“So we can talk about how good the ladies are between the bedclothes,” Lord Pondridge flapped his hand drunkenly, his blinks slow and heavy. Gabe supposed he could be trying to wink suggestively, but he was not certain.
Lady Kerr rose, forcing the men and the remaining ladies to their feet. “Come, ladies, let us adjourn to the drawing room and leave the men to their manly business.” She turned, leading the ladies from the room, but looked over her shoulder at them just before her exit. “Say only kind things about us will you gentlemen? We women have excellent hearing and are unforgiving upon receiving scrutiny.”
With one last wink from Lady Kerr, the women were gone, Mary with them. Gabe was grateful to see them go. Not only was it a relief from Lady Kerr and Mrs. McArthur, but also from the startling torture of seeing Mary flaunt her charms and flirt with dangerous men.
Gabe resumed his seat as a footman placed several boxes of cigars and a flagon of port upon the table.
“Fine ladies, eh wot?” Mr. Piper brought his snifter of port to his lips and took a drink.
The viscount bit the end of his cigar, spitting the tip on the floor beside his chair. “Fine, indeed.” He reclined in his seat, his shrewd gaze encompassing every man at the table.
Gabe poured himself a dram of port and lit his own cigar. He had never been one to drink to excess or enjoy filling his lungs with smoke, but for the purposes of his character, he knew he must.
“Are yourshs twinths, Jack…son,” Lord Pondridge inquired, his words slurred and his eyes half-lidded, “or just shishers?”
Mr. Jackson’s self-satisfied smile grew at the inquiry about his mistresses. “Twins, as a matter of fact. Found them at Lady Haversham’s.”
“Is that across the road from Madame Bordeau’s?” Lord Sheffield asked, his chins wagging.
Gabe was familiar with both houses of ill repute. They were known for their excellent drink and their clean women. Gabe had frequented them with Colin and Hugh on countless occasions, though seldom partook in the female company within. There was just something not quite…rightin his mind about paying for a woman’s attention; it smacked of desperation, and Gabe preferred to know that the lady is actually interested inhimand not his money.
Mr. Jackson inclined his head. “Indeed, it is. Has the best women.”
“I much prefer actresses and opera singers, myself,” the Viscount Kerr drawled. “The thrill of the chase.”
“And they’re less costly, eh wot?” Mr. Piper grinned.
“And skilled,” Reddington threw his head back. “Good God, you lot haven’t the faintest idea what that woman is capable of.”
Gabe wrestled with his mounting rage, fighting to keep his expression one of calm and neutral confidence.
“I’ll wager Spencer does,” Lord Sheffield wheezed, wiggling his thick eyebrows suggestively.
“You lucky sod,” Reddington grumbled. “You must share her.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “MustI?”
“I understand your reluctance,” the devil incarnate said. “If I had access to that woman’s charms—and remarkable abilities—on a nightly—nay, daily—basis, I guarantee that we would not leave the bedchamber for months. She is unique, to be sure.
“But indeed, we all share here,” he continued. “You’re welcome to have a go at my mistress in exchange for a night with Mary.” Reddington took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke upward. “Mrs. McArthur does some amusing things with her titties.”
Gabe choked down a draught of his port in an attempt to swallow past the tightness in his throat, and the fury scorching him. What was happening to him? Why did he feel such intense…feelingswhen it came to the thought of Mary with other men? The answer hung just out of reach.
Gabe already knew that Mary was unique, but not in the way this cad implied. Mary was a free spirit, a talented actress, and a loving, caring, and extraordinary woman with a wealth of heart and knowledge. She was so far beyond the reach of all the men in this room. Hell, all the men in London. She did not deserve to have these witless, self-admiring, traitorous scoundrels salivating over her.
But that was not what his character would do. If they were discovered, their lives would be in great peril. He mustbeAnthony Spencer, despite how it galled him to do so.
“I suppose that decision would be up to the lady in question,” Gabe drawled. “I can hardly arrange a rendezvous on her behalf.”
A slow, predatory smile grew on Reddington’s lips and Gabe immediately regretted his answer. He should not encourage the villain to pursue Mary…nor should Mary urge him on with her feminine wiles.
He took another gulp of his port and a deep draw on his cigar. What had happened to his plan to convince Mary to end her spy life? Had he not vowed to make her see the error of this life she led?
He shook his head. He knew what happened. This damned assignment. He had a feeling that something like this would occur; Mary would be objectified and hunted by the predators of the house party.
They should never have come.
