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 herfemininearea.
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 leastpartof 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.
