The brilliant light of candles shone all around her, lighting the stage and the hundreds of faces that watched, enraptured by the performance. The occasional cough or clearing throat were the only sounds but for the act. The theatre was filled with the merging of scents, from melting tallow to freshly-sprayed perfume. Mary loved it.
But right now, Mary was not Mary and her fellow thespian, Mr. Murray, was not Mr. Murray. Enacting Act two, Scene two of Mrs. Inchbald’s Lovers’ Vows, she was Miss Amelia Wildenhaim and he was her very dear Papa, the Baron, with whom she currently spoke about matrimony. She was in love with Mr. Anhalt and engaged to Count Cassel.
“You put me out of patience,” the Baron said. “Hear, Amelia! To see you happy is my wish. But matrimony, without concord, is like a duetto badly performed; for that reason, nature, the great composer of all harmony, has ordained, that, when bodies are allied, hearts should be in perfect union.”
In that moment, Mary did something she had never before done. She dropped character. She said her lines, naturally, but she was certain that it sounded dull to the audience, as her thoughts were elsewhere. On Gabriel.
How could he be so cruel? She was not a lightskirt—not that he would know, she supposed. He had never witnessed her acquiring intelligence from a mark; he did not know that her cover did not involve taking a different man into her bed each night.
She determinately suppressed a scowl. And what if she did take lovers to her bed? Men did it with startling—and abhorrent—regularity. Why should she not enjoy the delights that were reportedly found in the marriage bed?
Focus, Mary, she told herself. This is the last performance. Focus.
Still in a daze, she completed the scene, each line going quicker than the last. Before long, the third act had begun. She was not in the first scene, but she stood to the side and observed. In the next moment, the curtain dropped, and she went on stage, ready to play her part.
The first few lines were easy enough. Her love, Mr. Anhalt, was a splendid actor.
“A very proper subject from the man who has taught me love, and I accept the proposal,” she said.
“Again, you misconceive and confound me,” Mr. Anhalt said.
She replied in a carrying voice, “Ay, I see how it is—you have no inclination to experience with me “the good part of matrimony:” I am not the female with whom you would like to go “hand in hand up hills, and through labyrinths”—with whom you would like to “root up thorns; and with whom you would delight to plant lilies and roses.” No, you had rather call out, “Oh liberty, dear liberty.”
“Why do you force from me, what it is villainous to own?” He stepped forward and earnestly gripped her shoulders. “I love you more than life—oh Amelia!” Mary did not hear the remainder of his lines, for she was lost in thought once more.
Curse Gabriel Ashley for that. What she would not have given, at one time, to hear Gabe say such a thing to her. Love… What a simple yet unattainable thing.
She must banish Gabe from her thoughts. She was a thespian…and she was a spy. She pushed her shoulders back and notched her chin higher.
I am Miss Amelia Wildenhaim, she told herself. I love Mr. Anhalt…
* * *
The din was nigh deafening in the back rooms of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, but Mary did not pay the crowd of actors, actresses, and their many admirers any mind. She had eyes for only one man.
She spotted him immediately across the crush and started toward him. She wove between the many bodies, the cloying scent of perfume and warm perspiration assaulting her senses. The chandeliers hung high above, lending a cheerful glow to those below.
Her mark turned his back to her as he whispered something into Mary’s fellow actress, Kitty’s, ear. The girl giggled, a pretty blush on her pale cheeks.
Mary’s lips curved upward in a self-assured smile as she reached his shoulder. She hastily adjusted the gauzy shawl about her elbows and gave an extra tug to the bodice of her already daring evening gown. She had the frock specially made to entice; she wore no petticoat, so the fine green striped silk of her skirts perfectly accentuated the outline of her body beneath.
It was entirely wicked.
With deliberate sensuality, Mary trailed her first finger from her mark’s wrist to his shoulder. This had the desired effect of taking his attention away from Kitty.
“Why, Lord Reddington,” Mary purred, “you do look fine this evening.”
His lascivious green gaze turned to encompass her and his smile broadened. “I must return the compliment, Miss…”
“White,” she gave him her stage pseudonym.
“Miss White. My, what a charming name.” Turning his back on Kitty, he faced Mary fully.
She bit back a laugh at Kitty’s pout. The young actress was better off without this man in her life anyway.
Mary ran her fingers over his narrow shoulders and down his chest, earning a shudder from her mark. She grinned openly at him. He appeared to be nearly thirty years of age and was rather startlingly handsome. He had wavy blond hair, emerald-green eyes, a strong jaw, patrician nose, and a wicked smile. He also smelled of liquor and was—if her previous experience was any indication—obviously easily seduced. This was going to be quicker than she had thought.
Deliberate coyness and artificial naiveté were stratagems that Mary often employed, but she knew from the moment she had set eyes on Lord Reddington that such tactics would not win her the desired reaction. Idiocy, yes. Wanton abandon, naturally. Blatant sexuality…absolutely.
She winked at him, her smile seductive as she leaned her breasts against his arm and stretched up to press her lips to his ear. “Come to my dressing room,” she crooned provocatively, “and you will experience something beyond your wildest imagination.”
Mary pulled away from him the moment she felt his breath quicken, and with one last heavy-lidded glance, she spun about to make her way back through the crowd, exaggerating the sway of her hips. She knew he would follow. No man of his ilk could deny his curiosity when a woman made such a bold statement.
Winding her way through the side and back corridors, she passed the scene painting and storage rooms, the Royal Saloon, and several other dressing rooms before she reached her own. The room was of generous size and stringently tidy. A chaise and a French privacy screen concealed two corners of the room, and the third was filled with her wardrobe, dressing table, and looking glass. The walls were a pale pink, though devoid of any art. The light in her dressing room was deliberately dim, with only one sconce and a candelabra lighting the space.
Mary moved to stand near the chaise and turned in time to see Lord Reddington hurry into the room after her.
“Do close the door, Lord Reddington. I trust you would not wish us to be observed by every passer-by.”
His breath came rapidly as he closed the door.
“Have a seat, won’t you?” She indicated the chaise.
“I believe I was promised an unforgettable experience.”
Insolent pup. “And indeed, you shall receive one. Sit.”
He did as she demanded and draped himself casually on the lush red velvet cushions.
Cocking her hip to the side, she slowly pulled her thin shawl from her elbows, and ran the fine material through her hands before stopping to grip each end in a tight fist. She approached him slowly, swaying her hips with each step, and leaned deeply over him, bringing her breasts alluringly close to his face. It was only as she drew away that he realized that she had tied his wrists together with her shawl.
“What—?” His jaw dropped open on the word as she put her hands to her front-opening bodice and began to pull the ribbons loose. “Ooooh…”
Dipping one knee, she flicked the opposite hip upward, then did the same on the other side. Dip, flick, dip, flick.
She began a rhythm with her hips as she pulled her gown away to reveal the sheer material of her chemisette. It did little to cover her as it hugged her curves like a second skin, but that was the object. Beneath the chemisette were two strips of material, one covering her breasts and the other wrapped around her hips and bottom, completely covering her feminine area.
The seduction had the desired effect. Her quarry was enraptured by her movements, utterly captivated by the swivel of her hips. And the evidence of his interest strained the falls of his trousers.
Excellent. This is going to be easy.
She stepped out of the gown that had pooled at her feet, and she brushed it aside with her slipper-clad toes.
“Where,” he gritted out, “where did you learn to do that?”
“This?” She flicked her hip.
Ever so slowly, she ran the backs of her fingers over her hips, trailing them lightly over her waist, up the sides of her breasts, neck, and further, until her wrists touched high above her head.
Lord Reddington licked his already glistening lips and nodded jerkily.
She saw no harm in telling him—at least part of the truth. “As a young girl, I came across an actress from a foreign land. She taught me all there is to know about this style of dance. She had been part of a harem for many years.”
“H—harem?”
She winked saucily at him. “Yes.”
Then she began to dance.
* * *
Gabe brought the mug of ale to his lips and took a long swill before plunking it back down, the contents splashing over the rim and onto the polished tabletop. He sat in a private dining room of Brooks’ Gentleman’s Club; it was a favourite meeting place for Gabe and his select few friends, as it afforded them privacy and anonymity when they used their aliases.
The dining room was of diminutive size, with just one round table that sat four and a sidebar with liquor and assorted cured meats and cheeses. Gabe was certain that if he stood in the centre of the room and stretched his arms out from his sides, he could touch each wall with his fingertips. It was, in essence, a cupboard. But it served their purpose and the keeper of the establishment ensured that this room was always available for Gabe and his friends’ use. The walls and ceiling were covered in dark wood and were lit by candles on the sidebar and table.
Gabe took another gulp of the bitter ale. He would much rather it be a scotch, and he would much rather drown his sorrows in an entire bottle, but he had to report to Hydra at dawn and did not wish to be ill from drink.
Bloody hell.
Only one woman had ever shaken him in such a way and Gabe suspected that only one woman ever would. Mary. The chit never listened to him. If only he could make her see that she was wasting her life away with sneak-work…
“Something is weighing in your thoughts, my friend. Feel at your ease to unburden yourself to me.”
Gabe lifted a sardonic eyebrow to his long-time friend, Colin Greene, and took another gulp of ale.
“You are welcome to believe me insincere,” his friend continued, “but I assure you I am in earnest. We have been friends—the best of friends—for many years, and I—”
“Ye sound like a wee lassie, speaking of feelings so,” Gabe grumbled, interrupting. He knew he was being an arse, but he didn’t care.
Colin took a quaff of his brandy and grinned. “That may be so, old chum, but speaking of feelings never fails to win favours from the fairer sex.” He winked at Gabe over the rim of his snifter.
Gabriel shook his head. His friend was nothing if not popular with women. “Quite right.” Gabe’s lips curved upward in a tight grin. “You and Hugh were always very popular with women.”
The light in Colin’s dark eyes dimmed slightly at the reminder of their missing friend.
Gabe, Colin, and Hugh Haddington had been the best of friends since they began their spy education at approximately the same time.
“Have you heard any news from Hydra?” Colin asked.
Gabe shook his head. “I’ve expressed my concerns to Hydra on countless occasions since the night of Hugh’s disappearance. I had even volunteered to be a member of his search team, but Hydra insisted that I remain at my post.”
As much as he adored his position in his life as a spy, Gabe would surrender everything just to find Hugh alive and well again. Gabe certainly hoped that the men sent searching for him would find him soon.
“To Hugh,” Colin muttered, tipping his snifter.
Gabe nodded. He hoped that Hugh had found himself a woman and eloped, rather than what Gabe suspected after the attacks on their fellow men.
He lifted his gaze to observe his friend across the table. Colin was dark where Hugh was light: his hair, eyes, and humour.
Much like Gabe, Colin was recovering from a recent attack. Gabe was uncertain of the details but knew that Colin had taken a dagger wound to his back on his last assignment.
As distressing as his life in the Secret Service, tonight Gabe’s thoughts were on a different troubling subject. Tonight his thoughts were on—
“Miss Mary Wright,” Colin blurted.
Gabe’s gaze shot to his friend. “Pardon?”
Colin shook his head. “You have not heard a word that I’ve said, have you?” He thumped his snifter a little too hard on the tabletop and frowned at Gabe. “You might have successfully—albeit briefly—distracted me, but I will not be pushed aside. I gave you the opportunity to speak freely, but you did not take that chance. Now I have to be blunt with you, to the devil with the consequences.”
Gabe didn’t know what to make of his friend’s abrupt displeasure, but as he was stunned into silence, he waited for Colin to continue.
“It has been seven years, man! Yes, she is in a demanding field of work, and yes, she likely beds a different man every night, but what right have you to dictate what she does with her assignments—or with her body for that matter? She chose to accept Hermes’ offer of a certain education; she was not forced into it against her will.” Colin’s frown deepened. “If you had wanted to save her from this life—from herself, or so you say—then you should have taken her to bed and taken her to wife years ago and been done with this entire mess. But you didn’t, because you’re a coward.”
“Oi!” Gabe bristled.
“No.” Colin pointed a finger at him. “I’m not finished with you yet and it’s about time that you listened to the advice that I’ve been giving you. You have been miserable since she walked through the doors of the Brampton Estate and I’m tired of looking at your dour expressions. I would say this is from only my perspective, but everyone who knows you sees it as I do. You have two choices,” he marked them off on his fingers. “One, you forget about Miss Mary Wright; tup a whore, bed some married or widowed chits, join an orgy, I don’t care. But do whatever it takes, bed as many women as you can to rid her from your thoughts…”
“And choice number two?”
“Take Mary for your own.” Colin tossed the last finger of his brandy down his throat with a slight grimace, and then rose. “Until you make a decision, do me a favour and don’t seek me out.”
With that, Colin straightened his coat and disappeared through the dining room door. Had he just lost a friend? Gabe allowed that quick shot of pain to briefly hit his heart. Colin would come back.
Take Mary for your own. Gabe ran Colin’s words through his mind as he was left alone in the small room. But as alluring as the idea was, Gabe knew that he could not be with Mary. He had ended the friendship that they’d shared many years ago and there was no chance of rekindling it now. Most particularly after the way he’d treated her over the past years. He was beastly, he would admit, but damn it, she would not listen to reason!
He shook his head. Bedding Mary—even if she would accept him—wouldn’t solve anything. He was not consumed with thinking of her because of any desire for her, but for a concern for her safety. Colin did not know of what he spoke. What Gabe needed to do was to find a way to convince her that being a spy was too dangerous.
There had been moments in the past years that he’d thought that perhaps he and Mary could share a professional working relationship and he could accept her presence in the Secret Service, but something always happened to change his mind. Too damned often, men were hurt, killed, or abducted. Hell, Gabe had nearly died on his last mission, Greene had been stabbed in the back, and Hugh was bloody well missing entirely! No. It was far too dangerous for Mary to live this life.
He would think of a way. This evening was the last performance of Lovers’ Vows, so he knew that Mary would not have an assignment for some time. During her hiatus, Gabe would go to the country on his own assignment, taking a much-needed break from being around her. By the time he returned, he would have had the time to think of a way to convince her.
Yes. A solid plan, indeed.