Chapter 7
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’sLovers’ 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 shedidtake 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. Herlove, 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.
