The past four days had been spent lying abed with him in one bout of lovemaking after another, with sleep and long, leisurely talks in between. She wished she could remain there with him forever, simply taking him over and over again.
She felt a heated flush begin under her layers of petticoats, chemise, corset, and green silk, and bit the inside of her cheek. Now was not the time to become distracted.
She scooped up her green, beaded reticule and slid her matching slippers on her feet.
Tonight would be simple. She had attended several balls in disguise and knew what was expected of her. This evening she was Miss Mary White. Actress and inveterate flirt.
“Success?” Gabe stood before her, his gaze hopeful, yet also full of pride. He was a dirty mess of a man, which was precisely the object.
Mary smiled at him. “Perfect.”
He bowed deeply to her. “Your carriage awaits. Shall I escort you, Miss White?”
“Why yes, kind coachman. Thank you.” She winked at him as she placed her gloved hand atop his dirty coat sleeve.
He led her through the corridors and down the stairs to the foyer. No one stood on guard at the door, so Gabe pulled it open before leading her down the steps and to their awaiting carriage.
Gratefully, the sky was clear and the night was cool, the lamps along the cobblestone street lending a deceptively peaceful ambiance to the otherwise perilous thoroughfares.
Gabe helped her into the carriage that sat awaiting them on the street, then climbed onto the perch, clasped the reins, and set it into motion. With eachclip-clopof the horses’ hooves and the loud rumble of the carriage’s wheels over stone, they drew closer to Maison Sheffield.
Mary gazed out the window and wondered what Gabe was thinking. What an odd notion, wondering what another was thinking. She knew he did not look kindly on her going on this assignment. But it must be done. Her identity as an actress must remain intact; she simply could not refuse attendance.
Another thought that had been troubling her since they had returned to London buzzed alarmingly through her mind once more.What am I to Gabriel? Was she his mistress? His lover? She supposed she should not trouble herself with such thoughts until they spoke of it. But what of when this evening—and their assignment—concluded? Would he expect her to abandon her position as an actress? Would he expect her to no longer interrogate men?
If she were, indeed, his mistress, she would see the validity of such an expectation. But what if this was merely a tryst? What if he bored of her and she was left to fend for herself? Did shewishto continue interrogating men?
She was no longer certain. While she enjoyed the thrill of being on stage, of taking on a role so unlike herself, of the undivided absorption of her audience, it would be difficult to leave. Taking suspects into her changing room backstage, however…well, she supposed the thrill of it was beginning to wane.
It was possible that she could discontinue her interrogation of men backstage and continue being an actress, but there would always be an expectation of her from her audience… Her name was known well enough among the gentlemen of thetonby now, that men would continue to approach her, expecting that she would give them aprivate performance. That obstacle was not too large to get over, however. It could be done.
But now was not the time to ruminate on anything. She must focus solely on her task.
She braced herself with one hand on the hanging straps as they rounded a turn. The carriage wheels rumbled over the cobblestoned streets, the bright glow of the lanterns passing by.
Soon, they slowed and rolled to a stop before Maison Sheffield. There was quite the crush, as they waited in line to reach the front doors. Nervousness roiled in Mary’s stomach, though she did not know why. Perhaps it was that she would be without Gabriel this evening, after having been with him for the past fortnight.
Ridiculous girl with insecure and doubtful thoughts, she admonished herself.
They made their way to the front of the line and one of the Sheffield servants opened her door, holding a gloved hand out to aid her descent of the carriage steps.
She thanked him and, without glancing behind her at Gabe, made her way up the grand stairs to Maison Sheffield. She pasted an airy smile upon her lips and stood waiting to address the receiving line. The foyer was filled with shuffling debutants, their simpering mamas, and proud, sniffling dandies. She saw none of the known traitors within the entry, though they were like to be found in the card room or ballroom. The card room was a quiet place in which they could converse, and the ballroom was the perfect location in which to blend in. But Mary would find them.
The air was thick with cloying perfume, masculine soaps, powders, oils, and the stench of too-hot bodies. It was nearly overwhelming in its strength.
Her turn came to greet Lord and Lady Sheffield, and she curtsied accordingly.
“Miss White!” Lord Sheffield wheezed before dabbing his glistening forehead with a handkerchief, evidently one of the many adding to the general stench. “So pleased you could come.”
“Thank you, Lord Sheffield.” Mary grinned back at him. “I am honoured to have been invited.”
“Do go on and enjoy yourself, my dear.”
He winked at her and she turned to follow the other guests toward the ballroom. As she turned her back, she heard Lady Sheffield’s strident voice. “How do you know Miss White?”
Mary felt like laughing at the thought of what the man must endure from his wife tonight. Sheffield certainly deserved every syllable of the reprimand, for he was a wicked man, indeed.
She finally reached the butler as he stood regally beside the ballroom doors.
