Chapter 12
Mary slipped the corset over her chemise and held it with one hand against her chest. She did not wish to have to request help from Gabe, but without a lady’s maid available, she had no choice.
In all the years that she had been an actress and a spy, never once had she had a man perform such a personal service. Most of her own gowns were front lacing and as she often went without a corset or stays, she rarely required help to dress. At the theatre, if a costume required such under garments or if a gown buttoned in the back, she had another of the actresses aid her. But not a man.Nevera man.
She stepped out from behind the puce privacy screen, catching Gabe’s attention with the movement.
“May I have help with my laces?” she asked.
He stood in stony silence, his jaw set.
“Please?” she added.
With a curt nod he rose from his position on the chaise and strode toward her. She quickly gave him her back. After a brief pause, she felt the tugging of her corset laces as he efficiently tightened them.
His fingers brushed at her back ever so slightly, but the shock of it was thrilling. Heat radiated off his body and his breath teased the hair of her half-fallen chignon. Mary closed her eyes, briefly allowing the sensation to flow through her.
She had used intimacies and desire to glean the information she required from men aiding Napoleon, but never had she felt the same passions in return. Always, she had been able to separate her own feelings from her actions with each mark. Being as busy as she was with both her position as an actress and as a spy, she had never been courted by a man, never been a man’s mistress…had never been kissed by a man that was not a mark, but for Gabriel’s kiss when she was the tender age of ten and on-stage kisses with fellow actors. Each moment she had spent with a man had been in service to Crown and country.
Why did this feel so different? Why was each innocuous touch so intoxicating?
Mary was very aware of Gabe’s deep breathing behind her, each exhalation seemingly closer than the last and each bringing with it the scent of crushed cloves and the gentle tickle of the springy, curly hair at her neck.
Mary gasped at the sudden thundering of her blood.
Gabe’s hands faltered, then hesitated. “Are you well?” he asked, his tone deep and flat.
Mary cleared her throat, reigning in her composure. “Yes, of course. That last one was a bit tight, that is all. It is well now.”
Gabe grunted, but did not answer. It was just as well, for she did not wish to explain further. She did not even know if shecouldexplain the sudden maelstrom of…desire—surely not!—that she had just felt. But what else could account for the sudden dampness in her palms, the fluttering of her heart, or the warmth growing in her middle?
A frown creased her brow. It simply was not possible. She might miss Gabe’s friendship and continue to be hurt by his curt comments, but she did not—couldnot—desire him on an intimate level. It must merely be her underlying awareness that she was playing his mistress. Indeed, that must be it. It was her character, that was all.
With one last tug, Gabe stepped back, a waft of cool air rushing in to take his place. “Done. Now, if that will be all…”
Mary spun to catch him as he stepped away. “Wait!”
He turned to face her, his expression closed and distant, his blue eyes as hard as ice.
She flicked her tongue out to wet her suddenly dry lips and his gaze dropped to follow the motion, his jaw tightening. A nervous flutter pushed its way into Mary’s stomach. She hardly knew what to do; was he so dissatisfied with her, then?
“My gown buttons in the back.” She cleared her throat. “Could you…would you mind buttoning me up?”
His displeasure was evident in every taut muscle of his body, but he nodded nonetheless.
As quickly as she could without ruining her dress, Mary stepped into the coquelicot gown. It was the same colour as her travelling frock, but Mrs. McPhee had said it was an attractive shade against her skin and it brought out the red in her hair. Mary was pleased to have brought them with her for the house party.
After drawing her short cap sleeves up her arms and letting the skirts fall attractively over her hips and legs, Mary put her back to Gabe once more. This time his movements were brisk, each button put through its hole with expert swiftness. Mary hated to think how many times he had performed such a task for a woman. Why it bothered her, she did not know. Gabe was entitled to bed whomever he chose; it was not for her to feel any amount of…No. She would not even put a word to the feeling, for she knew it was not true.
As the last of her buttons were done up, Gabe swept his hands dispassionately down her sides, straightening the gown for her in what Mary knew he assumed was a helpful gesture. But what it did was send a wave of faintness through her. She bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes to quell the dizziness. Gabe, apparently sensing her distress, gripped her waist tighter.
“Whoa, Mary. Are you well?”
Mary forced herself to step out of his reach and turned to face him with a saucy grin.
“Of course,” she said lightly. “It has simply been too long since my last meal. I am well.”
He eyed her warily but seemed to accept her excuse. Mary swept past him with a rushed “thank you” and sat at the dressing table across the room to fix her hair.
