timing, Spencer.” He ran his fingers through his bright orange hair before draping his lace bedecked wrist over one of his mistresses’ shoulders. “Your lover is rumoured to be putting on another performance in the drawing room!”
Excellent. She had thought of a way to distract the others and give him an opportunity to exchange the documents. He could not claim to be pleased with her methods, but they were effective.
“I will be along in a moment.” He leaned in towards Jackson, as though to impart a secret. “Got to take a piss.”
Jackson tapped the index finger of his free hand against the side of his nose and winked.
With an exaggerated flourish, Gabe bowed to the scandalous dandy, and resumed his pace toward Lord Kerr’s study.
He found the room empty with the door ajar. He crept in and closed the door soundlessly behind him. Removing the hairpins from within the folds of his cravat, Gabe lowered himself to his knees and set to work.
* * *
Mary swished her hips seductively, slowly rotating them in a circular motion, her arms extended delicately above her head. Her audience was enthralled; each pair of eyes was fixated on the movement of her body.
The room was filled with the haze of cigar smoke and the scent of warm bodies. It was a nauseating combination. But Mary’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her body moved as though it was simply re-enacting previous performances while her mind was focused solely on one thing…Gabriel.
There was no way of knowing how long it would take him to make the switch, or if he’d even known of his opportunity. The blasted man had avoided her all day; it’d been impossible for her to tell him of her plans.
She wished there was some way to know.
* * *
Click. Gabe’s lips pulled to the side in an awkward, mirthless grin as the strong box opened.
He quickly dipped his hand inside and removed the precious, sensitive documents, then slid the forged copies from his pocket and placed them within the box.
Using the hairpins, Gabe set to locking the box. He waited for the click of the lock before he hastened to replace the strong box into its hidden spot inside the rare book’s pedestal.
* * *
Mary cursed her costume for the umpteenth time that performance. The vest had not been designed with much arm movement in mind, unfortunately. A collective gasp rose out about the room—the men, out of desire, and the women likely out of outrage—for every time she raised her arms, her breasts were entirely exposed.
She entered her concluding set of movements. With each sway, dip, and flick of her hips she got closer to being able to find out if Gabriel had made the exchange successfully.
* * *
With the crucial documents safely hidden in the inner breast pocket of his waistcoat, Gabe took one last glance around the vacant study and placed himself quietly beside the door. He pressed his ear to the seam, listening for any footfalls without. Everyone must still be in the drawing room watching Mary.
He pressed the latch and pulled, very slowly and very carefully opening the door. As no one came at him guns drawn, Gabe exited, ensuring he left the door ajar just as he had found it.
“Mr. Spencer!”
Despite himself, Gabe jumped at the sound of Lady Kerr’s voice. Fool!
He forced a laugh and bowed. “My lady, you quite startled me. How do you do?”
She grinned broadly. “I am well now that I have found you. I confess I had been looking for you.”
“Indeed?”
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Mmm. Yes, I had thought perhaps that we might…have a go,” she licked her upper lip in a suggestive manner, leaving no question in his mind as to what she referred.
He affected an unnatural expression of desire. “I would love to, your ladyship, but I am afraid that I must decline. Perhaps later this evening?”
Something flashed in her dark eyes, but it was gone before Gabe could interpret it.
“Call me Evelyn,” she purred, sidling closer to him. “But do come. I have need of your…services.”
According to Mary, Lady Kerr—er…Evelyn—had inquired several times about him. Mary’s assertion that Lady Kerr was possibly one of the traitors ran through his mind, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Could Mary have been right? Perhaps he ought to have listened when she’d expressed her concerns. Damn.
“As your hostess, I must insist that you join me for a nip,” she persisted. “You are so…virile and handsome and…” She pressed her body against his front and reached around to cup his buttocks. “Oh! You do have a fine bottom.”
If Gabe refused, he would appear suspicious. And if Mary was right, and Lady Kerr was a villain, he was certain that he could fend her off. If she wasn’t, however, he would have to find a way out of the situation before she attempted to disrobe him.
“Well,” he forced his grin to grow and his gaze to soften. “If you insist, my lady, I would be honoured to join you.”
“Mmm, excellent.”
* * *
“Encore!” Lord Sheffield called, a cloud of smoke billowing out from around the cigarillo held between his teeth.
Mary smiled and curtseyed with the appropriate amount of modesty. She pasted on a smile of sensuality and idiocy, allowing her gaze to glaze over as her audience clapped.
Where is Gabe? Heavens, he hadn’t arrived at the drawing room yet. Was he delayed? Detained? Or, heaven forefend, discovered?
She picked up her hairpins from the floor and hastily fashioned her hair in a tight, serviceable knot at the base of her neck.
“Mary, that was…superb.” Lord Boxton rose from his seat, a noticeable bulge in the front of his breeches, as he came to stand directly before her. He leaned in to press his lips to her ear and Mary suppressed a shiver of revulsion. “I am very much looking forward to my private performance. Reddington and I will likely have to fight over who gets to have you first…unless the man sees sense and realizes what dreadful fate will befall him if he tries to have a go at you before I do.”
“I look forward to it, as well, Tony,” she lied with a wink. “If you will excuse me…”
“Just a moment, Mary.” He gripped her arm, halting her movement as she attempted to step away.
She spread the edges of her lips wide in a strained smile. “Yes, Tony?”
He lifted one side of her vest with the index finger of his free hand and Mary had to clench her fists to keep from slapping his hands away. The heated desire in his piercing green eyes deepened and for the third time since her performance began, Mary resolved to burn this costume upon returning to London.
“Wear this tonight,” he growled. He licked the rim of her ear with the tip of his tongue and Mary tensed. “I want to rip it off with my teeth.”
“If James allows you to go first,” she teased.
His eyes darkened and his grip on her arm tightened painfully. “He will.”
Lady Marpol giggled loudly as Lord Kerr bounced her jarringly on his lap, garnering Mary’s attention. The others sat about the room with their own mistresses, though Lord Pondridge’s large blonde sat, dejected, while he slept.
“Come join us!” Lord Sheffield called, lifting one arm in the air, his other wrapped around Lady Kellings. “I know a story that boggles the mind!”
“Come, Mary,” Boxton hissed in her ear as his grip tightened even further on her arm. The warning was not missed. “Let us sit with Sheffield for a moment.”
With a mournful glance at the doorway, Mary allowed Boxton to lead her to the settee.
* * *
“These steps lead to the dungeon,” Lady Kerr whispered the last word in Gabe’s ear, as though the dungeon were a place in which to find great pleasure.
He hadn’t the faintest idea why Lady Kerr had decided to bring him to the castle ruins on the Kerr estate, but his curiosity had most definitely gotten the better of him. His initial supposition of her proposition had been an invitation to her bedchamber. At the very least he had thought to put her to sleep while rubbing her feet and then search her chambers for any pertinent information. Clearly that was not the case. At the most, he thought that he might have to restrain the woman if she attempted an attack the moment they were out of sight from any guests at the house party. But that hadn’t happened.
The ruins could be interesting, he supposed, if the woman beside him had any useful information on the previous residence, when it was built, or what ultimately happened to the structure, but she was sadly mute for the majority of the short tour.
Crumbling walls surrounded him, vines and dirt creeping upward from the ground, and the distinct sound of flapping pigeon wings high above their heads.
“Fascinating, Evelyn.”
“Shall we venture down to have a look?”
He dipped his head. “Certainly.”
* * *
Mary glanced toward the mantle clock and again her heart hiccoughed in her chest. Something must be wrong.
She looked around her at the faces of sin and delight. The other guests at the house party sat about the pink floral drawing room, drinking, smoking, and otherwise rejoicing in the gaiety of their hedonism. None were aware, however, of the turmoil within Mary. She smiled and laughed with the others, but her body veritably vibrated with alarm.
Where is Gabe? The question gnawed at her and the cold feeling of dread began to spread through her like frost consuming a forest.
The others talked and guffawed, though Boxton paid particular attention to Mary, having pulled her down onto his lap to press kisses to her neck and shoulder. Where was his mistress? Should not she be sitting here instead of Mary?
Her gaze roamed the group; Lord Kerr sat with his mistress, Lady Marpol, and as did the others, each paired—or tripled in Mr. Jackson’s case—with their lovers. Where was—?
Oh no! The pieces of the proverbial puzzle locked themselves into place in her mind and she leapt to her feet.
“Whoa-ho, darling.” Boxton grasped her wrist. “Where are you going? We’ve only just begun our afternoon of enjoyment.”
“I’m afraid that you must excuse me, Tony.” She smiled down at him before gently attempting to withdraw her arm.
He squeezed her wrist tighter in a punishing grip. Mary bit the inside of her lip to keep from wincing as his fingers dug deeply into her sensitive flesh.
“I would prefer you stay, Mary.” His eyes darkened slightly, though his mien remained playful.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “I must use the necessary.”
With a distrusting—and dare she say threatening glance—he released her. “Return directly.”
She leaned forward and pressed an unchaste kiss to his lips, with just enough promise to keep him from following after her, then turned on her heel and swept from the room. The moment she was out of sight, she swiped at the repulsive taste of him with the back of her hand.
* * *
The scraping of old wood against stone echoed through the narrow stairwell. Gooseflesh skittered along Gabe’s skin. He took it as a dark omen. Perhaps these ruins were haunted.
“Step inside,” Lady Kerr’s smooth and deliberately seductive voice said.
Gabe did as she asked and stepped into the dark dankness of the dungeon. The only light came from the doorway in which her ladyship stood. The floor was dirty stone that was likely covered in rodent refuse. The walls were of the same stone, but they were cold with dripping moisture and sported scars from the nails of former inhabitants and the chains and manacles that graced its walls.
This was a room for torture. It veritably reeked of fear and pain… A shiver skittered up Gabe’s spine, as one clear fact rang out like a knoll: death had happened here. Why the devil would Lady Kerr bring him to such a place?
The lady was silent, as though waiting for him to comment on the trappings. “Fascinating,” he lied as he turned his gaze up toward the low ceiling. “And this was all built in Roman times? When did your husband’s family rebuild the main—?”
Gabe stilled, sudden awareness, trepidation, and self-derision flowing through him all at once, as the click of a pistol cocking echoed through the room.
He spun around, alarm in his chest.
Bang!